The other day I was at school with a friend (summer lasts for eight more days, but we were taking photographs for a zine), and I decided to put on a mustache, using the windows of the school store as a mirror. The first time I wear it in that building needn't be an occasion for terrible anxiety. And it wasn't at all. In fact, I forgot I had it on. Then I went bicycling in the rain with another friend. Her mom eyed my smudged mustache and asked, "So, what's with the mustache?"
"Oh! Oh, it's, um, it's sort of an art project to make people think about gender and beauty."
"Well, it's kind of coming off."
Rain. Right.
We had people coming over for dinner, and I didn't realize that the rain had only sort of washed the mustache off. But, to their credit, they didn't say anything about the vague black smudges on my face.
If I go without the mustache for too long I start to chicken out. I'll have to put it on tomorrow and practice confident nonchalance. Summer only lasts for eight more days.
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Once in high school some guy made fun of my mustache. I threw water on his head. It felt good.
ReplyDeleteI shave or wax it most of the time now but I feel a little powerful when I let it grow.