Martin Hooijmans | Lars de Ruyter
I never grew a beard.
As a child, I looked up so much to my dad. Actually, I still do. He was rough, and as much as it itched, his facial hair was nothing short of glorious. Every night, brushing my teeth, I would wish for a beard like his.
No such luck.
Closing in on thirty, the best I’ve accomplished is a bit of stubble. Apparently I inherited my mom’s genes. Some of my metrosexual co-workers envy me for it. Personally, I just feel left out. My friends started a Beard Club, based on a deal we made as children. They’re having a blast, looking like their dads. I even heard their old men join in sometimes.
This is important to me. In fact, it’s important enough that I’m blowing my savings on facial hair implants.