bigotes, p.s.

this is my favorite beard from the throwdown.

(i'm sure you can guess why...)

bigotes, pt 1

as promised:

toward an anthropology of beards

whiskerino fieldnotes

Though the event officially began at 2pm, we pulled into the bowling alley parking lot around 2:30 and it was full. I immediately noticed a few license plates from Illinois, where I grew up, which drew my attention to where other cars may have come from. Most were from Tennessee, but I also noticed Georgia, Alabama, Colorado, and Missouri. We parked and walked into the AMC bowling alley, which was crowded with people, most of whom were men with beards. Tune, who had informed of the event and invited me along, went looking for one of his old college roommates who had flown in from Colorado for the event. This was actually quite beneficial for me, because it involved walking along the length of the 18-lane bowling alley, looking around. The vast majority of people were men, but there were a sizable number of women. I was caught off guard when two blond 5 year-old looking boys ran past me. We eventually found Tune’s friend Ben, and they stood around talking. This gave me the opportunity to survey the bowling alley a little more. Ben mentioned there were about 200 “beards” (men who had participated in the beard growing event) registered for the final “Throwdown.” This did not include wives, girlfriends, children, and friends of participants (like Tune and I), and overall, the bowling alley probably had about 300 people in it.

The bowling alley itself was near a highway that cuts through Nashville. It looked similar to most bowling alleys I’ve been to in both major cities like Chicago, and small towns. It had 18 lanes, a snack counter/bar, rental window, and few windows. Top 40 radio blared over the soundsystem. The carpet was swirls of bright red, blue, and purple punctuated by yellow stars. A line of video arcade games, pinball machines, and giant claw games lined the back wall. Separating the main walking area from the actual bowling lanes were racks of bowling balls, long tables with high stools, and a few steps down to the chairs and lanes.



At first my attention was drawn to the demographics of the attendees. Of the men over the age of 20 there, I noticed only one that did not have a full beard. He was clean shaven. Most men appeared to be in their 20s and 30s, with a few exceptions of about 3 men seeming to be in their late 40s or early 50s, sporting full bushy gray beards. Most of the attendees were also white. One black man, and one Asian man were present, and possibly many of the men appearing white to me may have identified with specific national or ethnic origins, but a cursory perusal of the race/ethnic make up of those present left one feeling the overwhelming majority were white. Most of the men, especially the younger ones, were wearing jeans, with t-shirts, plaid button down shirts, or hooded sweatshirts (and bowling shoes, of course). Notable exceptions were a few men in argyle sweaters, a few in business-like button down shirts, and one man in a three piece suit, and one wearing a t-shirt and kilt. From my observations, it looked like about 1/3 of the men were wearing glasses, usually of the thick plastic, or horn-rimmed type. One of the most widely varied appearances of the men was their hair. A good number of them had well-coiffed dos, that had been combed and styled. Some had shaggy but still somewhat short and uncombed hair. Others had very short haircuts (shorter than their beards). A few had shaved their heads bald. Some had longer hair tied back in a ponytail. A few also had hair that was long (at least shoulder length) and was rather messy, looking as if it wasn’t shampooed or brushed regularly.

Many men also wore small pins with pictures of beards on them. Most of them displayed the same picture that is something of an icon or logo for Whiskerino. It was explained to me that these were not meaningful designations within Whiskerino (I asked if they were awards), but were made by participants, and sold through the website. The website itself did not make money off of their sale, or directly participate in sales, but was merely the forum in which they are advertised, for the creators to sell.

The women, most of whom were of similar ages, and also white, wore jeans and sweaters, or t-shirts. Several of them wore glasses as well. Most had fairly long hair and were thin. One woman, wearing a dress, had a tattoo of the outline of the state of Mississippi on her upper arm.

Other than people and bowling balls, the most prevalent things in the bowling alley were cameras. Because this beard-growing community is centered around documenting the growth with photography (and often quite artistic photography), it was not surprising that so many cameras were present, but was readily visible. Camera types ranged widely, however. I noticed a number of film cameras, which now appear old fashioned. Many people had very nice, professional quality digital cameras with zoom lenses. Many others had small boxy digital cameras, but all were out, and in action. This actually comforted me greatly because I had hoped to take pictures, but wasn’t sure I could do so inconspicuously. However, I think I would have been more conspicuous had I not, given the circumstances.

At first, as Tune talked to Ben, I just listened. At the start of the conversation, Tune mentioned he and his beard felt so comfortable and at home with so many other beards around. Ben responded that it was nice to be in such a supportive community. He then involved me in the conversation, and explained how the group was really about fostering community, not competition. He mentioned one beard-grower who took Whiskerino seriously as a competition, and how he was generally disliked among the rest of the beards. Ben told me this man was “too concerned” with winning King Beard and would post disparaging comments on the pictures of people who beat him for King Beard. Ben said, “he needs to relax, he’s wound a little to tight.” He continued, saying you could ask people from all over who have never met him, who only know him from online, and also those who have known him for years and they’ll tell you they don’t trust him, and they don’t like him. This is because he’s not a positive influence on the community.

Ben introduced us to a few Scottish men who had flown in just for the Throwdown. He said they had posted a message on the website looking for someone to drive them to a local whiskey distillery. Ben had offered and when he learned they planned to take a taxi from the airport to their hotel, offered to just pick them up at the airport instead. It seemed they had quickly formed a friendship, and laughed about how ridiculous it was that they were looking for each other at the airport based solely on the fact that they all had beards.

Ben also mentioned during this initial conversation that he was thinking about growing a “yeard,” explained to me as a beard that is untrimmed for a year. He said he saw no reason not to. His work (as a photographer) doesn’t require him to be clean-shaven. Though its always something I try to pay attention to, this statement spoke directly to issues of socio-economic class. Though, undoubtedly there was a wide range of income and wealth among those present, this was also an event to which many people had to travel great distances, either by car or airplane, necessitating disposable income. As Ben’s comment brought up, often working in certain professions would constrain one’s ability to grow an untrimmed beard. Further, participation in the community necessitates both a camera and internet access. Though these are not necessarily huge constraints for middle-class men in the United States, it does eclipse participation of certain sectors of society, and may be unique to North Atlantic countries, where aside from particular cultural meanings associated with facial hair, most people have access to cameras and internet on a regular basis.

As someone often paying attention to gender dynamics, I inquired as to whether any women with or without visible facial hair had ever participated. Tune told me that no women had ever been involved to the extent that they had posted daily pictures of their faces, but many were registered to vote for King Beard and comment on pictures.

As the conversation with Ben wound down, Tune decided to go get a beer from the concession stand. I walked to the other end of the bowling alley with him, passing along the way, the “founder” of Whiskerino, Mackle, who seemed to be in some sort of serious conversation about logistics with another beard. Mackle seemed to be in his late thirties, and was dressed in horn rimmed glasses, a casual button down shirt, and jeans, with a thick reddish brown beard and short hair.

When we got to the bar, three women working the snack and beer counter were laughing hysterically. They had just run out of another keg of beer, and were having to switch over their taps. Tune told them he’d wait a few moments for them to finish, and pondered to me about how many kegs they had gone through so far. I thought I’d ask the women, but at that moment Tune recognized another friend, Davis and they began to talk.

Davis said he had earlier ordered “a beer” and they gave him a pitcher, so he poured us each a small clear plastic cup of Miller Light as he and Tune caught up on mutual friends. From the conversation I learned that they had originally met while both working at a radio station in college. It was through davis that Tune first learned of Whiskerino. Davis now lives in Brooklyn with his wife, who had not come, and is a web designer. Davis told Tune that six beards from New York had taken the same flight to Nashville and met up early at the airport. An older woman asked them as they boarded the plane if they were a band. This was met with a lot of laughter. But Davis admitted that it wasn’t a bad assumption. I think this speaks a lot to the cultural significance of beards. Though they are not uncommon, as I mentioned before, certain socio-economic, employment, and aesthetic circumstances must be present for a man to have an unkempt beard. And possible reasons several men with such beards might be traveling together are limited. There are particular cultural ideas of “creative” types as often have beards, and they are perceived as not taking extensive time grooming themselves. Musicians, often seen as lacking in discipline and having more “freedom” may be more closely associated with beards than other professions for young men, and would logically be traveling together. Of course, this is all conjecture on my part, but even as someone who is interested in facial hair on a somewhat academic level, I might make a similar assumption in that situation.

While speaking with Davis it was announced over the loudspeaker that a “Beer Drinking Competition” would begin shortly. All beards were encouraged to sign up at the bar. “If you like drinking beer, and can drink it quickly, and want to win more free beer for doing so, come sign up,” the voice said. After a short while, the competition began, and much cheering and photography was involved. I handed my camera to Tune who is much taller than I and hoped he would be able to get a good shot. I just watched the crowd react to the drinkers (who were far too surrounded by spectators to be visible anymore). There were a few rounds in the pyramid-style competition, and the final round ended in a seeming tie. The tie was resolved by even larger glasses being poured for the two finalists, and in that round one was decidedly faster. I couldn’t see who it was, and it was not announced, nor was the prize. But it seemed that the prize was not important, winning was simply about pride.

Later, I followed Tune back across the bowling alley to find Ben again. As we walked back I noticed a woman lining up several bowlers to take a picture of them all bowling at the same time. Further down a group of 5 guys danced overly-enthusiastically to Beyonce’s Single Ladies song. Near where Tune found Ben, there were several beards playing the Deer Hunter video game, which involved shooting small orange guns at the screen.

As Tune and Ben continued to talk I spoke with John, one of the Scottish men who Ben had been chauffeuring. He was wearing a bright orange Boise State t-shirt, which he explained to me someone had given him (though I didn’t catch some details of the story because of the combination of thick accent, loud music, and general talking in the bowling alley). Over this, he had a Scottish flag tied around his neck in the style of a cape. Ben told me that john had started the beard growing a day late, and so was not officially registered. Because the group requires posting a picture of the beard growing progress daily, he kept a tumblr account separately for his pictures. Eventually, Mackle incorporated him into the site, and he transferred his photos over.

It was planned that a group photo would be taken, but as it neared 5:00pm, it was announced they would meet later at a music club to take the picture (and see bands perform). I wasn’t able to attend this portion of the event, so I was disappointed that I wouldn’t get to see the picture orchestrated.

We said goodbye to Ben, who insisted on hugging me (though I didn’t protest), and walked outside. Everyone was still gathered outdoors in the unseasonably warm weather. Lots of people were taking pictures of each other, and one person had set up a professional looking camera on a tripod against the plain brown exterior wall of the bowling alley and was taking posed pictures of beards, both as individuals and in small groups.

tamil bigotes

toward an anthropology of (mustaches &) beards

In Tamilnadu, mustaches are virtual seals of masculinity. As far as I know, all Tamil men, except those in the acting profession, wear mustaches. This is not simply my perception. Mustaches stand in metonymically for men, just as earrings and a bindi worn on the forehead do for women.

-from Susan Seizer. 2003. Stigmas of the Tamil Stage. p 165

para todos mis homies, pasado, presente, y más allá

I’ve generally been lucky when it comes to death. I’ve had very few of those close to me die.

Both of my grandmothers went before I was born. One grandfather passed when I was 5 and still too young to really understand (or have developed much of a relationship with him). My other grandfather, Grandpa Joe, passed on when I was a senior in high school. I missed running the 4x800 in the state track meet for his funeral, and still occasionally am disappointed that the alternate will forever be the one whose name still appears on the list of school records. But it was important for me to be around for all those jokes about him building sidewalks in the sky.

During my first year in JC, a close friend from high school passed away. I guilt tripped myself for a few years that I hadn’t called him, as intended, earlier that month. Perhaps its just a convenient excuse that shuts people up, but I’ll never smoke a cigarette because of him. He was also the first death I cried over. It took me about 7 months for it to hit me, but one night, out of nowhere, I was packing up to leave my apartment for a new place. I came across the obituary my mother had sent me from the Heyworth Star. I immediately melted into a heap of hyperventilating sobs. He was the Abe Lincoln to my Sarah Josepha Hale in the 2nd grade play. In fifth grade, he made me seriously question color perception, in ways that I still find phenomenologically complex. He dreamed of going to Notre Dame to play football, but never tried out for the high school team. He never graduated, but was by far the smartest in our class. Our friendship came and went, but it was just two months before his untimely death that I felt like we got to know each other again. I smoked my one and only cigarette with him in the cold freeze of a snowy Midwestern December night, and then he made me promise him I’d never do it again.

Just under a year later I experienced my second emotionally trying loss. This time it was Dwight. We had all known it was coming, but it didn’t hurt any less. He was never officially my advisor, and I mean no disrespect to Helen, who was indeed wonderful herself, but he was the inspiration behind my senior thesis. Even now, in times of academic need, I think to myself, “What would Dwight do?” Be savvy. Be kind. Be creative. I want to be his legacy. I will forever list him in my acknowledgements. Just the mention of his name, or citation in something on gangs, Hmong, or death penalties, makes my throat close. But for him too, it took me months to cry. In fact, upon entering the chapel for his memorial celebration, I worried I wouldn’t be able to cry. But my god, when Soyini Madison started to speak, and I looked into A. Burr’s eyes, the tears streamed and would not stop.

And now, I find myself mourning the loss of someone I hardly knew, but loved in a way that is hard to describe. The daughter of one of my closest friends in this city gave her final “peace out” on Friday night. She had Retts, and as such we never had a conversation, at least in the traditional sense. But there was something about her presence that put everyone at ease. I imagine the sound of Jack Johnson’s voice will forever haunt me with the memory of her giggles. I haven’t cried yet. I don’t expect to for some time. But I know in the next 6-18 months it will catch me off guard. And I will melt into a pool or useless melancholy remembering her suffering. The jokes about her botox. Her birthday parties, and Make-a-Wish trip. The way she looked at me like I was crazy sometimes. And the awful pain she was in before leaving us for something better. Like Dwight, and perhaps more so, she was someone who was just wholly incapable of doing wrong. She was preserved as a perfect soul. And how do you account for all the pain she endured? She deserved none of it.

But maybe the real sorrow I feel is for her mother, who has single-handedly cared for her (ok, well with nurses’ help) for all her 13 years. Who hasn’t left DC for 2 years because its too hard to travel with her. Who makes it home by 11 every night to sleep next to her. Who has sacrificed early adulthood for her and now must learn to live without her.

If only more time had passed, I’d order her up deathbear, which I know normally she would find endlessly amusing. But the timing is off. Damn!

snowmageddon

yeah, its been kinda crazy around here, what with 40" of snow and all...

and so i give you....."masculinity & snow"

i've personally vascillated between venturing out and making snow angels and staying snuggly inside (going only so far as my porch while wrapped in a blanket. i have to say, i've had a lot of fun doing snowy activities this winter. ice skating, sledding, and now just sliding down snowy inclined sidewalks and making snow angels in more than a meter's worth of snow. though i did miss the city-wide snowball fights. and maybe it was just the raven's last drips of jack running through my system, but there was something so magical about falling backwards with absolutely no worry about how it would feel when i hit. and indeed the snow didn't disappoint. 36 inches is apparently enough to cushion a fall perfectly. then you make the snow angel. and then you ruin it spending 5 full minutes trying to get up. giant flake that cover you in white from head to toe and make best friends anonymous. watching from my window seeing drunks head dive into drifts as the walk home down the middle of the street. really, just the ability of cars, bikes (yes, bikes), and pedestrians to share the roads equally. oh, and no school for a week. it really is all quite perfect.

and some of the best news of all this is, i've actually been working on my comprehensive exam (with homemade apple cider)!

though, if this keeps evening flights from arriving at DCA, i'll be quite heartbroken...