Yesterday, I woke up with a giant beard.
I had ignored the signs — scratchy chin, raspy neck and flavours from last night’s dinner at breakfast.
But I put it all down to nervous excitement at the approach of my 69th birthday and entering the final quarter of the big game when you realise with a slap you’ve spent more time mucking around than the match has left to run.
Now, this wasn’t a part-time whiskery can’t-be-bothered-shaving-every-day amateur beard. This was an out-and-proud LGBITQ beard. For the unbearded, that’s a Loud Giant Beard Involving Thickness and Quality.
Anyway, I took myself off to a professional beard curator who said my beard and I were “rocking it”, which I found quite encouraging.
After some curating involving a small pair of scissors, a large gap-toothed comb and a spray of aromatic oil with a hint of California lemon and essence de parfum south sea coconut, I now feel quite comfortable with my giant beard. I can enter any public space in the full confidence that we are actually “rocking it”.
I had never considered myself a real beard man, but I now believe a well-curated facial carpet lends a man a certain dignity and commanding presence, particularly if the carpet is white and sports the sculptural lines of a 19th-century woodchopper or American Civil War general.
I’ve noticed people make way in crowded places such as train corridors and cafés for a man with a large beard.
Just last week, the fish shop owner greeted me with a cheery “Good morning, sir!” as I walked through his door. That’s what a good beard can do for you.
Similarly, my yoga teacher said, “You look very wise today, John”, which I took as another example of the power of the beard to alter the chakras of your surroundings.
I may be a scared little mouse frightened of power tools, dwindling superannuation, dementia and approaching oblivion, but I can face this with a beard because nobody can see my quivering mouth and concave chin.
When I enter a room, I can see people thinking, “Here’s a man who has lived a full life used to being in a position of command” — even if it’s just the command of a workshop full of elves at Christmas time.
I have no idea where this beard confidence has come from. My father and grandfather were moustache men, and my brothers were clean-shaven. Perhaps my granny had a beard — I don’t remember.
I do remember reading that the pharaohs wore false beards as a symbol of sovereignty and divine status. Even female pharaohs, such as Hatshepsut, wore false beards. The pharaohs knew a thing or two about respect and power, and they knew how to get it — with a beard.
I think Albo and Mr Dutton would do well to remember the power of a good beard, particularly when it comes to the meme and the cartoon. Instead of Harry Potter glasses or a potato — a beard would offer our two great leaders the dignity and command of an old sea dog or a Viking warrior.
But there are limits to what a good beard can do, and every man should know his limits. Clint Eastwood said that. And he knows how to wear a good beard.
John Lewis is a former journalist at The News.