Conchita Wurst, You’re the Best

A few weeks ago I was at my desk, stroking my beard thoughtfully, when someone mentioned that beards were on their way out.

And I was fucking overjoyed.

Remember earlier when I mentioned I was at my desk stroking my beard?

Well that was a lie. What I was actually doing was stroking the seventeen wiry, gingerish hairs that sprout from fifteen different geographic locations on my face.

If I were to draw a picture of the scene, you could be forgiven for genuinely asking why I drew a picture of a scrotum with eyes, sitting at a desk scratching itself.

Yes, my inability to grow a beard is truly spectacular and, according my drawing, kind of R-rated.

The fact that I work in advertising, one of the most outspokenly pro-beard industries, only makes my plight all the more obvious. So when my (bearded) mate told me they were on their way out, I cast him a sad look, scratched the four hairs in my lower left face quadrant despairingly, and muttered something about the dream being over.

But inside, I was ecstatic.

Because, quite frankly, beards have been around for far too long. Longer than any single fashion trend should, really.

Entire infrastructure has been built around our disproportionate love of chin-fleece. A beard is no longer an accessory, but something to accessorise to. It seems beard-mania has become an epidemic. In fact, a recent headline on Buzzfeed shrieked, ‘MAN GETS STUPIDLY HOT AFTER GROWING BEARD!!!’

Ok, I get how facial hair can create strong jaw lines and accentuate bone structure and whatnot, but this thing covered at least two thirds of his face. It was, in all seriousness, a hairy burka. All you could see were two (admittedly brooding) eyes peering out. But somehow he had been transformed from average schmo into hairy Adonis.


Just the other day I overheard someone talking about this great online store that delivers beard milk RIGHT TO YOUR DOOR! They said it just like that. Emphasis on the efficacy of delivery, and complete nonchalance on the part about beard milk. Surely a trend has passed well and truly into the realms of parody when it requires something called beard milk.

If I sound slightly bitter, well, it’s because I am.

For years, I’ve been made to feel like Meatloaf standing on the front porch of the Fight Club house, being told I can’t come in because I’m too…Fucking…SMOOTH!

But now, it seems, the nightmare is over.

Across the country pale, timid chins are getting their first glimpse of sun in years.

Men are putting away their beard milk.

It’s the dawn of a smooth new era.

The guy on Buzzfeed will be devastated.

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