***Watching James Harden in the playoffs has reminded me of a deep, dark secret I harbor: beard envy. Because of this, I’ve decided to revise and repost a piece explaining exactly why exquisitely bearded brothas make me so jealous.***
God blessed me with an abundance of gifts.
An abnormally large and egg shaped head that can be used as a weapon if I’m ever attacked by an ostrich. The ability to effortlessly create haikus using only different euphemisms for “vagina.” A voice that subtlety reminds people that I probably scored higher on the PSAT than they did. Spicy farts. Skin dark enough to scare White people at night, but not dark enough to dissuade them from asking me for directions during the day. Completely irrational athletic ability. A decidedly utilitarian smirk that makes Dominican women want to wrestle. A penis the exact same color as my eyes. A “Hmm. Maybe he can grow on me or something“-able face.
Yet, despite these gifts, I’m completely overcome with envy whenever I see a picture of Common or James Harden or Black Thought or even Flo Rida. Why? Well, those motherf*ckers can grow completely full beards, a task I dearly want to be able to accomplish.
Now, this isn’t to say that my beard game is completely in the toilet. As seen here, if the angle is right and the lighting is proper, I can fool people into thinking I have a laudable beard. (And I also take very contrived Linkedin profile pictures.) Basically, Paul Pierce I am not.
But, although I’d never want to pull one of those Rick Ross full-face beards, I’m completely disheartened by the fact that I’ll never even have the ability to do that; a realization that has occasionally induced Pope-ish lip-quivers, shower wall slides, and enough tears to fill a half gallon bowl of Cheerios.
Honestly, I couldn’t tell you why I envy the beard so much. Perhaps it’s because I enjoy food so much that I know I’d love scouring my beard for random scraps of bacon if I got hungry. Maybe I secretly wish I was a Blaxploitation star, using my beard of virility to save sassy women from jive turkeys, rampant pimps, and wack orgasms. And, well, maybe I just think I kind of look like a very handsome monkey when I’m completely clean-shaving, and a perpetually full beard will help me look less primate.
I do know, though, that although I don’t really believe it when old men say things like “You know, if you splash some urine on your face, it’ll make your beard grow fuller,” I don’t not believe if enough to never try it. (And by “never try it” I mean “not try it as soon as I’m done writing this“)
Anyway, can anyone relate to my beard envy? Are there any qualities or characteristics you always wished you had, but God obviously had other plans?