This past Thanksgiving break, I made plans to meet up with a group of friends from high school at a bar in my hometown. I arrived at the same time as two of my friends, and we grabbed a table. A few minutes later, a couple of other guys arrived, neither of whom I had seen in years. As they approached our table, my initial excitement to see them turned into surprise, then confusion, and finally, embarrassment. Why? Because one of them, “Dave”, had a mustache.
Aside from relief pitchers, only men over forty have a license to wear a mustache. In fact, my father wears a mustache and has for more than thirty years. On these men, mustaches look stylish and even dignified. This is because they brought the mustache with them from a previous era where that was the style. It’s a Grandfather Clause for mustaches, really. However, for younger men, particularly those in their twenties, a mustache without a beard or goatee is a grooming faux pas of the highest order.
To his credit, Dave had a good mustache. It was neatly groomed, extending from one corner of his lip to the other. It was fully grown in, unlike the weak “crustaches” that you see on 18 year old kids that barely show up. But that being said, he looked ridiculous. Dave has a youthful looking face and light brown hair. It would be as if Ashton Kutcher grew a mustache. It just didn’t fit. For me and the two friends who were already there, it immediately became an elephant in the room.
As we drank pitchers of beer and talked about the good old high school days, I became more and more obsessed with his mustache. He never said anything about it, or gave any sort of explanation. I stopped paying attention to the conversation as my mind raced about his mustache. I did hear enough to learn that Dave was in a dry spell with women. ‘I wonder why’, I thought sarcastically. Eventually Dave got up to go to the bathroom, and immediately I asked, “What is up with the mustache?” We all began discussing it, and all agreed it looked ridiculous on him. ‘Should we say something’, we wondered. It was decided that if the right moment came up, I would inquire about the mustache.
A few pitchers later, with my inhibitions lowered, there was a lull in the conversation. The two friends who I arrived with looked at me, and I said, as politely as possible, “So Dave, I see you’re sporting the ‘stache.”
“Oh yeah, this”, he said as he started to rub it. “I grew it almost a year ago. I wanted something different. What do you think?”
At this moment, there are three possible ways to answer the questions: First, I could spare his feeling and say something like “I like it. Looks good on you”. Second, I could be supportive but non-committal and say something like “Whatever floats your boat”. Third, I could be honest. I chose number three.
“Dave, no offense, but it doesn’t look too good, man. It doesn’t really suit you; you are too young to wear a mustache.” My friends all nodded in agreement. He looked surprised to hear that, but then said, “But girls dig it.”
“Do they?” I asked. He thought about it for a minute, and then conceded that it might be a little out of place on him. “When you get home, shave it off,” I said. “Try that out for a month. Then grow it back if you want.” He said that he would. We soon left, and as we shook hands he said “Thanks for being honest, Mike.” “No problem”, I said.
Epilogue: Dave emailed me the following week and said he shaved his mustache. I hadn’t heard from him until a few weeks ago when I ran into him while I was at my parent’s house. He has since met a girl and is dating her seriously. He also received a promotion at work. I like to think that this recent upswing in his life is due to the loss of his mustache.
