I shaved my moustache in Movember

In the face of an identity crisis, a failed attempt to be Bashar al-Asad for Halloween, motherly disapproval, and being told that ‘bops aren’t for 24-year-olds’, I decided to shave my moustache, hell my entire facial hair, in the middle of Movember. 

 

That’s right, I caved. It would be reasonable to conclude that I simply don’t care about men’s mental health, that I hate the very idea of talking or caring about such woke nonsense. After all, what kind of repressed man would make the decision to actively subvert Movember?

 

But my decision was spontaneous. The moment I finished shaving and looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but think I look like a baby. The reality stuck with me. I was forced to re-imagine the hair on my face; I began to do this with every man I saw, picturing something there to cover for the child-like vulnerability. But for all those without such hair, one idea continuously repeated itself in the back of my head: all men are babies. 

 

It makes sense. Think about what Movember asks us to consider: that men do in fact have feelings and that they may be various and complicated; that, for all the repressing and covering up—for all the facial hair—they nonetheless have a right and desire to be vulnerable.

 

Under the assumption that men are, indeed, babies it is very easy to understand the world. Man, seeking to become patriarch, exists in a paradox which he cannot accept. He is weak, immature, probably stupid, certainly with a lot to learn, and yet he desires to be—or at least to present himself as—the very opposite. To this end, he pursues pain, struggle, acting like an arsehole, to prove to himself that he is not a baby.

 

Alternatively, all men have mummy issues—though I think if Freud were around to see Movember he’d agree with my perspective. Either way, we must dedicate a month of the year to embracing that men do, and will always attempt to, hide their baby-ness. Apparently such intense focus can cause existential crises. I realised that I am a baby; some men realise they have ‘feelings’.

 

The concept of Movember emerged in 2003, in Melbourne, Australia. 30 men decided to grow moustaches during November, allegedly inspired by how pink ribbons were used to raise breast cancer awareness, to call attention to men’s health causes. I personally believe that all things which originate in Australia should stay there. 

 

In fact, that any cultural phenomenon, let alone one as uninspiring as growing a moustache, can emerge out of Australia says a lot about today’s world. I did not, however, shave my facial hair as a protest against Australian ‘culture’. My motivations were egoic: I don’t want to go to bops and get shamed for looking too old. As a third year, or an ‘unc’ as some of my colleagues here at The Isis like to call me, I’ve already internalised this shame plenty.

 

And as my Isis boss, Kalina, noted, practically all men look worse with facial hair. (Was I excused from this blanket but apt observation, I found myself pondering amid an otherwise serious and productive team meeting at the Kings Arms.) The ironic conclusion, then, is that men look better as babies. Age isn’t flattering, I guess.

 

The purpose of Movember really does then become confused. Men should make themselves uglier to feel better about themselves. This is the kind of reasoning that one can find only in Australia or at the bop.

 

The implications—given that all men are babies and that they are more attractive as such—are vast. If this is some unrepressed truth that is only bound to be discovered given the passing of time, are we inevitably headed towards matriarchy? When Kalina’s reasonable remark—that men look better without facial hair—triggered so much controversy at our unusually male-dominated Features meeting, I knew this was the right conclusion. I haven’t shaved again since.

 

Word by Jack Stone. The head and a shoulders of a man with short hair, plaited side-burns, a stiff straight moustache and a high ruff. Engraving by P Galle. Contributors: Philippe Galle (1537–1612) in the Wellcome Collection via Look and Learn History Picture Archive.