Skip to main content

To Stache, or Not to Stache


Every now and then I'll go a day or two without shaving. Sometimes when I've skipped two days, and I have a rather noticeable look at what my beard line is like, I'll stand in the mirror and have a conversation with myself. “Hmm. You could grow some facial hair, if you wanted.” Once I begin this conversation with myself, the next step is to determine what kind of facial hair I could adequately grow.

A beard? No, not enough on the sides for that. I then come to the realization that maybe I could rock a mustache. “Hmm, I might have a certain Ernie Kovacs touch with a mustache. It could be quite suave.” But then after thinking about it, I decide that even though I can rock a two day stubble, perhaps facial hair just wouldn't quite fit in with my general demeanor. I shave it all off, and I like the reflection that I see looking back at me.

Still, the thought of a mustachioed Andy haunts me. I think about it often while shaving. Sure, there's the argument “Just go a week without shaving and see what you think.” A good suggestion, but with my busy social calendar and meetings with notable dignitaries, one must keep a groomed appearance. But the idea is there, despite my fear to the commitment. There are only two possible outcomes for this situation if I do grow the stache. I'll either look amazing, dashing, and charming (not that I don't already), or I'll look like a sad dad at a 1982 soccer practice.

I'll have some time to myself, and I'll let the stubble rock out, or even on the days when I just don't feel like shaving. I'll look again, and I'll think “this is the week I will not shave.” Have I made it a full week? Nope, I give up and shave on day three, as I'm just not convinced that I would look good with facial hair. Whatever happens on my face on day three is just three shades enough close to “sad dad” that it makes me shave. Logically I know this is to be true, but since I sometimes don't trust my brain, I consult with friends of mine, largely female.

They look at my face with a deep inquisitive glare, pondering what a hairy Andy might look like. The response is always the same “You look good with a three day stubble beard, but facial hair would look bad/weird on you.” This only confirms what my brain has been telling me, facial hair does not fit the functioning Andy protocol. It's for the best, as I'm not quite Groucho Marx, and heaven knows I lack the ability to be a swashbuckling Errol Flynn type. I'm not evil either, so there goes my B plan of roaming the streets in a black cape, tying people to the railroad tracks, rubbing my hands and laughing manically.

So this is how it goes, I'll be lazy, skip shaving for two days, then bust out my electric razor to act as a weed whacker to my face. Truth be told I think a facial hair bare look is best for me, I don't have to worry about catching things in my beard. This allows me to walk around care free, knowing that no one is looking at the crumbs of food, bits of dirt, and tiny Dickensian children that are trapped in my mighty whiskers.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Blue Christmas Lights

Despite all the tinsel and glow, all the shinny faces and families rushing around in their SUVs and minivans, Christmas can be a difficult time of the year for some people. An example? Recently a friend of mine was talking about grocery shopping with her husband and children. She came across the seasonal display of Little Debbie cakes, and began to pick up two boxes to mail to her grandfather. Upon putting them in the cart, she remembered that her grandfather passed away this year, she quietly, and sadly, placed the boxes back on the shelf.
Before you get me wrong, I'm not hating on Christmas. I love this time of the year, genuinely, not in a “Up next on the Donnie and Marie Christmas Special is Andy Ross and he's gonna read that off some cue cards” way. I suppose why I feel a need to talk about this, is that I felt a little down last Christmas. It was odd, I didn't even feel enthusiastic about making my annual Christmas Mix CD, which has become something people actually…

Convincing Yourself You're Good.

I have Imposter Syndrome. Imposter Syndrome is that feeling that what you do isn't good enough, and that someone is gonna eventually figure out how woefully unqualified you are and kick you to the curb. One of the traits of my personality that I dislike is that I am way too hard on myself. Seriously, give my mind an inch and I will somehow figure out that I am the sole person responsible for the world's troubles.

Having Imposter Syndrome is kind of like playing the game Werewolf. My friends and I play a version of the game called One Night Ultimate Werewolf, in the game each player picks a card that gives them a specific role, either a villager or a werewolf, and the villagers all have distinct roles that they play on top of that--special abilities and the like. The object of the game is two fold, if you're a werewolf, you don't wanna be caught. If you're a village, you wanna catch the werewolves. Imposter Syndrome makes you feel like you're always in the role…

Seduction My Way

With Valentine’s Day next week many are starting to make plans for what they will do with their lover. Lately I’ve been getting numerous tweets asking me “Andy, you’re a well known stud muffin, what can I do to make Valentine’s Day most memorable?” Since I have much to say on this topic, I thought I’d take time this week and share my advice for a most special February 14th. 
Now you may have read that last paragraph and thought to yourself “Andy, I have no lover, why did you write something useless for me!?” Don’t worry friend, I got you. If you need a pick up a line to score the date of your dreams, simply get up the courage to walk up the one you’ve been dreaming about, take a deep breath, and tell them the following. “Hey, do you wanna fall over a cliff in love with me? ‘Cause I’m the yodeling guy from Price is Right and you just incorrectly guessed the price of a toaster oven.” Never fails. 
Now comes the task of picking the right restaurant for the date. At this late time, finding …