I do remember seeing my first mustache that sparked something inside me. It was 2002, and I was 16. Sitting in a dark theater watching "Gangs of New York", I could barely keep myself from jumping out of my seat and licking the screen. But it wasn't until years later that I could put my finger on exactly what it was that I found so irresistible. It wasn't the glass eye that he taps his knife on. It couldn't be the greasy hair, the willingness to kill in cold blood that could draw a young girl in in such a way. Oh Bill the Butcher, if only you were real.
No. It was the stache. Thick, black, and perfect. To think of it now is to think of a youthful crush that one will never forget. God damn. It's just SO FUCKING HOT.
Nowadays mustaches and the women that love them have become quite the trend. I recall that relatively recently a mustache was something special, something rare. You had to search for the kind of person that could really respect and admire a good mustache and all that went into it. Now they are all the rage, and just like Hello Kitty, tu-tu's, flannel shirts and every other trendy fave before it, "everyone is doing it." Stick on staches, mustache emblazoned T-shirts, plugs, septum rings for a glass stache--the country's obsession can be fueled by more and more merchandise.
These people, they are not true fans, lovers, etc. Mustaches are cool right now, they are "in", they are "hip". When everyone loves a mustache, no one can truly love a mustache. It's only a matter of time. What is popular will always quickly fade and burn-out, making way for something new to take-over.
Me? I am just biding my time. Waiting until like every craze before it, the masses lose interest. Then the true mustache fetishists will regain our footing, take back our turf, and rise again.
I leave you with this, still my favorite stache, still does it for me...every...time.
