If bushy beards are the new fashion craze for young men, I’m relieved to be out of the loop.
When our neighbor, who considers himself a “Mad Men” ad exec type, appeared with a scraggy crumb catcher I thought perhaps he was dealing with a personal tragedy. His beard wasn’t a suave George Clooney number—but more like an Amish farmer. He seemed happy enough but the beard grew and grew and grew until he resembled a derelict moonshiner
I began to see more and more men abandoning the attractive stubble in favor of full beards. I wondered if I had stumbled into an alternate universe or even worse, I was hallucinating; the beginning of a downward aging spiral. When television commercials featured men with beards it was confirmation; I’m just out of step with current trends.
My hairstylist said full beards are the new deal (for men; if you are a woman see your aesthetician.)
My younger self swore she would never badmouth current trends. It is the kiss of death; a sure sign a woman was approaching cronehood; the crabby old female relative that finds fault with everything. The woman everyone avoids except at Christmas when people are well fortified from the wassail bowl.
I think the bushy beards hideous. Even George Clooney would have a hard time pulling off that look.
My younger self was a bit self-righteous. I see cronehood looming closer and I am at peace with that knowledge.
Categories: Biased, Unbalanced and Politically Incorrect
I am a lifelong Southerner, short story author, and essayist. Home is Dallas, Texas.
My essays have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Writing.