So the Great Red Beard Experiment of 2006 is just about 4 weeks in, and we have some preliminary results to report. I can say with some certainty that after one month, the beard is starting to look pretty good. Pictures are below. But before we ogle the pictures, let’s ogle my thoughts.
I have gone pretty much my entire life without a beard. Sure, I’ve had a scruffy goatee thing now and then, but for the most part my face has resembled a newborn baby’s soft and hairless behind. And I think in many ways, my personality has echoed that. I am generally a pretty easy going guy, friendly and smiley and relatively aggression-free.
But a funny thing has happened recently: I’ve become more aggressive. And not just a wee bit more aggressive, but Caveman aggressive. I can feel the adrenaline flowing through me, and yesterday I experienced such primal fury that I felt absolutely compelled to work it off in the gym (which I did, and it worked).
I’m trying to figure out why this is. Why would having more hair on my face make me more aggressive? For a moment I considered the possibility that the testosterone present in one’s body is dependent on the amount of facial hair one grows… but then I realized it’s probably the other way around, so I ditched that theory. Then I came up with something I think has a bit more merit:
Every day throughout my life, I have quickly glanced — okay, okay, longly gazed — at my reflection in the mirror. On most of these days, what I saw staring back was, yes, a newborn baby’s soft and hairless behind. A boy. But for the past few weeks, what I have seen staring back is a man, a caveman, a stranger, with an imposing red beard. And I think my subconscious has internalized that image. Instead of acting all sweet and cute and childlike, I have been acting more manly and aggressive.
Moreover, I don’t much care for change. So while I have been watching the steady progress of my beard with some small delight, the timid and curmudgeonly part of me has been concerned. Where has Matt gone? it wonders. Where is the boy? Who is this man staring back at me? He frightens me. I must run away!
But I can’t run away, because I’m stuck in this body, and so the various parts of my psyche have been fighting a battle of wills over the past few weeks, and yesterday it culminated in utter rage and a much needed trip to the basement gym.
A few other thoughts about the beard: It keeps me warmer in the cold. My Sweetie loves it. And this may be just an illusion, but I think people have been treating me differently with the beard, perhaps with a modicum more respect. Yeah, it might just be that I have been carrying myself more confidently with it, thus garnering a different response from people — or they may be treating me the same as always, and I just perceive it differently because I want to believe the beard is somehow good for me. But I think there’s something more to it… Friends have noted that, with the beard, I look more grown up, more lawyerly. Jim said it makes me look like a “scholar.” Gweepay said that if he didn’t know me and saw me sitting on the metro with my overcoat and beard, he would assume I was some sort of “grown-up businessman.” And Mark characterizes my look as that of a Scottish longshoreman.
So, without further adieu, I think it’s picture time!
Meet “Scholar.” This is how I generally look when I’m walking through the city, thinking about pressing issues like: How should the US react when safe and democratic elections in Palestine lead to the election of terrorist party intent on destroying Israel? When the Supreme Court tilts firmly to the right, will Roe v. Wade be overturned? and Should I order pizza or Chinese tonight?
Like my beard, this picture fuses childhood with manhood. Here my Sweetie and I pose with Billy, a teddy bear I have had for about twenty years. For a long time he was hidden in my parents’ basement, but on my last trip home I went downstairs and rescued him. I think we make a very happy family.
This is the Scottish longshoreman look mentioned above (Photoshopped for your viewing pleasure). It has been suggested that I learn to do a Scottish accent and walk around the city, telling people I’m lost, and asking them how to get to Glasgow.
My sister Katherine says I look like Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof. I think I look more like a high class Hobo. I plan to live in Dupont Circle and sport this look if the whole “law” thing falls through.
And feel free to leave your own captions in the comments!
