Allegory of a Mustache

Not sure how many lessons can be drawn from the life of a mustache, but hey, I was bored, all right? Writing this entertained me; hopefully its entertaining to read as well.

Allegory of a Mustache

It began with a few hairs slowly breaking through the epidermal walls—barely visible splotches of fibrous protein ripping apart an otherwise pristine upper lip. Soon other bursting follicles followed, and the hairs gained strength and blossomed. The result was every man’s dream: a mustache.

Promise surrounded ‘Stache’s early days, though with promise came uncertainty. A new venture in the owner’s life, it was hard to predict the likely outcome. Flashes of prior brilliance offered hope: a strong supporting performance in the facial arrangement “Golfing Goatee” and a smaller role in the critically acclaimed “Christmas Beard.” Yet small weaknesses worried those that evaluated it. A hairless patch showed itself just below the left nostril and the color tinted a bit towards red—both deemed negative characteristics.

Showing signs of promise, it was allowed to grow. By day 5 it had established itself as a true and capable mustache, gaining positive comments from those that specialize in such hair growth. By day 7, cops began glancing towards ‘Stache’s owner in a more friendly manner, even remarking that ‘Stache might have big days ahead.

‘Stache, spurred by the increased interest, displayed itself proudly, the well-maintained and youthful proteins glistening in the summer sun. It maintained big dreams, hoping that it might one day belong in the same class as the best of the best: Tom Selleck, Rollie Fingers, and Chuck Norris. He even entertained the notion of people soon driving miles just to catch a glimpse of him.

Suddenly, though, an unexpected change happened. As it grew fuller and more mature, the weaknesses became more visible. The small patch of empty space, once a minor blemish, grew more conspicuous and became exposed like a dent on a vintage Corvette.

Despite the glaring weakness, ‘Stache pressed on, hoping to overcome the deformity. It strove to grow fuller, but another setback suddenly occurred as the owner shaved: a painful nick to its lower left corner. ‘Stache, weakened but not beaten, vowed to continue, no longer dreaming of elite status, but still hoping for a long and fruitful existence.

Fierce competition surrounded him, and one day ‘Stache entered the bathroom only to see a dozen others gathered around a mirror. A small brush briskly combed each of their whiskers, and from this brush a mysterious substance entered.

“Here, try this,” the other ‘Staches tempted. “It will make you ten times darker. You’ll be even better than before.”

The other ‘staches turned full and black before his eyes, and indeed, they seemed remarkably better. The substance was magic and held the power to possibly make up for both the blemish and the unfortunate accident. But ‘Stache rebelled and quickly fled the room. He would either exist with only his natural epidermal-covering abilities or he wouldn’t exist at all.

‘Stache pressed on, attempting to wring every ounce of growth out of his follicles, operating under the constant pressure of an unknown fate. He knew that the owner’s patience would soon wear thin, and a critical juncture came each and every time the owner shaved.

The inevitability of the end grew near. One day soon, the hot steel of a razor would crisply cut through his fibers, and in one minute ‘Stache and all the hopes and dreams that he once held, would be gone forever. The facial hair universe would continue expanding without him, marking him for obscurity.