Week Twenty: January 11th

Laura, forever complicit in my bearding adventures (though probably because she fears people might accuse her of marrying a minor if I am not cloaked in hair) got me a beard and mustache trimmer for Christmas. Inspired by the acquisition of such a brilliant product, I present the "Just For Men."

Every time I visit the local pharmacy to acquire hair dye to turn my hair blonde (a summer ritual, thanks to my participation in Camp Kangazoo) I spy beard products bearing this name. Most of them feature close-up shots of beards dyed various colors, presumably to cover the graying of one's facial hair. Living, as I do, in the pseudo-ghetto, our shelves feature only products meant for non-Caucasian hair. (It's usually difficult to find blonde hair dye, leaving me to resort to the women's section. Hey, it's the same stuff!)

I am always struck by these products and cannot really imagine why I would want to dye my beard. As I have mentioned, most people already accuse me of dyeing my beard thanks to its red appearance once it grows out to a certain point. When I assure them I have not, and would not, dye my beard (well, maybe not) they ask what my real hair color is. Strange to everyone but me that I may retain somewhat youthful looks (well into my thirties) and that, though my hair is dark brown--my daughters insist it is black--my facial hair emerges as a Viking Red. (Now there's a color for Crayola and J Crew to tout!) If ever I had the fortitude to grow my hair out to braiding and pony-tail length, I could make a partially successful career as an extra in Viking-themed movies. Lord knows there is a calling for such things.

Regardless, the Just For Men products hock their revitalizing powers and often have close-ups of finely manicured beards such as the one I have captured in this photo. Maybe not as exciting as other entries, but just as finely manicured, and equally inexplicable as these products are to me.