It has often been said, and oftener
been true that: “There is a season for everything.” The constant flux and flow
of the universe has always been surrounding the fact that nothing is truly
static. As our eye observes, there are immutable laws of change governed by the
constant march of time that break down the old and rebuild the new, only to
mature the new into old, and break it down yet again. It is true for grass, for
deer, for stars in the heavens, and for all things under heaven. So it is no
great surprise to anyone that all of these forces that recycle and rebirth
nature in such a fashion also affect beards.
Beards. They’ve become such a
fashion statement these days. But while I could fill this entire entry with a
comprehensive and most likely critical analysis of the beard and it’s place in
our society, I’ve decided to take a much more sweeping look at a very simple
facet of their existence; namely, their growth cycle. Let us compare the common
beard with another similarly common attribute of life: (and more precisely,
human life) “Growing Up”.
As a quick disclaimer, this topic
was not slowly thought out over a steaming cup of tea in an overstuffed arm chair,
surrounded by a mahogany-cradled study of leather bound books; rather, it was
stumbled upon sleepily by a flannel swaddled 20-something male who was barely
awake in the passenger seat of a Toyota Camry at 1:27 in the morning. I believe
the lively discourse between passenger and driver began something like: “Dude…..
Beards and babies are, like… the same.” Allow me to detail that thought.
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| Basically |
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| The same thing |
Babies are born soft and without much protection, smooth and squishy and generally unsuited for any kind of hardship and lacking any sort of defense against the elements. They spend much of their first days adjusting to the relative cold of the outside world, and are provided aid in this endeavor in the way of soft cloths and wrappings, ultimately being cloaked in a similar way to the small chunk of “steak” is by the stifling layers of simulated food products that are used to make a taco bell steak burrito.
Likewise, the unbearded face is
akin to the newborn. It has no protection from the elements, retaining a
squishy softness heralding back to infancy. It must be given aid when fending
off cold, and is therefore encircled by a sometimes soft wrapping of differing
materials. Scarf, buff, balaclava, hood, collar, wrap, ascot, and numerous
other names are given to clothing items that are intended to shield the
unbearded face from the outside world. There is even a recent trend among the
young and/or hormonally challenged to wear an artificial rendering of facial
hair that is integrated into a hat, which effectively fools those greater than
10 meters from the wearer into thinking that the beard is organic, though any
distance closer will bring about questions about the wearers place in society.
At any rate, it is one of many options to grant the unbearded face the
simulated warmth of facial growth.
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| 98% of the users look like this. |
The next phase of life and beard is
the child stage. It is a stage of wonder and possibility, exploration and
curiosity, a time when a child will begin to venture out into the world, and
the beard will begin its cautious journey away from the surface of the face. In
the vernacular, this period in a beards life is called “Stubble.” And it is as
rough as any schoolboys calloused palms. It aspires to be grown some day, but
it is firmly grounded in where and what it is now: a playful, ruddy sprout,
strangely serious at times but always ready to play.
Stubble is surprisingly comfortable.
It reassures the hand when it is rubbed over the chin. It whispers of future
glory and greatness, promises ultimate protection from the coming cold. Looking
not at the hardships ahead, but rather the end result much in the same way that
a child dreams of becoming an astronaut or curing an incurable disease. The
sheer potential of stubble is inspiring, but it has a dark corridor ahead of it
if it is to pass through to full beardhood. This corridor is so dark and
forbidding that many a man hoping to one day sport a furry face mask becomes
discouraged in its shadow and resorts to the razor, the reset button. That
dismal tunnel is called…
Puberty.
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| It's Junior High for your face. Again. |
It’s just as daunting in a beard as
it is in a boy. It is an ungainly time. Scraggly and uncoordinated, unwholesome
to look at and unbearable to be looked at, this is the itchy, patchy,
frustrating crucible in which a true beard is forged. Just as in junior high,
the pubescent beardholder likely has a strong desire to shamble away from the
light of society and huddle in the darkness where he can sit and scratch the
wiry birds nest of scruff emanating from an acne covered chin.
Friends will mock you. Women will
shun you (possibly more so if you are a female stuck in this stage; my heart
goes out to you.) The pressure to pick up the razor is immense, weighted down
by the comments of “Wow, you gonna actually keep that?” and “You’ll never get a
job/girlfriend/house/respectable anything with that on your face.” Your primal pubescent senses will seek to shave
the abomination from you, to burn it in the backyard, forget it was ever
attempted.
Darkness. A long crawl forward
through the black tunnel. Onlookers quietly hold their breath. Close friends
and family cross their fingers, some for the shave, some for survival. And out
of that tunnel, one of two things emerge: A bare face, beaten by it’s own
endeavor. Finally taken down by a war of attrition. Discomfort, peer pressure,
despair, job requirements and an HR intervention, all conspire together to tear
the beard from its roots before it had the chance to shine.
But another emerges from the cave.
His follicles are stronger for the war, and each strand now shines with a
luster born out of adversity, a sheen honed by refusing to bow under the boot
of social pangs. He stands at the mouth of the cave, full and manly beard
flowing from his jaw like a flag of freedom. The stubble has finally become
what it always dreamed it would be. And the elements have little hold on that
face, and through all things, thick and thin, high and low, he will now stand
firm and watch the beard lengthen, his wisdom grow.
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| Oh look, he grew a pipe. |
This is the full fledged man in his
prime. He carves his way through life like his comb through his face-locks. He
will untangle the mysteries of life like they were unruly strands falling into
line under his well-worn hands. He will most likely have lost his job and a few
friends in the pursuit of the beard, so he will also probably have to find some
replacements for those. Or maybe he has alienated to many friends in this process
that he may have to just abandon a social life altogether. It’s also difficult
to look professional with this raccoon living under his chin. Wow, the bills
keep piling up. Is that a gray hair? Shoot, there’s a lot of them. I bet I
could probably get away with living in a tent to save some money. Would Aunt
Veronica spot 20 dollars? That guy over there is holding a sign and getting
money, where’s a sharpie? When did it all
turn white? At least his nephew thinks he has a cool beard.
And so we see the inexorable cycle
of life continues in the beard just as it does in every other facet of the
universe.
