Still Not a Man: The Moustache Story

Update time. I previously posted about not feeling masculine enough because of my inability to grow facial hair that doesn’t look like a twelve year old hitting puberty. There are many ways to prove your masculinity, my favourite being of course the way men punch cattle to death while listening to Bruce Springsteen, but I felt as if I’d start smaller than that and commit to the furry lip.

This, so far, was clearly a mistake.

Its been a grand total of two weeks since I last shaved. Yeah, drink that in. How does it taste?

The old lady who catches the same bus as me has more facial hair than I do. The other day while I was minding my own business, slowly instilling confidence in myself that my face did not look like a barbershop floor, she came up to me and upon looking at my moustache scoughed and said, “Do you even lift bro?” And then proceeded to simultaniously skull a whole can of Red Bull and shoot a baby deer. 

Fucking old ladies.

I’ve learned a few things so far about the way my facial hair works, my favourite (well, I use the word favourite very reluctantly) aspect being that for some unknown reason there is a straight line down the middle of my face where no facial hair grows. It’s like Moses is on my face and he is parting the hairy seas. As a result of this biblical phenomenon, my “beard” will grow out to look like something the devil wears. 

And I don’t have enough red in my wardrobe to pull that look off.

My theory is that I’ve used up most of my hormones growing into the baby giraffe that I am, but I don’t know science well enough to confirm it. And while I could research it I guess, that would require me reading something other than plays or classic  literature which as both a university student studying acting and creative arts, and a wanker, I would never dream of doing.

*sips double shot almond milk macciato*

Maybe I’m just not doing enough masculine activities. I could go to the gym more? I could start a woodworking class? And I could continue and promote the systematic gender inequalities that have existed in our society for centuries by viewing women as “lesser” and treating them as such, but I think I’d be pretty tired from the gym and the woodworking class to get around to that last one.

Am I going to shave? No. Do I instantly regret it? Yes. Lets check back in next week maybe to see how much worse my face has gotten. And it wasn’t that great to begin with. If my face was a house, it would be located in Broadmeadows right now. Because Broadmeadows also can’t grow facial hair and is also a 24 year old man struggling to meet the social pressures of what it means to be a man.

And also Broadmeadows is shit. Bye!

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