Let’s Talk About Dating A Man With A Beard

Shutterstock / Eugenio Marongiu
Shutterstock / Eugenio Marongiu

I’ve dated two guys at once. They were the very best of friends.

I am talking about a man and his beard.

Like most hot-blooded women, I appreciate a healthy crop of facial hair, but this dude had a thang with his, defining a whole new breed of man: The Guy Who Is In Love With His Beard.

This man’s infatuation with his beard was so intense that I’m surprised he didn’t book a table for three when we went out. When he wasn’t combing it, he was talking about it, or taking selfies with it, or inciting other people to talk about it. Bearded bro threw out grooming tips out like confetti.

Like a grade school pissing contest, this man stood around with his fellow bearded man pretending to think non-beard-related thoughts as he lovingly stroked his chin pubes. They compared girth and growing rates and poked fun at those who were follicle-challenged.

Instead of talking shop, these boys talked beard. It was a fucking cult. They shared the trials and tribulations of mac and cheese sauce, compared wax prices and dropped names of barbers.

When a man boasting a bigger beard entered his vicinity, the guy would shrink in to the carpet with #BeardEnvy. When someone complimented him on his beard, his ears turned a shade of pink.

When we met someone new I’d ESP them, “DON’T MENTION THE FUCKING BEARD! SAVE YOURSELF!” That seldom worked so we’d descend into a half-hour conversation about his face.

I attempted to convey my indignation of a growing mass of hair coming between our union. He argued it was the same as having breasts.

Then I looked at his laptop – his search history peppered with beard-related articles, making me the first woman in history to shout, “Why can’t you Google porn LIKE A NORMAL GUY?”

What once was his beard obsession became quickly became mine. “Oh, he’s talking about IT again,” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve seen bigger and better,” I snipped during one of our arguments.

Every time he so much as touched his face, I’d recoil in horror. Get over yourself, I’d silently scream. Maybe you could do with a good shave, I laughed, delivering the final blow.

Finally, the beard and the man decided I had to go; there was no room for me in our relationship. TC mark

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