Musings on Having a Beard

I guess I have had something of an itch lately -- to play with the notion of my own physical identity, with how I see myself, with how others see me, and how we both react. (Part of this has to do with my current obsession with short shorts, but that's another story for another time.) This kind of experience is part of the fabric of everyday reality for most. Whether it's clothing, make-up, tattoos or accessories, physical expressions of identity are common. But this is somewhat exotic for me; I don't count myself among the majority of people openly interested in actively crafting their outward image. I've never, ever felt even the slightest twinge to get anything pierced, or anything permanently written on my body. And while it would be naive to say that I don't dress and groom myself in a way that I find comfortable or cool or good, I'd say 90% of the time I just don't care.

It is this lack of caring that led to having a beard, which I guess I do right now. Isn't that funny: hair is one of the few things, if not the only thing about your physical appearance, that simply happens by not trying. You have to get dressed to wear clothes, you have to exercise to shape your body, you have to apply make-up to accentuate your features, but to grow hair, all you need to do is not cut it.

 

I'm writing this blog because yesterday, this subject reached something of a tipping point with me. Three people, in three completely different social contexts, went way out of their way to comment on my facial hair. I'm not just talking about someone saying, "Oh, growin' a beard, huh?" or "I like the beard, man." These were very interesting interactions.

#1. The "I Look Like Jesus" Comment

This observation deserves attention just because of the sheer number of times I've received it. Yesterday's specific example was a friend telling me, "Yeah, when you walked in the room and sat down, it felt like Jesus was watching." This is really interesting to me. Chew on this for a minute: Jesus is, without a doubt, the most famous person who has ever lived. He was so unique, so different from every other human being, that he's, well, he's Jesus. So how do you physically capture the image of Jesus? Show him walking on water? Lightning bolts coming out of his eyes? 20 feet tall? No. It's just some dude with a beard and long hair, smiling. Isn't that crazy?!

It goes back to what I was saying before about the whole lack-of-caring thing. My response to the "I Look Like Jesus" comment is this: contrary to our current culture of Mach 3's and electric shavers, to look like Jesus is simply the physical default position of being a human male. If all shaving and cutting paraphernalia vanished tomorrow, about a month from now, every human male in the world between the ages of 23 and 33 would look more or less like Jesus. I think it's such an interesting commentary on how small the minority must be of people who have not cut their hair, who have not shaved their face, that for someone to let the natural course of events happen looks unnatural. 

#2. The "Nobody Grows Facial Hair Like Dave Madden" Comment

This is a favorite of my friend David Tobey, who went to the trouble of interrupting my rehearsal yesterday to tell me how amazing I am at growing facial hair. Who knew? Must be all those facial hair growing supplements I've been taking.

#3. The "Long Stare...Is That Real?" Comment

This one was priceless. So I'm at the Barton Hills Market, a local convenience store run by some kind of foreigners, I dunno, maybe Indians? They're good people, if a little hard to understand sometimes. The guy working the register clearly did not have a confident grasp of the language, which probably added to the awkward flow of this conversation.

I was buying two Cokes and some mayo. This guy rings me up, and then just stops. Dead stops. Staring at my face, not saying a word. It was a long enough pause that I thought "maybe this guy is a narcoleptic, and he just fell asleep". I'm not being funny, I really thought that...this guy's glazed-over expression was so extreme. 

So he finally snaps out of it and just points and says, "Real?" Relieved that my cashier was not in fact dead, I say, "What?" Real, he persists, pointing to his own face. "The beard? No, it's not fake. Yes, it's real." Are you kidding me? Does my beard look fake? Why would I wear...no...why would anyone wear a fake beard around? My friend Brandon is standing behind me, and I turn to him with a can-you-believe-this-guy? I take my Coke, my mayo, and what little I can salvage of my dignity and leave.