Dear Residents of Chapel Hill/Carrboro:
I once grew a mustache. I grew it as a joke, mind you, to creep out the fellow employees at Asbury Hills, the summer came where I worked. And I succeeded, because mustaches are fucking creepy. It's hard to find a mustache that doesn't look awful*.
And yet it's somehow acceptable around here for much of the male population to wear a mustache past the Crossroads of Humor, to the top of the Mountain of Detached Irony, where it makes its home in the Lean-To of Skeeve. Why is this okay? No matter how fucking cool you are, a mustache is still a mustache. It's still gross, it still collects food, it's still something that is really only easy to pull off if you're a cop, Lou Marini, or Ted Nugent (and c'mon, he's really pretty ridiculous).
It pains me to write this letter, not only because I feel that its message should go without saying, but also because I feel like maybe I'm somehow out of the loop. I understand that I'm not exactly "hip,"but am I that far detached from what is hip that I have almost no reference point for understanding why people do this mustache thing? Or are you the un-hip one, mustache boy?
No, you probably aren't.
I'm being unfair, I know. I'm just lashing out at you because I'm uncool. That said, mustaches are fucking gross, and if you insist on having one, please groom it, and keep it cleaned, because I hate mustaches even more when they look like a wire brush that got in a fight with some grimy couscous.
PS: Crazy long beards, fuzzy soul patches, Amish-style beards (which are characterized by their lack of mustache, actually), and beards that have been braided are all bad for different reasons, but still bad.
*-ly hilarious, sometimes.