The curse of the lady moustache

The other day I had an effervescent interview with a journalist named Gary about the rise of men adopting a hipster Bushranger Beard. You can read it here, and I recommend it, actually, because there has been a tremendous inflation of men growing, pruning and shaping extraordinary facial hair in recent years, and it’s a good thing the music of Ray LaMontagne and The Fleet Foxes and Mumford and Sons is so moving and magical, because otherwise they might just be facing a riot of women, wound up and irritable with their boyfriend or husband’s trendy, folksy new face-carpet.

Some women, of course, love the beard. Especially those who dig manly men, and who really, really did not enjoy that OTT metrosexual bizzo a few years back, or more recently, the evolution of the dandy, and the widespread preening and gelling and fancy-ing up-ing that occurred with thanks to TV shows like Mad Men (oh, Don…) and the revival of The Great Gatsby. I quite enjoyed this new attention to grooming men were showing until I saw that Justin Bieber was doing it, and then I hated it. Can’t nobody make something uncool like that twerp.

But while obviously it’s only ever men that have facial hair, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s women who have facial hair. Like you, and like me. OH, COME ON. We’re all friends here! I saw you without your makeup last week for frying out loud!

Look, it’s called the Ladystache, and it’s perfectly normal. You more than likely have one, whether you choose to pay it any heed or not.

I noticed mine a few years back. I then went on happily as though I did not notice it, before catching my upper lip in some dreadful natural light situation, and realising that it was unfortunately not one of those, ‘If I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist,’ situations, like parking tickets and the time when I am running late.

It’s tiny, just a few little scruffs of hair above the corner of my lips (I’d make an excellent ring master if I grew it long) and is mostly unnoticeable, especially to me, who flat out refuses to notice it most of the time. But then sometimes, maybe three times in my life ever, when I am at the beautician, I request very elegantly that it be waxed also. It’s like the toes – I KNOW there are little hairs there, but I just also want to pretend there are not, and so I think that by ignoring them, I am winning. Yes, I realise this is ludicrous behaviour. I never handed in my Ludicrous Membership though, so it’s fine.

A lot of ladies wax their ladystaches, and some bleach them, and some have their whole faces threaded or laser-hair-removal-ed, so I think it’s fair to say that we women are aware that facial hair on a woman is probably not the most attractive thing in the world. (Especially when you then get pigmentation on your upper lip and it LOOKS like a full mou, which is totally unfair.)

But for some reason, some part of me suddenly becomes very rebellious when it comes to waxing a few, almost invisible hairs off my face. As though I’ve done EVERYTHING else to look my best up on that thing, from makeup to brow-tweezing and fruit-acid peels, and this is where I draw the G-damn line. As I said earlier, I realise this is stupid, it’s two seconds worth of waxing and isn’t a big deal. I think at the crux of it all, I’m in denial. Just like I am with my little tail.

Zoe is an author, columnist and porridge fan. Her books include the beauty bible Amazing Face, dating and relationship guide Textbook Romance, and three novels, Air Kisses, Playing The Field and The Younger Man. Find more info on her here, or supervise on her daily procrastination here and here.

Please understand that Zoë cannot respond to ALL your questions – but never fear, there are readers that are bound to know the answers, so don’t be afraid to ask.

Do you have a Ladystache?