Red Beard
My current Shakespearean throwback guise is purely for my own entertainment. I don't actually care whether having this or that shaped beard enhances my appearance, or makes me look like an old git/unemployed college lecturer/cool musician/dodgy priest.
This morning's show was a distinct and bright red hair which I spotted as I peered into the mirror about three minutes after waking. These red 'heritage hairs' sprout only in such purity from my face, nowhere else. I am quite proud of them. After four months, I have mixed feelings about my beard. I grow a beard periodically, partly because I don't have to worry about shaving, and worrying about my appearance, partly because I enjoy the fun of having a new appearance which I can play with. Women buy shoes and handbags, men grow beards and moustaches. However once in place, the beard requires management, which completely destroys the time-saving part of not shaving. Instead of ignoring my appearance (good for the ego) I start to obsess about it (bad for the ego) - to the point where mid-TV show I will jump up to go look in the mirror to check exactly WHAT this particular hair is doing and whether it should be trimmed, or worse, plucked. When I pull a hair, I am ruthless almost to the point of minor self-harm. I have been known to make summary execution decisions on single hairs on the bus, and, gripped firmly between my guitarist's fingernails, dispatch them there and then. Strangers look oddly at me as I begin to sneeze unstoppably or produce disturbing facial wounds the extent of which is only revealed when I return home to look in the mirror. Not looking in the mirror doesn't work either, as I start to chew the hairs around my mouth, biting off the ends in a primitive, caveman-without-technology way. Then I suddenly realise I have been only chewing one side, so start to chew the other in order to balance it out. I particularly don't like the feeling that I have transformed into a krill-eating whale, with long straggling hair over my top lip catching food. Yet, I dislike this narcissism so much that I'm looking forward to shaving it all off in the near future. But then, I like stubble least of all. I need a reason to stay smooth, and that reason can only be one thing - kissing. Kissing is good, and much more interesting than the shape, colour or length of my facial hair. If I was kissing, I'd more than likely return to clean chops because sexy lips are unencumbered lips. Unless I find someone who is more interested in my beard than I am; which could be good, or it could be very bad indeed.