It started innocently enough. My brother showed up in early March with a face full of gleaming white whiskers. He had stopped shaving in honor of the Covid pandemic. It seemed like a good idea at the time, so I stopped shaving too. But little did I know how long it’d last.
I’ve grown a beard every year since I turned 20. Though I could have easily started at 16, workplaces at that time were openly hostile to male whiskers. In my early years working at Kinney Shoes, Macy’s, and Sears, men were simply not allowed to have facial hair past the lip line. A porn ‘stache was okay, but nothing past that if you wanted a job.
In the ’70s only hippies and musicians could have a beard, and goatees were not at all fashionable. Corporate grooming guides were very specific: Women were expected to wear nylons and men had to shave. Period.
So when I gave two weeks’ notice at my job in the Sears warehouse, I stopped shaving. And every day, my foreman chided me about it. I agreed with his lame attempts at humor, saying, “Yes, John, I lost my razor.” But we both knew he could do nothing to stop my growth.
Up to the mountains I moved, to grow my beard and launch my skiing career. It only made sense to apply for a job at Heavenly Valley just up the hill from my new apartment in South Lake Tahoe and cash in on the free Employee Ski Pass.
Sign up for The Bold Italic newsletter to get the best of the Bay Area in your inbox every week.
I filled out their application and took a timed math test to see if I could function behind a cash register. Afterward, they ushered me into a conference room and made the big announcement. “You passed the test with flying colors, Mr. Boyd, and you are eligible for any job on the mountain.” Then they sat me down with the Employee Handbook and gave me a few minutes by myself to read through it and sign the statement on the last page. Then we would discuss which job I might want.
But we never got to that point. On the next to the last page was the Grooming Guide for Men. And there, in black and white, I was informed that Heavenly Valley would never allow me to stand out in a blizzard and wipe snow off of the ski lift for patrons at minimum wage so long as I wore a beard.
In my first adult act of defiance, I politely thanked them for the opportunity and then left with my whiskers intact.
A week later I had a warehouse job for a moving company that paid three times more and didn’t care about my “grooming.” They only cared if I could show up and do the heavy lifting. I could and I did until winter came in earnest. No way I was going to hurt myself moving pianos on ice without a health plan. I quit, moved to greener pastures, and went about going from a beginning skier to an intermediate one.
This would not be the last time I’d turn down a job because of my whiskers. But within a few decades, the entire working world changed. Tech workers showed up in jeans and T-shirts, and companies began to relax. Soon even the executive floor had men sporting closely trimmed beards. By the 2000s, very few white-collar teams didn’t have a pile of goatees on corporate chins.
Then, around 2010, the sporting world went nuts. Pro baseball, hockey, and football stars were growing humongous beards. Brian Wilson, three-time All-Star closer for the SF Giants, started the whole thing, followed by the likes of James Harden and Joe Thornton. Wilson’s branded “Fear the Beard” movement even came complete with a line of sportswear.
But I had never gone full ZZ Top or Duck Dynasty before. I would start growing around Halloween each fall and shave off a nicely trimmed beard by daylight saving time in March. Then I’d spend a day or two with a ridiculous Fu Manchu before slimming down to a tight goatee for the spring, then just a mustache for summer. Back to a goatee in the fall, and a full but trimmed beard by winter.
Every year. From age 20 to 62. ‘Stache, goatee, beard, and back to ‘stache. Every year with the seasons. Until this year.
On March 19, the day California Governor Gavin Newsom issued the coronavirus shelter-in-place order for the entire state, I stopped shaving. I figured it would be just ’til things reopened in June. But the reopening was short-lived, and now we are in an indefinite period of a raging pandemic. Everything is upside down. No one gives a damn if I shave or not. So not, it has been, and it will remain.
Until this thing is in our rear-view mirror and a vaccine is available, I will not shave. It’s been eight months and an amazing, unfettered thing is loose on my face. It’s thick and lush, with just enough pepper to balance out the whiteness of my whiskers. I think it makes me look like the ancient Greeks: Socrates, Plato, or Aristotle. Or the sea gods Neptune or Poseidon. Hey, they all have statues in museums, so why not look like them?
I’ve never had a beard so long and full, and may never again. And in a strange way, it’s helping me deal with all the uncertainty and economic stress of our time. It’s my daily reminder that life, as we knew it, just cannot be. At least for now. And these weird times may last for a while.
I’m finally allowing my face to do what it is naturally meant to do: grow thick, wiry whiskers. Like Noah and Moses and all the other biblical greats. Maybe all men should go natural like this. And maybe one day I’ll look back at the pictures of this ridiculous beard and fondly reminisce over the pandemic year (or years).
It could be a positive sign of growth. A daily reminder that we must not take important things for granted and that we must change our behavior to survive. Because as Gavin Newsom put it in his March 19 press conference, “We are our behaviors.”
So for now, until there’s a damn good reason, I will reflect my body’s natural behaviors. I will let this beard grow for a whole year if necessary, and let my friends keep calling me Santa Claus or Papa Smurf.
They seem to like it. And so do I. For now…
#StayHome #StaySafe #GrowYourBeard
Sign up for The Bold Italic newsletter to get the best of the Bay Area in your inbox every week.