Let me reintroduce myself to those who are caught in the metrosexuality syndrome. I am, literally, an unshaved growth of hair on the upper lip. But that is such an apt definition of my predicament! Well, men have known me since they have wanted to take pride in the fact that they are men. I have crowned them by placing myself gracefully, in different designs (to suit their convenience and visual aspect) on their upper lip. I used to be the symbol of virility and male dominance in the society. But alas! Times have changed. And so have men. Just as I naturally try to spread my wings, exfoliate and look forward to live a prosperous life, I am damned.
I formed the basis of recognition in rank and regimen among the army men. And why not, they were the ones who were aware of my mighty impact on the fellow beings. And that is why they paralleled my style and variation with their hierarchy of ranks. The higher the rank the thicker and bushier I grew. At the highest ranks, I was even allowed to mate with my soul mate, the beard.
I formed the basis of recognition in rank and regimen among the army men. And why not, they were the ones who were aware of my mighty impact on the fellow beings. And that is why they paralleled my style and variation with their hierarchy of ranks. The higher the rank the thicker and bushier I grew. At the highest ranks, I was even allowed to mate with my soul mate, the beard.
My ‘stached’ look stimulated a surge of adrenalin amongst the fairer sex and turned their cheeks to pink. My old buddies, the top hat and the monocle accompanied me in movies and melodramas and when women sighed mistily upon seeing us on the silver screen, we were all smiles.
I journeyed along the path of manhood and allowed myself to act guinea pig to my enemy, the scissors. But still I obliged those who still had faith in me. I merrily surrendered to the changing patterns of my being and adapted to the same destination.
Please! Oh please! Allow me to fall into a reverie of the years long past…………
I was made narrower; areas past the corner of the mouth were shaved. My long points curved steeply upward. Then I was called Dalí, after my master Salvador Dalí.
To give me a dramatic look, my masters fashioned me into a Fu Manchu moustache. I bungee jumped from my original comfortable destination and remained in this awkward position until it gave me severe dizzying headaches.
But I got used to it, as I got a minor concession of holding the edge of the chin. But I didn’t fail to serve my masters who got personality enhancement and got promoted from simple cowboys to reckless, impulsive and dangerous ones. They fondly called me ‘Horseshoe’.
I have been through many ups and downs, again, literally. In this roller-coaster of style and fashion I got sick and tired. I grew thinner and thinner. But to see my masters enjoying my dismal existence too, gave me a sigh of relief. They Mouthbrow-ed me.
And duh! How can I forget my mascot! The one who took me around the world. I became synonymous with aggression and dictatorship!
But in the same guise I entertained millions as I Charlie-Chaplin-ed my way into the world of silent comedy. This time I was tagged ‘Toothbrish’.
Hey! Thanks friend for listening to my past and lending a shoulder of sympathy too. But it’ll be better if I get back my throne, the upper lip. I want to live again before I die and become extinct. I am a nature's bounty after all!
Every Lover's
Every Lover's
