a.k.a. V.J.

There are beards and then there are beards. I’ve regularly worn a beard of the unprepossessing, neatly trimmed variety for the past decade or more. A few months ago, when the weather started getting cold, I decided to grow it out a bit. Why? For the same reason most men do anything with their facial hair — because we can.

Going into the experiment, I expected that after a few weeks, the novelty would wear off, or the maintenance would grow tiresome, and I’d go back to my usual short style. But as the thing filled out, I started to get positive comments. It achieved enthusiastic spousal approval — the make-or-break factor for any change in facial-hair status. Along the way, my new look got variously compared that of a Civil War general or an Old Testament prophet. Not what I was going for, but I weirdly dig both associations.

The fuller, longer beard took some getting used to but, ultimately, I came to like it. (I’d say it grew on me, but that that would be unpardonable.) It’s quickly become part of my public persona. I’ve been leaning into old-man status for a while now, and I feel like the fuller white beard has taken my codger factor to a new level. To wit: the frequency at which I’m being offered senior discounts at coffee shops has spiked in recent months.

As we approach the end of winter, I’ve been wondering how far into the warmer weather seasons the beard will/should stick around. I think the answer is: indefinitely. I’m going to keep it this way as long as comfort allows; and as long the discounted coffee keeps flowing.