A woman shouldn’t be ashamed of shaving—her upper lip.
That’s right, it’s time for a Moustache Revolution.
I’m sure this revolution has been started before, by some hairy Betty in some by-gone era who had a few faithful Sallys offering timid support, but it looks like Betty tucked that Gilette away when the rest of her friends quit inviting her to bowling night.
But this hairy Betty is resurrecting the movement. Here’s what I would love to do. No—let the leader of the new moustache revolution be more honest than that—here’s what I love to do:
Shave my moustache.
There, I’ve said it. I know it’s a HUGE no-no. The whiskers! The masculinity of it! The financial ease of it! At least wax (at home or in the parlor)! At least do something hi-tech like electrolysis! At least bleach! But whatever you do, don’t shave! And be sure to do whatever you do discreetly and privately. Do not tell your girlfriends and do not let your children or partners see you.
But what are we afraid of? Looking (or feeling) a bit prickly? Being too much like men? Well, guess what? Maybe we are. Maybe even growing moustaches is an inherent link we need to admit we share with mankind.
Sure, it’s significant that we even demurely admit we grow them. It’s a step forward that women have the option to wax, electrocute, or bleach unwanted facial hair. But what a step it would be if we could just shave.
Think of the progress we could make! Shaving our moustaches—in front of our partners, our children, our friends—could do more to equalize women and men than any amount of pants-wearing, bra-burning, or corporate-ladder-climbing since Susan B. Anthony hoisted her first picket sign.
Of course, the ultimate step forward would be to proudly grow a moustache. Really—think of the fashion possibilities! Women could start their own Handlebar Clubs (Google it—you’ll see what I mean), cultivating the coveted “grass grin” or “splay press.” Hell, we could bring new meaning to their “bush puss.”
The possibilities are endless if we could just own our ‘staches. Unfortunately, though, telling someone you shave your moustache is like telling them you wear a jock strap.
But maybe it’s time one of us untucked our brass balls and took on the challenge. I know mine are knockin’.
Click, click, ladies. It’s time for a revolution.
