an open letter to men with novelty facial hair

You know who you are.

You, with your ...

Ironic handlebar mustache. I know. You feel like poetry in motion while you lovingly wax and curl and fondle that facial beast like it's an exotic foster pet. And that makes me dislike you even more. 

And then there's you, with your ...

Beard that doesn't attach to anything. If you must wear a beard (and frankly I wish you wouldn't), do us all a favor and HANG THAT SHIT ON A MUSTACHE. Please. 

And you, precious man boy, with your ...

Downy peachfuzz. Is it a mustache? Is it dryer lint? Is it a few strands of pubic hair inexplicably gone rogue? I don't know. And that's a problem for me. If you can't grow a proper mustache, that is God's way of HANDING YOU A RAZOR. 

And YOU ...

Amish Beard Guy. There is one musician in Nashville who wears an Amish beard and Amish clothes, and for some reason (his mild disposition, his mad guitar chops?) he doesn't make me want to punch a baby goat. Having said that, let me also say THERE is ONE musician in Nashville who wears an Amish beard and Amish clothes, who doesn't make me want to punch a baby goat.

Sincerely.