Beards - pt. 3

As promised/threatened, time for partial-face beards.

The Lincoln.  An authentic Lincoln, requires sideburns connected with chin whiskers.  Cheeks may be partially, but not entirely shaven.  You won't find many of these outside Amish communities.  The good news: insofar as it works, the Lincoln's ok for older dudes.  In fact, it's only for older dudes.  The bad news: insofar as it works usually isn't all that far.   It shows, or so the non-Amish wearer may fancy, a certain individuality and a regard for history.  If done inappropriately, by someone under 50, let's say, it also shows an inability to face facts about one's individual face and/or a disregard for contemporary times.  The most promising non-Amish Lincoln hunting grounds are college campuses.  Philosophy, literature and physical sciences departments, specifically.  And no, physical sciences do not include athletics.

The PPM.  PPM stands for Peter, Paul and Mary.  Mary shouldn't count, but that's understood.  PPMs come in varying length and enjoy the widest spectrum of users.  Any age, any body type.  Unfortunatement, they are quite popular among groups that you probably don't wanna be associated with.  Like right wing, ignorant, tea party assholes.  Like right wing, ignorant Rush Limbaugh dittoheads.  Like angry, anti-government, gun toting ignorami.  Like neo-Nazis.  But they're also popular with normal people.  Generally, the idiot fringe who choose PPMs tend to wear them clipped awfully close.  A lot closer than PP&M ever did.  Well, a lot closer than P and P.

The goatee avec barbet/soul patch.  Like the PPM, but sans moustache.  For artsy types who don't wanna be taken for right wing idiots.  Advanced age not a problem.  Same for advanced girth.

The chin scraggle.  Take one of those cocktail hot dogs.  Slice it lengthwise twice, so you're left with a thin, flat strip from the middle.  Now paste it on your chin, making sure that some of it goes under said chin.  There ya' go!.  This is probably the hippest beard going.  That means you gotta be young; otherwise the look is glory days/trying too hard.  What makes the chin scraggle cool is that it's both minimalist and a representation of the wearer's interpretation of mimimalist.  That interpretation is played out in density, size, shape and over-chin/under chin ratio.  It's a scraggle, so too much density is no good.  If you see a dense chin scraggle, you may assume that the wearer doesn't really understand.  Sorta like reading about sex when you're twelve.  Or a priest.  So it's mainly about the other three elements.  (Wait a minute, forget what I said about priests.)  Size won't tell you much, other than you don't want it too big.  It's not a goatee.  And because it's a scraggle, the shape isn't terribly important, as long as it comes across somewhere more shaped than totally random but less shaped than topiary.  In other words, roughly symmetrical.  But over-chin/under-chin ratio (oc:uc) is signficant.  Tending toward a high oc:uc is common.  As such, it's less hip than a low ratio.  Generally, something under 1:1 is good.  The smaller the ratio, the hipper you probably are.  Just make sure you keep something above the chin line and don't let it get too far down the underside.

The turtleneck (or neck beard, if you prefer).  The t-neck means nothing above the jawline.  This is for two - and only two - types of dudes.  First, young, thin and European.  It tends to give them a hungry, vulturish look.  And I don't mean that in a good way.  The second type is older and stout.  What comes across is a certain vibe of prosperity.  Retired businessman/banker prosperity.  What also comes across is a look that says fur-covered storage area.  Different people will have different takes on what it is you're storing - nuts, diamonds, bon-bons, lice - but they'll all think you've got something up your neck.  Beware.

Now that my beard overview is as complete as it's going to get, what do you think?  Did you create pictures in your mind?  Did the pictures of the beards come with pictures of the wearers?  Did the pictures of the wearers come with associations?  Associations regarding the ages/body types I indicated?  And did those associations include character, lifestyle, and other non-distinct qualities?
I hope so.  And I suspect so.  And the reason I suspect so is stereotyping.

We're human.  (At least most of us are; I have to wonder about Ann Coulter.)  As humans, we are inferential, inductive creatures.  Try going a day without making an inference based on incomplete information about someone or something.  Try surviving without using inductive reasoning.  Cannot be done.  So I have not much sympathy when people whine about stereotyping.   Those complaints are nearly always lodged against unpleasant stereotypes - the avaricious Jew, the dumb blonde, the black criminal - but the argument is made against stereotypes in general.  Do we hear complaints against the positive stereotypes?  Hardly.  So argue against caricature or simplification, if  you like, but please don't call some representation you don't like a stereotype and expect to win your case simply on that assertion.  Having said all that, I understand how important it is to judge individuals individually.  Which means ignoring stereotypes.  Ignoring stereotypes is difficult.  It's probably a good deal more difficult if you can't admit to having and using them, so why not cop to that fact.  Then try.  Practice on beards.

Beards - pt. 2

It appears my enumeration of full-face beards was deficient, i.e., I fucked up.  Please add to the list the following one (or two, depending on your interpretation of "Julius Mirson").

The perpetual 3-day growth.  Just what it says, except it may be as few as 2 days for exceptionally heavy beards and as much as 5 for lightish ones that are relatively difficult to see.  For hipsters only, which means young and thin.  A p3-dg on homo rotundus is no longer an authentic p3-dg; it's just an indistinct growth on a slob.  The trick in a successful p3-dg, of course, is the perpetual part.  That's what electric clippers are for.  Regular use thereof produces - or is supposed to produce - a laissez-faire/not trying too hard look.  Not trying too hard takes a lot of work, but it's cool if you can pull it off.  In addition to incompatible body shape, there's a caveat that cannot be overemphasized: age.  If one's whiskers are white, trying the perpetual 3-day growth will result instead in, uhh, see below.

The Julius Mirson.  Julius Mirson was my maternal grandfather.  When I knew him, he was, to my eyes, always old.  As in white hair, insofar as he still had hair.  About once a month, my mother would haul my sister, Karen, and me to visit Nanny and Poppy.  (Nanny was Bertha.  She had a mole instead of a beard.  I'm not gonna talk about moles now, so say bye-bye to Bertha.)  They lived in a high-rise apartment building.  We'd take the elevator up, get off and proceed down a long, dimly lit hall.  By dimly lit, I mean the predominant color was murk.  Or silt.  In other words, there was no color that one could detect with the naked eye.  Except for the doors.  Those were a deep burgundy, with the unit numbers displayed on goldish plates beneath the peepholes.  Sounds?  Not a chance on those carpets.  We could have heard ourselves talk, I suppose, but I don't think we ever tried it.  We knew what awaited us.  But don't think we were sensorily deprived just because we could barely see and couldn't hear.  We could smell.  The most distinct memory of my trips down that hall was the smell.  Close, floral in a bad way, stale.  It seemed that the air itself had weight.  I believe it's possible that while one was in those halls, time stood still.  (Probably a great selling point if you're marketing to seniors.)  Okay, up to the door near the end (I think it was near the end, but, because of the murk/silt motif, who knows) of the hall and ring the bell.  What happened next never varied.  Julius Mirson (never my grandmother) would open the door.  Open necked, long-sleeve shirt, giving his turkey neck full play.  He'd bend down and clamp one hand on my head (I always got it first; don't know why), the other on my jaw.  He'd pull my face toward his, rasp out an "Ahhh, svitniss," and plant a slobbery kiss on my cheek.  And that's where the Julius Mirson beard comes in.  JM had a perpetual - as in always, as in every damn time - 3-day growth.   And as he'd slobberkiss me (try this on the back of your hand; you'll have it down in no time), he'd rub his p3-dg against my entire cheek.  It would glide (rather unpleasantly, but still glide) over the slobbered over part and scrape against the rest.  Then he'd do it to Karen.  Sorry, I don't remember what happened to my mom.  I was probably too traumatized to notice.  Looking back, I wonder how JM ever managed to keep it at a 3-day level.  No clippers for consumers back then.  Did he plan it that way, waiting for my mom to call to arrange things and start not shaving at d-day minus 3?  Did he have a medical condition that prevented his facial hair from growing beyond a 3-d length?  If he were to come back to life, I think that's what I'd want to find out first.  I'd kinda like to hear one more "Ahhh, svitniss," too.  (Bertha's equivalent, delivered at a barely audible pitch, was, "Hello, dollink."  I'm pretty sure they got the idea for the musical from her.)

B/t/w -  I have a daughter.  When she was little I'd threaten her with noogies, zetzes (index and middle fingers' second knucles applied in a pinch), and Julius Mirson kisses.  I shaved every day, but by evening I had enough hair to inflict mild scraping.  Slobber was always available.  And I loved saying, "Ahhh, svitniss," as I held her head.  It was all in good fun, of course, but now she lives on the east coast, 3000 miles away.  I wonder why.

Partial-face jobbies next time, for sure; my other grandfather died before I was born.

Books, beards, and beyond - pt. 1.

Aleksandar Hemon is interviewing for the position of Steve's Favorite Living Author.  He probably doesn't know that, but still.  Interviewing means I've got to read just about everything he writes, which in turn means I have to read his short stories.  Now, Hemon's come out with three books so far, only one of which is short stories.  Hardly an onerous task.  In fact, I'm only mentioning it so I can express my general low regard for ss's.  This is silly, of course.  But even when they're good, they generally just don't stick.  Not with me, at least.  Frankly, not with many people, as far as I can tell.  We who relish good fiction can all enjoy short pieces, but how many of us can come up with specific stories we've read once, maybe five or ten years ago, and remember them well enough to express why they touched us?  Not many, right?  Hence my low regard.  There are exceptions, of course.  Beginning with David Foster Wallace.   Girl With Curious Hair isn't only a wonderful introduction to his work, but the title piece is unforgettable.  Especially if you've ever done drugs.  And who but DFW could make a story out of a dictionary entry?  OK, maybe someone else could, but only Wallace thought of it and pulled it off.  (Datum Centurio in Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, if you're interested.)   I've dug lots of stories by Alice Munro, Ellen Gilchrist, and William Trevor, too.  Not that I remember any, except for Floating Bridge in Munro's Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage.

Which brings me to Hemon.  The Question of Bruno was published in 2000; it was his first book.   The themes of identity, dislocation, war and death that mark his subsequent novels are all there.  As are his  understated humor,  emotionally nuanced characters, and penchant for adjectives.  Blind Jozef Pronek & Dead Souls ranks among the best stories I've ever come across.  I've never ventured into lit crit, so forgive me my ignorance if I maintain that I read it as an exploration of displacement and an extended metaphor for death.  It's also grimly funny.  If you like it, you'll enjoy the rest of Hemon's work; if not, you're wrong.

I've also been thinking quite a bit about beards.  Shortly after I ventured down life without lanes (i.e., retirement), I grew a beard to accompany my vintage 1968 moustache and the barbet/soul patch I added shortly before I semi-retired in 2009.  We'll get to my present facial hair configuration and its place in the constellation of beards later.  For now, I'd observe that new FHCs and retirement seem to go together for lotsa guys. 

So what do I think of when I think about beards?  Classification, of course.  Just what you'd expect from an ex-librarian.   Let's first get my approach clear.  I don't count moustaches or soul patches as beards, but when accompanied by chin whiskers, they're part of the beard for purposes of classification.  Second, I'm not gonna include ethnic takes on/varieties of  beards.  Ditto for women with beards.  I claim no understanding of either realm.  And ethnic women's beards is, well, terra incognita.  So, when I describe a beard, picture it worn by a white male. 

Beards fall into two general categories, full-face and partial face.

Full-face:

The professional.  "Professional" doesn't refer to the beard's owner, but to the short, well-polished beard itself.  These beards are not grown, they're cultivated.  And one doesn't "cut" a professional beard.  One doesn't even trim it.  No, one grooms it.   Maintenance takes some time and rather more attention.  A  degree of pride and prosperity are hallmarks of its owner.   The professional beard is de rigeur for Oregon criminal defense attorneys.  They're also popular with economists, though not with those on the margins of opinion.  Middle age and up.

The professor.  Similar to the professional, but longer.  Similar to the sculpture (below), but shorter.   As its name suggests, it's a distinctively academic pursuit, though it will appeal to writers, too.  The professor has a relatively wide margin for error/inattention, thus the appeal to absent minded profs. Suitable for all ages.

The sculpture.  Longer than the professor, shorter than the mountain man.  The owner is generally lean and may well have an artistic background.  Performing arts, especially.  And let's not forget REI workers.  High maintenance required, but owners relish the chore.  Failure to attend to its upkeep results in a mountain man look; confusion among one's acquaintances (and audience) ensues.  The sculpture provides its owner with terrific opportunity to be creative.  Which parts long, which short?  How long is long?  Pointy or not?  It's really chin topiary.  Not a great look for beginners.

Mountain man.  Long, uneven, unkempt.  This is the beard for bikers.  Not much in the way of upkeep.  The owner should be of some size, and that goes for both height and girth.   The MM looks ridiculous on anyone under 30.  After that, age is irrelevant, as long as you're big.

Santa.  Think mountain man, but grey to white, rounded and even.  Hell, think Santa.  Upper middle age and beyond.  Please.

Hermit.  Like the mountain man, but without the upkeep.  In fact, any upkeep disqualifies a beard from this category.  And that includes washing.

I'll deal with partial-face jobbies in my next post.  And yes, there is point to this.