Much That Is Hidden

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I have sported facial hair of one style or another for close to half my years. The predominant sculpting has been a Van Dyke. There is debate about the difference between a Van Dyke and a goatee, and aside from the standard definition, most of us FH afficiandos would concur that the former is a fuller variation of the diminutive latter, a sort of combo ‘stache-chin beard à la:





There seems to be some debate about whether or not the mustache is connected to the beard in the Van Dyke, but to me that is just wasteful discourse in the light of more important matters at hand. On the other jaw a goatee, as noted, is just the whiskers on the chinny chin-chin, again displayed by real and fictional dudes alike, such as:





Again, time-wasting hair-splitters would whine endlessly about the distinction between a goatee and a soul patch, a debate for which I have little tolerance. I mean really, who is going to save your soul patch when we all know goatees go to hell? And with puns like that I probably deserve to be down there holding the door for you when you arrive.

In the midst of the usual Googling that accompanies any good blog post one can be confident to yield a result that will freak one out. This time it’s HERE. It seems some people are into collecting beards, and I now realize that I’ve been a bit careless on those early morning bike rides through the woods during turkey season.

In “A Brief History of the Goatee” John Sulak dug up some interesting factoids:

• The first goatee may have been worn by Satan. The devil's image is based on Pan, the ancient Greek half-man, half-goat deity. When early Christians began abolishing pagan religions and their gods, they needed someone to play the heavy. They chose Pan, a lover of music, dancing and sex. His flute was replaced by a pitchfork and he was transformed from the god of woods and pastures to the ruler of hell.

• During the last days of the French Empire in the mid-19th century, the “imperial” was worn by Napoleon III. Wax or pomade was used to bring chin whiskers to a sharp point.

• In America, imperials became popular with officers on both sides of the Civil War. The look remained in vogue after the war, thanks in part to Buffalo Bill Cody, who toured the country with his Wild West Show.

• In late 19th-century Paris, poets, painters, intellectuals and dropouts — collectively known as bohemians — lived together in poverty and rebellion. For them, the goatee was a symbol of their free-spirited nature.

• By the 1940s, America had its own bohemians, but trendy haircuts weren't their thing. After World War II, the stereotypical “beatnik” look — goatee and black beret — was copied from jazz musicians of the time.

In America the goatee disappeared for twentysome years from the late 1960s through the punk, disco and new wave ages. “Only a person who was completely cut off from popular culture would grow such a beard,” Mr. Sulak wrote in 1996, about the time that goatees were experiencing a resurgence.

And so we come around the circle back to me. I’ve worn a Van Dyke for at least 10 years now, and for the past several weeks I’ve been pausing before various mirrors and thinking that I’m not a Major League baseball player, I’m not into Civil War re-enactment and I just sold my pickup, so perhaps it’s time for a change.

When facial hair reconstruction is undertaken, no man can resist the frolic of the incremental removal. In my last adjustment from full beard to Van Dyke I sported some killer mutton chops for about three weeks. With a bit of pomade to slick back medium-long hair, I took great delight in my menacing look. This time around, thinking as a blogger I say, “Why should Jefe have all the fun?” So with that in mind I figure on starting a new trend (see Rich Cohen‘s interesting and hilarious experiment at VF.com), and thereby submit to you without further ado:


I figure a few days will be good to drive the wife batshit. Just kidding - she got the best of me by not even noticing it at first, and now it’s already been reduced to a chin style that can best be described as “The C. Everett Koop.” Of course I’m weirding out a bit on the bare lip sensation, testing it out on spouse lips, baby cheeks and doggie ears. This style will likely be reduced to a “Soul Strip,” that is, a removal of the bow and stern of the aforementioned watercraft. You know I’ll keep you posted.
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Labels: comedy, frolic, fun, me, Nothing about Yoko