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My Beard: A Religious Thing I haven’t Figured Out Yet

Ever since I started getting small black hairs on the bottom of my chin, I’ve wanted to grow a beard.

No, I think it goes back further than that. I grew up around them, and I think it was only natural that I’d want to grow one out.

I think about it, now, and I don’t think I’ll ever be clean shaven for an extended period of time (see the last picture for a good reason). I really like having my face blanket, and I really like being instantly recognizable (which I figure will help when I actually need to be remembered).

I consider it a religious experience because God made me this way, and I feel like I’m somehow exalting him with all this fur on my face. Like Moses and Jesus and everyone else in the Bible.

Since I never actually started shaving, the beard just kind of filled in on my face and, now, together, we get to watch the growth of my security blanket.

Observe:

Coachella 2007 (playing pretend): I hadn’t shaved in weeks, and this was all I could grow. I still kept trying though, and I never did start shaving. At the time, it felt a lot thicker and manlier… Only upon looking back do I realize that I probably should’ve just kept shaving at this point.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Humboldt 2008 (nothin’ but neck): This is when it actually started growing. I had been growing it for eight months, and this was as thick and long as it had gotten. You can see that I still don’t really have hair on my cheeks or my lip; just a whole shit load on my neck.

 

 

Spring 2010: This was right before I graduated and was the longest it had been, ever. It’s still mostly neck, though, as my cheeks and the space between my mustache and my beard were the last few places to fill in.

 

 

 

 


This Morning: I now have a full, real beard, to the point that I get bed-beard: it’s just like bed-head, but on your face. I’ve been growing this one out since late April and, I gotta say, it’s been getting pretty big. For reference, I’ve been growing it out the same amount of time as I had in the Humboldt Picture. It’s getting to the point that I might actually trim it down, which is generally unheard of unless I absolutely have to. I might have to.

MewithoutBeard: Yea. Exactly. Whenever I shave, the weirdest, most condescending things happen. Like getting asked What High School I’m Going Into (I’m 24, motherfucker was my paraphrased response), and a lot more store clerks refer to me as sweetie, as if I’m some 15 year old out by himself for some reason on a Wednesday night.