A Hairy Situation

(From the Janesville Messenger, 11-2-08)

The photo that runs next to this column doesn’t look like me.

In fact, except for a month or so during the summer, it hasn’t looked like me for a while. The clean-shaven appearance depicted here has been replaced with facial hair, in the form of a horseshoe moustache.

You are probably wondering what a horseshoe moustache is. Basically, it’s a moustache that extends from the corners of the lips down to the chin. It is so-named because it resembles an upside-down horseshoe. Most people mistakenly call it a Fu Manchu. I have also had people refer to it as a handlebar. I didn’t know which was correct, so I had to look it up to find out.

To prevent you from potential future embarrassment – after all, what could be a bigger social faux pas than wrongly identifying a moustache - both a Fu Manchu and a handlebar are moustaches where the ends are grown out long; the ends of the Fu droop down and the ends of the handlebar point up, like Rollie Fingers with his waxed tips.

Though it is not a common sight on me, facial hair hasn’t been a rarity, either. My driver’s license has a 2003 photo in which I look like a goateed criminal from a Quentin Tarantino film. At one time or another, I’ve had just about every facial hair combo imaginable, including a collegiate attempt at a Civil War general look with the moustache and sideburns connected.

What is rare – these days anyway - is when I grow it for my personal satisfaction. Generally, it means I have a part in a local theater production. Earlier this year, to play the role of George Bernard Shaw in the Janesville Performing Arts Center’s production of “The Frogs,” I had to sport a full beard. When my current shrubbery first appeared, several people assumed I was doing another play.

Truth be told, there really isn’t a reason. I came back from a summer backpacking trip in New Mexico with two weeks of growth and just decided to see how it looked if I shaved it this way.

You don’t see this style of moustache much these days, though my favorite baseball player, Robin Yount, still sports one. So did Joe Namath when he was the toast of New York, and John Lennon during the “Sgt. Pepper” era. Even though it’s not unusual, it’s still a bit on the edge.

Reactions to my new look have been pretty comical. Many people didn’t say a word when they first saw it – which I generally interpret as disapproval. Others have accused me of trying to look like a biker, or of being inspired by the cowboys I saw in New Mexico. A couple of my co-workers think it makes me look Mexican, and have nicknamed me “Carlos.”

The general consensus of my teenagers’ friends is “thumbs up.” However, I don’t score well among the demographic that consists of adult females with the last name of Lyke.

Not long after I returned from New Mexico, I did a presentation at my mother’s church. When my mother saw me walk in, she had this horrified look on her face. She immediately put her fingers in front of her face to draw a moustache. I knew exactly what she was telling me.

Of course, the superdelegate in this opinion poll is my wife. If she could hold me down and shave it off herself, she probably would. In fact, I’m surprised she hasn’t already tried it while I’m asleep. Maybe I shouldn’t be giving her ideas.

Now that the horseshoe has passed the two-month mark, she’s realized that this look – which she has dubbed “a hick from the ‘60s” - isn’t necessarily a passing fancy. We’ve had to come to an understanding that she’ll just have to accept my moustache, and I’ll just have to accept the fact that she won’t grow her hair to her waist. Not that I didn’t try striking that bargain, mind you.

If my new look survives into 2009 – and trust me, there is great pressure for it not to - it will probably be time to replace the photo that adorns this column. Until then, I recommend drawing on the moustache with a black Sharpie marker. If you do that, however...please don’t add horns.