When did the moustache, that prideful patch, become an object of derision? It’s not simply the T-shirts that read “Guns Don’t Kill People: Men with Moustaches Do,” which, true though that may be, still derides our most masculine strip of fur, just like “moustache-ride” wisecracks. At some point, men retreated indoors, behind desks and neckties, and the facial hair that won the West with all the vigor of a locomotive’s cow catcher became a relic. Maybe we as a culture no longer have the patience to tend a proper Fu Manchu, the gall to rock a walrus, the confidence to sharpen a pencil moustache. Cops still know the moustache projects power, but politicians seem reluctant since a certain Nazi ran the toothbrush moustache into the damn ground. Where have you gone, Howard Taft? Today it’s the mulleted mobile-home set and skinny-jeans hipsters who have co-opted the ’staches that should rightfully... More >>>