Dear Bearded Hipsters,
You guys are ruining my beard fetish. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve loved a man with a beard. To me, they meant strength, power, manliness. Someone who could protect me. Unfortunately, you guys have turned it into a fashion statement. The beard has turned into the padded bra of masculinity. Sure it looks sexy, but whatcha got under there? There’s a whole generation running around looking like lumberjacks, and most of you can’t change a f***ing tire.
Look, I get it. I really do. I understand the motivation behind your beardedness. In fact, I even pity you. Thousands of years of evolution priming you guys to kill stuff, and chase stuff and f*** stuff... and now what? You’re stuck at a desk all day. No battles to fight. No wars to wage. So you assert your masculinity the only way you know how. You brew beer. You grow some hair on your face. I’ve seen you, hipsters, sitting in downtown eateries, with your rock chick girlfriends, dipping your truffle fries, trying not to get the aioli in your mustache. I’ve seen the quiet desperation in your eyes. I know you’re screaming into the void.
But I still hate you for it. You’re confusing me. It’s now on me to suss out who is the real man and who is the poseur. Sadly, I fear most of you are the latter. Before this explosion of whiskers on trendy men everywhere, if I saw a bearded man, it was safe to assume certain things about him. Like, he probably owned a hammer. Or washed his hair with a bar of Irish Spring. His beard was probably scented with motor oil and probably had remnants of last night’s chili in it.
But you vegan nancyboys are a different breed altogether. You have your mountain man scruff, but you maintain it. You groom it. With products. A quick Google search of “beard grooming products” turns up literally thousands of articles explaining how to have the most lustrous beard possible. Take this one from Philadelphia Magazine, where they tested 20 DIFFERENT VARIETIES of beard oil. The result of this intrepid testing?
“I’m talking softer, more manageable whiskers that hold their shape better and smell nice, besides. Doesn’t sound so bad put that way, does it?”
Yes. Yes it does, you GIANT PUSSY. Am I reading Cosmo? What the f*** is going on here? Betty White has bigger balls than you. Look, I know I sound harsh, but I’m actually trying to rein myself in. A beard is meant to keep your face warm! Seriously, that’s it. You guys had your warm beards so you could go out and hunt us food, and we had our boobies with warm milk to feed the young’uns. That’s why I love beards. It is a natural, physiological response. I want a man who can keep me safe. How did it all get so twisted?
I don’t want to go back to Cro-Magnon days. I’m glad we have more gender equality and I like not having to worry about being eaten by larger creatures. But I am calling for a moratorium on the hipster beard. I demand that you reach for a razor if any of the following are true:
• Your beard is accompanied by a bowtie or horn-rimmed eyeglasses. Why on Earth do you want to look like Sigmund Freud? At least he could blame this strange look on his massive cocaine problem. Sometimes a cigar is just a douchebag.
• You grew a beard to be “ironic.” But you don’t exactly understand what “ironic” means, or why having a beard would be ironic if you did.
• You take time off from your entry-level graphic design job only to attend South by Southwest, take your French Bulldog to the vet or lie on your futon and weep.
• You do not know what an Allen wrench is, but can explain, in detail, the difference between a macchiato and an Americano.
• There is an existing Instagram photo of you wearing a knit beanie and chewing on a stalk of wheat.
How’d you do, boys? Better go get your moisturizing shave gel. It’s time to stop playing at being a man. But don’t throw all those perfectly good whiskers in the trash. Give them to your upcycling, DIY girlfriend and let her decoupage some photo frames, or something. But please, just get rid of it. Another trend will soon come along to occupy your technology-addled attention span. And me? I have some beard-ogling to get back to. Thanks in advance.
Nicki Daniels is a 37-year-old mother, bartender and all-around Good Time Sally living the sweet life in scenic Latonia, Kentucky. She has a buddingly awesome two-year-old daughter, Sadie, and a kickass husband,
Ryan GoslingJoe. Also, two dogs named Bruce and Penny. She enjoys absurdity, pop culture and snack foods. (Look at me, being all shady, writing about myself.) If you’d like to reach my privates, ahem reach me privately, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org” target=”_blank”>email@example.com The Nicki Daniels Interview, nickidaniels.com
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