by Rob Perez
Columnist

Early this summer we were in the woods, enjoying nature and the like. Hiking, swimming, exploring. And when the goal is to connect with nature, that’s an excuse to not shave. You know, because it’s grizzly. Which is why, when you’re in the woods, I think the goal is to look as much like a bear as possible.

But at the end of the week, The Wife looked at my mug and said, “I want you to keep the mustache.”

My answer was swift and unequivocal. No. Hard no. I’ve done this before. Twice, in fact. At The Wife’s behest. And I didn’t like it. At all. I didn’t like it aesthetically. I didn’t like it physically. I’m not sure I liked it morally. I mean, where are we in the world if a man’s face is not his own? So no. Absolutely not.

There was a simple rebuttal. There was an implication that the new look might improve marital relations.

Joseph Campbell describes three stages of the hero’s journey: the call to adventure (The Wife asks for a mustache), the refusal of the call (I said no.), and the crossing of the threshold (TBD). This is where I stood. Where a man must decide who he is, what he stands for.

And then I thought, oh, what the hell? It’s just a face.

I showed up in my life sporting the new look and it went over big. It’s not that it was a universal success. Or failure. But the world at large had an opinion. Movember already? A man of mystery. Makes you look more Mexican. One person came from across a crowded restaurant and asked, “Are you from Algeria?” I am not, to my knowledge, from Algeria. But what this question really meant was that while the public could differ on whether this new look was good or bad (my fourteen-year-old told me he was embarrassed), there was no question I looked different.

But here’s what they don’t tell you about having a mustache. They’re made of hair. On your face. And so while the rest of my face is cool and comfortable, my upper lip is frequently clammy. And let me tell you, when something’s clammy, everyone loses. But why, man, why? The hair on top of my head doesn’t make my scalp clammy (unless I’m exercising), so why would the hair in front? It’s a mystery. A clammy one.

Then there’s the grooming. I’ve spent a lot of time unproductively. Time I will perhaps one day look back on and think, boy, what I could have done instead.

So I endured this look for a summer. The highlights were rare, but not nonexistent. I already mentioned the Algerian incident. Then, a recent trip to Nashville put me in a cowboy hat at a honky-tonk. The mustache added a little something here, I think. But I negotiated an end date with The Wife. When the time came, I shaved the mug clean.