Yesterday I wrote about beauty in the media and how we compare and contrast. I made a little footnote on Facebook that I still dig Zooey Deschanel’s peach fuzz ‘stache. It appeared that you did too. A lot. You freaky mo-fo’s.
Because of your fetish for the lady fuzz, I decided to write a post in honor of the female mustache. The womanly whiskers. The lip caterpillar. The Man Tickler. The Wo. The Frida. The Lady Grimley.
If you Google “Lady Mustache” or “Female Mustache” you don’t find a lot of appropriate photos (however, in that search you will find a picture of me as Freddie Mercury considered a facial hair “fail”), but you do find glossy magazine articles advising you on how to get rid of the pesky lip creature. Shave it, bleach it, wax it, rat trap it, stick your face in a boiling hot pot of water and scrape it off your face with a pumice rock. Everyone hatin’ on the lady ‘stache, but why?
Oh, because they’re fucking terrifying? Sure, I won’t argue with you there.