Today’s men and women are bewilderingly well informed on matters of sex, relationships and fashion. But our sources are silent on the subject of character. Indeed, the very notion of character seems to have shifted from something everybody had, for better or worse, to a questionable distinction to be hushed-up wherever possible.
That is until the time of year when faces begin to sprout the first tell-tale signs of Movember. For every upper lip concealed, Movember reveals much about modern man, testing him in ways he is seldom tested in these times of peace and comfort.
Consider the trials awaiting the man who can only affect the merest wisp of growth upon his upper lip, or the man destined by fate to appear ridiculous in any moustache. Watch carefully, the way in which he endures his misfortune. And what might we say of the man who gives up, placing the pristinity of his upper lip above all things? Is such a man to be trusted?
For those men who persist (raising funds for men’s health) clues to their character can be seen in the moustaches they fashion. Compare the man who settles in early November on a simple style, which he maintains without fuss for the duration, with one who delights in bizarre experimentation. And what can tactfully be said of the narcissistic groomer, who just can’t leave the thing alone. Oh yes, November is a month for observation.
Movember ought to be considered a standard test for modern relationships. The master himself tackles this weighty issue in Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit:
…I saw, as I had foreseen would happen, that his gaze was riveted on the upper slopes of my mouth. It was a cold, disapproving gaze, such as a fastidious luncher who was not fond of caterpillars might have directed at one which he had discovered in his portion of salad, and I knew that the clash of wills for which I had been bracing myself was about to raise its ugly head.
Wodehouse cleverly employs the moustaches of Bertie Wooster and Stilton Cheeswright to symbolise the futility of struggling against a partner’s iron will. A man prepared to tailor his face to your specifications is barely man at all. Put the endearing little chap back where you found him, before his mother discovers he is missing.
During Movember, my advice to partners is to resist the urge to criticise. It is a time invest in careful observation, before it’s too late to turn back. I’ve spent ten years with a man whose chin I’ve never seen. Even now it lies waiting to be revealed, like Dorian Gray’s portrait.
Look to your Movember man for glimpses of character. Does the moustache become him, or overwhelm him? Is he enjoying the hair and attention? Or slinking in the shadows?
It’s not really about the moustache, after all. Character is everything. In Wodehouse’s world, a man can have a crooked face and a cauliflower ear, yet reign supreme. Just as it should be.
But the last words on the subject, I leave to Bertie and Jeeves.
‘You hurt and disappoint me, Jeeves,’ I said, sipping a couple of sips and getting suaver all the time. ‘I could understand your attitude if the object under advisement were something bushy and waxed at the ends like a sergeant-major’s, but it is merely the delicate wisp of vegetation with which David Niven has for years been winning the applause of millions. When you see David Niven on the screen, you don’t recoil in horror, do you?’
‘No, sir. His moustache is very becoming to Mr Niven.’
‘But mine isn’t to me?’