NOTHING says “I’m a MAN” quite like facial hair. Whether it’s just a few days’ worth of stubble or a full rabbi’s beard, there’s a certain maturity, edge and – let’s face it – raw coolness about not shaving.
But what happens when it’s all about keeping a stiff – and hairy – upper lip. Is a mustache cool?
Much like the relative coolness of drinking and smoking, the answer to that question depends entirely on whom you ask.
For Burt Reynolds, obviously, there’s no greater enhancement to a guy’s face. According to a new book out this month, Reynolds owes his decades of stardom to having “the most recognizable mustache in pop culture history.”
The book’s authors, who played on Reynolds’ name when they called their masterpiece “The Book of Bert,” examine the greatest ‘stache wearers of our time-from Einstein to Disney, Hulk Hogan to Gandhi. New Yorkers can get a sense of these legendary men today, as the authors will be handing out fake mustaches in Manhattan to promote their book.
Like many a Williamsburg hipster before me, I wasn’t satisfied with a falsie, and recently went for the full mustache experience. After two weeks of not shaving, I stopped in at the Xac Anthony Salon, where owner Xavier Cruz took his straight razor to my scruff.
“It all depends on a guy’s face, whether or not he can handle a mustache,” said Cruz, as he neatly trimmed the hair to accentuate my “full lips.”
Determined to road test my freshly mustachioed visage, I hit a singles party on Orchard Street that night. Reactions were less than stellar. One girl asked if I was visiting from the Midwest, and a serious hottie named Angela told me straight out that I would have had more success hitting on her if I didn’t have a mustache.
Ouch! “The thing about a mustache is that it always garners a response,” explained Jason Kosmas, one of the mustache-sporting owners of Employees Only.
“Women either love it or they hate it.”
Apparently the upscale singles party didn’t attract the kind of woman that loves a good ‘stache. Among the edgier crowd at last weekend’s Bridge Art Fair, the hair on my upper lip felt more at home. I began to understand why mustachioed men invest so much of their identity in facial hair.
After co-founding the NYC Beard and Moustache Championships, comic Jon Friedman discovered that men with mustaches might be seeking to fill some void in their lives. “Our participants are generally people who, when they were younger, were always looking for a way to get attention,” said Friedman. “I’m not saying they were outcasts, but they were searching for a way to be in the spotlight. They found it through facial hair.”
My own facial hair was getting plenty of attention – just not the kind I’m generally after. Case in point: Rolling with my boys, we pulled up next to a carfull of serious cuties. My friends started waving from the front seats, and these girls broke out laughing and started waving right back. Then I rolled down the tinted backseat window where I was sitting, and flashed my own pearly whites.
The ladies’ reaction was instantaneous. Their eyes fixated on my mouth. Their smiles disappeared faster than you can say “mustache.” I could almost see the mental fireworks going off in their minds. “Psycho! Criminal! Pervert!” They drove off into the night without looking back. The fate of my ‘stache was further sealed during a Sunday visit to my 84-year-old Grandma Adele. As she put it, “The next time you come here, that s – – t had better be off your face.”