I've always been intrigued by mustaches. Beards to a lesser extent. I can't really grow a beard, but I can sport a halfway decent mustache after 4 or 5 days of growth. It's not as thick or black as my dad's, but it's passable. See Yao Ming's for a quick comparison.
Mustaches were pretty popular when I traveled. In the US, beards and goatees are prevalent – especially in the South and among baseball and Nascar populations – but since the 70s, the moustache has gone the way of Burt Reynolds. I wonder why? In SE Asia, South Asia and the Middle East, they still grace the faces of most men.
Obviously, facial hair is tied to a sense of masculinity. And variations thereof is indicative of cultural norms. I assume that parts of the Third World still hold mustaches in high regard because popular culture from the West filters to them at a slower pace. It's a big presumption, but I wonder if there's a correlation between holding ideals of the US at their highest peak – in the 70s –and sporting an awesome 'stache.
In India, facial hair has always been a noble part of the warrior class. In Rajasthan, most men sport ginormous beards. I shudder at the thought of what their backs must look like. But in modern cities like Mumbai and Bangalore, most men just have a thick strip of black on their upper lip. They look very similar to the look on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City or Istanbul.
But then you go to Thailand and Malaysia, most men are clean shaven – whether from different ideas of masculinity or just genetics.
This site has a great intro into the history of mustaches, from the pre-Napoleonic feminism ideals to the post-war emphasis on the virile male.
To this day, mustaches present a weird dichotomy for me.
The first memories of my dad saw him sporting a thick mustache. I remember him playing with me in the middle of certain nights – while he crept home in the dark for fear of the secret police – and the thick bristles rubbing against my cheeks.
But also mustaches give me the willies – they bring persistent thoughts of cheap cologne, beer breath, tacky pants, bad jokes and the overwhelming need to break with the past.
Most weekends, I don't shave because deep down, I kind of like my splotchy facial hair. Come Monday morning, though, it's all shaved away.