This month I shall be joining the ranks of the Movember men – raising awareness for prostate cancer and, one would hope, helping in the cause of eradicating both that and all other forms of the disease.
And what better to do so than by growing your own ‘tache?
I’ve never sported a moustache before and, I’ll be honest, there’s a strong chance I won’t ever again. But, for the next 30 days I intend to follow in the proud footsteps of some of history’s finest purveyors of the lip broom.
Down the ages the moustache has always flirted with being fashionable. Indeed, I grew up in an era of moustachioed manliness. Burt Reynolds was as big a star as they came in the heady days of Smokey & The Bandit, his neat black tache and high pitched laugh an iconic part of the decade (that and some staggeringly tight fitting jeans). Then of course you had the footballers and rugby players, whether uncompromising tough guys like Graeme Souness or fleet-footed wingers such as Gerald Davies, the moustache was a badge of testosterone fuelled honour.
And then you had Magnum PI. Hawaiian Shirts, extremely provocative shorts, natty daps and a convertible Ferrari were nothing compared to the lustrous growth beneath his nostrils.
And so, despite my own personal reservations about looking a bit of a prat, not to mention the fact that my wife is a committed in her dislike of the tache, I have (with my wife’s consent due to the worthy cause) decided to take the plunge, to keep the Gillette in its holder and allow nature to have its merry way with the bit of skin between lip and nose.
For more about the cause and, if you can do so, to donate take a look at the movember website here.
I shall post some pics of the new fangled facial hair in due course.