The sound of falling water from a running tap, the crunch of the cream as it oozes out of the can, I tap the blade against the basin just like a conductor taps his baton to alert an orchestra. However this will not be a symphony of musical greatness. Perhaps Jackson Pollock would be pleased with how many whiskers chaotically scatter across the sink, beautifully contrasting against the white concavity turned canvas… but this really doesn’t require an artist’s hand. Just manly skill and emotion are involved here; and most guys don’t usually want these two things to mix.
OK, so, this is it; the moment of truth. Do I shave off and shelf this moustache under ‘charity only’ or do I now consider it apart of my indefinite look? For a split second my mind plays tricks on me and I think I hear a faint distant cry from the Sydney burb of ‘Punchy’ telling me to ‘Shelve it!’ I peer into the mirror and I imagine what my upper lip would look like without a mo. Of course, my face is covered in shaving foam and I’ve even managed to get some on my forehead making me look like a Mrs. Doubtfire-esque cup-cake face.
Like with most problems, I quickly start thinking of alternatives that would mean a re-styling rather than a complete transformation. Would it be more aesthetically pleasing if I simply shaved back the mo so I only have a thin strip of hair lining my lip like John Waters’?… ummmmmmm no… then people would be just like, mate, you look like John Waters.
Could I transform what I have into an Inspector Piroit or Salvador Dali cut or style? Hmm that wouldn’t be as hipster-chic as it sounds for the upcoming winter, plus I’m a few years off from being capable of growing a Dali.
I’m sure for thousands of men around the world on December first, this difficult decision has been more frustrating than falling subject to a pinch and a punch for the first day of the month. Surely it shouldn’t be this fucking hard to get rid of one’s crumb catcher? Is this love (is this love) that I'm feeling?
Based on the Facebook status updates I’ve read over Movember it seems that I'm not the only one falling victim to the sheer cunningness of the cookie-duster… or is this enthusiasm just linked to, what I like to call, ‘positive Mo-stalgia’? Don’t judge me on such an audacious coining just yet, dear reader. Let me give insight and brief history into my experience with the mo.
Let’s take ‘70s porn star’ as a negative stereotype that added to the stigma of the mo throughout the nineties and naughties. This was a popular image linked to the popular belief that all men who grow mo's should hang their heads in shame. It wasn't seen as part of the then-current fashionable norm and, for many traditionalist cynics who dished out this jibing, it still isn't. From my experience the mo has been seen as tragically low-brow or only reserved for those men who lived in a time capsule; men who never got the memo to shave it off after 1985. Perhaps the mo’s saturation in the 70s (in general) saw it as passé in subsequent decades? But I guess, like many has-been trends of the past, there has been enough time now for it to become ironic and trendy again .. and outside of the unclean image of 70s porn. I think it’s also safe to assume its resurgence in recent years within popular culture could definitely be linked to that of the Movember charity. Movember seeks to raise money and awareness of prostate & testicular cancer and other illnesses that affect men. All guys have to do is get their moustachio on for a month in November thus raising said money and awareness; this was the 1st year I finally took part.
Two weeks ago, after noticing my mo, a drunken Irishman quizzed me about the prevention techniques linked to prostate and testicular cancer. The basic point of my response was that he should regularly have his prostate and balls checked by a doctor at his age (a reasonable response given he looked like he was in his mid to late 30s). He then began to explain why such check-ups were not necessary for him, especially with his testicles. I asked why. His following words were gift wrapped with a pungent boozy stench made up of cigarettes and whiskey… so I’m hoping it was a matter of him being absolutely shit-faced, inhibition-free with no chance of a future memory of our conversation when he chose to inform me of the following. Apparently his balls were SO fucking tiny that he found trouble finding them even on a hot summer’s day… and that it would be pointless for a doctor to examine them for cancer. I chose the higher road and simply said that if there was any future change in the size of his microscopic balls he should seek the attention of a physician immediately (and perhaps lay of the 'roids?). Him and his mate gave me 20 quid in the end towards my mo, I said my awkward good-byes and started home. I smiled to myself as I crossed the road and the raised hairs from my upper mo tickled my nose. This was a mo-ment that cemented my attachment to my mo. This is part of my mo-stalgia, and now hopefully it will be apart of yours.
Mo’s are inherently linked to memories (whether they're yours, someone else's or the media's). These memories that are recounted are now not only linked to that of Tom Selleck and John Holmes – that dirty seediness is now overshadowed (or at least on par) with the present’s ‘positive mo-stalgia’ which includes Movember, Busy P and other hipster heroes. Heck, even the ladies are getting in on the action - did anyone see Mariah Carey in Precious? Jesus Christ, move over Burt Reynolds!
Of course the increasing threat of severe pash rash on an intimate evening with a man with a mo is a definite con, but this is but a small social set-back nowadays as the mo has found a new following and a new camaraderie among platonic groups of men. I live in a household with my bro and two other guys; we all grew a mo for Movember and it provided us with endless banter. This banter continues all year round among many men who decide to keep their mo’s regardless of the charitable period – living by the competitiveness of 'who can out-mo each other?' (I've an inkling the gay men reading this automatically associate homoeroticism with groups of men with moustaches... but c'mon, that will always be apart of our Mo-stalgia).
But once that charitable excuse is stripped from you at the end of Movember for a first timer, well you’re left standing like a bit of dickhead, aren’t you? It took me 2 days to succumb to the comments and looks of people before I caved in and made an excuse as to why I still had it. I said I was appearing in a weekend photo shoot for the charity and needed to wait until then to shave it off (complete fabrication). Thus D-day was set, the weekend came, I took some happy shots with my camera and gave my mo a good-bye party *sigh *. This was the last time froth from a long sip of beer could easily lather my Walrus Whiskers. No more easily obtained Belgium dips I'm afraid :(
So the end of the affair is here, my poised blade will soon fulfil its destiny and the world will be saved (trust me, this is more of a ‘red wire/blue wire’ situation than it sounds). And with a few swipes of my upper lip it becomes apparent that there is now no mo’ mo. I exhale and tell myself to breathe. My new cleanly shaven flesh seems naked and I feel venerable and exposed. The walk to the tube is going to be unpleasant knowing I now have no mo’ mo to share with the world. But this was to be expected and there is always next year for round 2. Who knows, I may even have the balls to keep it past December in 2012 and that Irishman may even have the balls to get his examined (if he can find them)... To the rest of you who’ve decided to keep their handlebars in 2011, I tilt my hat to you! Now just let me apply some paw-paw ointment for the impending pash-rash and I’ll meet you at the bar/sex swing ;)
