Myk O'Connor, competitive beard grower and facial hair enthusiast, has a few rules for those he meets for the first time: first, no touching."You gotta ask first. I tell women: 'If you don't, I'll grab your breast.' That usually stops them." Second, never light his cigarette. And last but not least: "No ZZ Top references. Please."
Attendees stuck to his rules for the most part at last Saturday's New York City Beard Competition. Held at Club Europa, a run-down club-ish bar in Greenpoint, Brooklyn that gave off the vibe of Krakow's best discothèque circa 1987, the packed house of mostly hipsters and their ilk rowdily cheered the more than 50 competitors as they marched across the small stage.
To compete is not just to present your lovingly coiffed facial hair, but to also perform, to ham it up for the not-sober masses. You do whatever it takes to impress, be it dressing up as a Wild West gun-toter, elegantly bowing one's head to a few inches above the sticky bar floor, or manically jumping around stage after throwing a half-full can of beer into the audience (that guy didn't win).
Accompanied by Adam Realman, a Coney Island vaudevillian performer, Myk commanded the stage for the evening. He's president of the Gotham City Beard Alliance (GCBA) and a regular on the competitive facial hair series Whisker Wars on IFC. A beard contestant for three years running, he's become a common face on the circuit, despite not yet winning at Nationals. His natural ease and self-awareness ("What we do is somewhat ridiculous", he said) make him a spokesman of sorts for the community.
In its current iteration, the GBCA has a core group of a baker's dozen members, with four times that many who participate on a semi-regular basis. They travel the country and enter into competitions held by groups much like their own in virtually every major American city, hoping to earn trophies and bragging rights (there's not a whole lot of cash to be won in this sport) and to raise funds for non-profits – this particular evening's proceeds went to the breast cancer awareness group Keep A Breast.
Competitors entered into one of seven categories, loosely based around the guidelines of the internationally recognized World Beard & Moustache Championships: Full Natural (the most revered—just a beard measuring longer than eight inches from the bottom lip), Freestyle (a gussied-up sculpture of human hair; the court jester to the full-natural king) Partial Beard (not necessarily long; just an awesomely maintained strap of facial hair), 99% Beard (a mysteriously defined reference to Occupy Wall Street—timely!—and not much different from the partial category), the Fake (an opportunity for cute women to don facial hair), and Natural and Styled Moustache (neither of which get as much veneration as the beards, but which are no less impressive).
So what is the motivation to participate, to wear a hobby so publicly that it will inevitably be the first thing talked about with any given stranger? There were as many answers as there were competitors: Myk says that it's the most natural thing that a man can do. Neil Moherman, an Ohio-based Full Natural competitor, thinks that it's the best outward expression of his individuality. One moustache enthusiast expounded, "the best part about having a moustache is carrying the taste of a woman on you all day long. It's also the worst."
In the end, some dudes won plaques and grooming products, and others didn't. But as the crowds spilled onto the quiet Brooklyn street, passed the club kids waiting for Europa to revert back to its four-on-the-floor essence, one was most struck by the strength of the oddball yet devoted community that competitive beard growers have built. Oh, and also their scent. "Did you smell their beards when you get up close?" asked a fellow reporter. We did. It wasn't pretty.
Read More http://www.gq.com/style/blogs/the-gq-eye/2011/12/a-hairy-competition.html#ixzz1g4dUtsiV
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