A “no” to mo-ing

Why Will Tucker refused to take part in Movember…

The annual tradition of growing a moustache for the whole month of November, and being sponsored to do so under the auspices of ‘Movember’, is becoming increasingly popular. But like a child who claims they can’t do Games today because they’ve got a note from their mum, I think I have a reasonable excuse not to take part in the practice.

There is a whole other debate about whether the practice is discriminatory towards men who can’t grow facial hair (several of my friends and my brother fall into this category) or those who normally have facial hair due to their culture. Perhaps – but this is not the point I’m making here. Nor will I dwell on the fact that the event may be becoming less relevant given that some think we are reaching Peak Beard in the general cycle of facial fashion – Stephen Crabb recently became the first bearded Tory cabinet minister since 1905 (Labour have had no such qualms, with David Blunkett and Robin Cook both sporting chin and lip furniture).

No, the reason I didn’t partake in ‘Movember’ is the sort of thing psychologists love: it’s because of my father. I look quite a lot like my dad. In fact, more than quite a lot – we look very, very similar. In the 1980s, when he was in his 20s like I am now, he had a moustache. I must report that from the photos I’ve seen it looked absolutely dreadful.

the reason I didn’t partake in ‘Movember’ is the sort of thing psychologists love: it’s because of my father

Seriously. He looked like a cross between Super Mario and a Warsaw Pact athlete, or what would happen if a dark brown caterpillar got hopelessly lost in mid-80s Sheffield and refused to leave him alone. Given his penchant for jogging, he’s lucky the 118 118 adverts weren’t around then.

Have you ever heard of that programme ‘The Nazis: a Warning from History?’ Much like how we have the societal memory of World War II to guide our decision-making in the modern era, I have grainy pictures from thirty years ago of a time where people dressed entirely in denim and one man had the ‘nonplussed’ emoticon forever stuck on his face. Dad’s moustache is my own warning from history, though fortunately it went the same way as many other institutions by being scrapped during the Thatcher years. To paraphrase Mrs T, you mo if you want to. But this man’s not for mo-ing.