For Yale studs, facial hair is a privilege—not a right

By Simon Apter

There is, quite frankly, a facial hair boom in the United States. From mustaches to mutton-chops, beards to blades, this country has entered a new era of hairiness. Unfortunately, many have chosen to abuse their ability to grow facial hair. Some students at Yale feel it is their right and their duty to create a different sideburn style every week. Deltas, devil-rays, and drumsticks appear on the same cheeks at regular seven-day intervals. Other students choose to let scruff grow with reckless abandon, which may add years to their perceived ages but still causes one to question what business students have gluing rats to their faces.

I think this facial hair boom has gone far enough. The 1848 California gold rush petered out after 1853, and it is high time for a definitive facial hair style to emerge and put all of this unfortunate experimentation to rest. Facial hair is a privilege, not a right.

I place the blame for this facial hair boom squarely on the shoulders of Aaron Spelling, whose 1990 show Beverly Hills 90210 brought Luke Perry and Jason Priestly into the national spotlight. Each actor wore graceful side-burns and each character was a chick-magnet. As if to emphasize the liquid sexuality that Priestly's and Perry's sideburns exuded, Spelling included the character of David Silver, played by Brian Austin Green. Green had no facial hair, so naturally his Silver character was repeatedly spurned by females throughout the first season. Of course, as soon as Green came of age and became part of Priestly and Perry's 90210 crowd, he was never seen without some sort of scruff beneath his chin. Not surprisingly, this was about the time that Donna Martin (played by Tori Spelling) began to take notice of him. Spelling's 90210 is still a popular show today, consistently defeating Kevin Williamson's Dawson's Creek in the competitive 8 p.m., Wednesday night slot. True to form, previews of Dawson's third season show Dawson, Pacey, and Jack sporting nascent 'burns. Is it a coincidence that Katie Holmes' character, Joey, emerges from her asexual cocoon at precisely the same time Dawson shows signs of sideburn potential? I think not.

Combatting this aggressive, downy growth are people like myself. We are unable to sprout facial hair of any substantial length. We go weeks at a time without shaving, yet no one notices. We are forced to keep our Gillette Mach 3s clean and sharp in the hopes of more fruitful days in the future. In a discussion with a recently de-bearded friend, I voiced my disapproval at his ridiculous handlebar moustache. The garish 'stache seemed to mock my grizzly neck, the result of two weeks' work. I felt like the butt of an inside joke among the ranks of these moustached and sideburned elitists. Facial hair, I tell myself, is much like earning one's driver's license—my beard simply isn't of age yet. My body may be 19, but that hair-growth hormone is a little behind. Just as I watched my friends earn their driver's licenses and patiently awaited my turn during my sophomore year of high school, I now sit back while my friends sculpt and groom their beards and sideburns, waiting for my chin's time to sprout. It is unequivocally assumed that one must be mature, stable, and well-prepared to drive a vehicle; similarly, one must be mature, stable and well-prepared to wear facial hair.

On the first page of the Oregon Driver's Manual, Jan Curry, Deputy Director for Driver and Motor Vehicle Services, writes, "the grandeur of [Oregon's] roadways can be marred by the rude or illegal driving behavior of others, causing crashes, injuries, or even death." Well put, Ms. Curry. A man who uses his facial hair irresponsibly abuses his privilege. Rude facial hair behavior significantly mars my self-esteem and makes me question my merit and worth as a Yale student. When facial hair is mongrelized into the trained circus animal that many of Yale's finest sport on their cheeks and chins, it is the psychological equivalent of cutting someone off on the freeway. It slaps me in the face by making an ugly mockery of that for which I yearn.

So I plead to those lucky enough to enjoy 11 o'clock, two o'clock, or, mercifully, five o'clock shadow: act responsibly. Don't ruin my forthcoming joy with dead rats, grizzly rugs, or dirty smears. Wear your hair with pride. It is your duty, as torchbearers of facial hair in this country, to aggrandize, to colonize, to glamorize—to show just how beautiful chops, Van Dykes, or goatees can be.

Simon Apter is a sophomore in Trumbull.

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