Sunday, 17 January 2016

My Naked Face.

It was inevitable that I’d briefly experiment with a tache when I shaved off my beard this morning.

I looked like a gimp, as you’d expect. Thankfully, no-one saw me, as I was alone in the bathroom at the time (a place where I seldom have an audience). I hadn’t intended to remove the beard at first, just tidy it up, until intrigue got the better of me; after a while, you start to wonder what’s lurking beneath. In my case, it was just my face, which was grimly predictable.

I’m could never pull off a moustache (not literally), even as a Movember-inspired novelty; I just don’t get the below-nose coverage. Not that they’re a good look, unless you’re Selleck, Boycie or a Pepper-era Lennon. That's the only lip-warmer I’d flirt with, if Rufus Hound hadn’t got there first. In fact, I tried it today. I’ll let you into a secret: it looked shit.

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