The reason: not the season

I grew a beard again.

I don't think anybody likes the beard. I think this because people say things like, “Oh, you uh … you grew a beard, huh?” WHY YES HOW DID YOU KNOW. With no compliments to offer, they then search for reasons to justify the absurdity on my face, and more than one person has commented, “For winter, right?” to which I agree, in part because, why not—hair growth should be as seasonal as vegetables, which is why I braid my eyebrows each spring—and also because I enjoy the notion that hair on my face will serve its Darwinian purpose of keeping me warm during these upcoming months of winter 2017-2018 during which I mostly plan to be watching old seasons of no-longer-hip TV shows on streaming apps as opposed to chopping wood in a distant, snow-filled forest to provide heat for my family.

At the heart of the outside world’s confusion and possible disgust is likely the fact that I am 39 and my beard is noticeably grey. Almost all of it is grey. It is grey, basically. A completely grey beard. Why, they wonder, would I make a concerted effort to look 10 years older than I really am? It’s a good question.

I lied when I said nobody likes the beard. My wife likes the beard, and recommended the beard, and not for nothing, but hers is the only opinion that should matter. Eff the rest of ya’ll. So that’s a good reason. Then again, it’s possible this is a big drawn-out ruse in which she’s saying she likes the beard but when other people like my mother-in-law (probs) are approaching her on the side and saying, “What’s up with the grey-ass beard?” (classic mother-in-law), she’s simply shrugging her shoulders and blaming it on the children. Who knows, really.

Another potential reason is that what I’m sacrificing in aesthetics I maybe am making up for in masculinity? Being able to sprout ample amounts of body hair—rapidly and lushly—at any given moment since I was like 11 is pretty much my only characteristic that aligns with traditional perceptions of masculinity. I’m a vegetarian. I’m not even allowed to watch baseball anymore because my wife says the Viagra commercials are emotionally scarring the children. This is all I got.

Also, sometimes I just need something different, and is there anything more different than not having hair all over your face one day, and then like a week later having hair all over your face? What even IS that? Oh, you bought a new pair of pants? LOOK AT MY FACE. What a strange advantage/curse. I’d be a fool for not indulging from time to time.

But really, all that said, I’m confident I’ve settled on the ultimate reason for the beard, something as subconscious as it is strategic, a political statement for these days and times dominated by idiocy and the overwhelming fear it will all soon end. And that statement is this: I don’t give a shit.

That, and of course, winter. Winter is cold!