I knew that this day was coming. I knew that, one fine day I would casually glance in the mirror and see it. There. Above my lip, a misplaced eyebrow. A sign of “the change”. Well, today is that day, my friends.
Maybe it was the sunlight streaming in through the small bathroom window that glinted, just-so, off of the nicely rowed, baby-black-hairs creating their conversation across my lip. Maybe it was a shadow there that caught my eye. Whatever it was, I now have a mustache. I have now crossed that invisible line from fertile nymph into wrinkled crone in an instant.
And, I’m cracking up about it. Why? Because my ego cannot stand the thought of sporting this soup strainer out in the real world; my ego cannot stand the thought that other people will see it while simultaneously knowing that I’m going to do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about it (except to accept it).
So, this is my plan: I’ll brush my mustache and cackle like a hag in my house. I will wear this mom-stache with pride, even bravado. I will stroke my stache thoughtfully while I think at my desk. I will name it (I name everything). I’m thinking “Furdinand” (get it? FURdinand?) Hahahahaha! I will wear this stache because my body made it and she must know that I need it.
So, for all of my sister-crones out there who think that a chickstache is not useful and to be controlled or removed, let me assure you, there are some real positives:
It’s natural. These things happen. As we age, our hormones lessen and change. Men lose hair and women gain it. But, this is perfect and right. We crones get to take out our revenge on the male of the species for their endless objectification, the near-constant and often unwelcome attention, the male bravado, the ego. We get to sport better hair than them and prove that we are still very much capable of doing what they can no longer do. (You all know that this is tongue-in-cheek, yes?)
It gives you a cloak of invisibility. As I have gone completely grey now and become much more hairy, fewer people look at me. And men? Almost never. What a relief! I no longer have to impress the people with whom I interact. I no longer have to seduce them with my wit, my humor, my sexiness. I get to rest now. The woman-stache is a huge signpost that indicates the beginning of the crone’s journey. We women can now stop looking outward and go inward, travel through the layers of the self on a much deeper level instead of concentrating on others and giving away much (or all) of our energy. The mustache frees us from the attention of others and affords us the time and space to go inside our souls.
It’s liberating. I no longer have total control over my appearance and no amount of essential oils or other healthy skin care products can hide the fact that I am middle-aged, liver-spotted, and hormone imbalanced; there is nothing that I can do about this but walk through the self, accepting all the way. I am liberated by this mustache because I can be even more authentic now. I can be more real. I can show the world what inner beauty looks like. I can let my soul do the talking. What sweet relief.
So, my new motto is: If it’s there, it’s there for a reason! And, if we women can’t grow it on our heads, let’s grow it on our faces! Let’s wear our crone signposts with pride. Let’s leave all of our hair out there and see how it triggers us, but more importantly, let’s celebrate every little hair for helping us do the work that we invited in this lifetime. I, for one, am going to celebrate this hair-lip of mine and laugh all the way to the grave. Now…where did I leave my comb?