Beardism: A Sign Of The Apocalypse?

I grew my first beard in college. It was scruffy, I was scruffy, it was a scruffy time. Since then, there has almost always been some sort of hair on my face, even as the follicles up top were being vacated. There was a period of simple scraggle, when everything was longer and less well-tended than it needed to be. In those days, the only real grooming involved a rusty pair of sewing scissors that I took to the shrub on an irregular basis. Then came the era of the Van Dyke – often mistakenly referred to as a goatee – when I sometimes let the goatish chin whiskers grow long. Compensating for a weak chin, probably. More recently, as my gray hair has overtaken the red and brown, I’ve reverted to a close, simple trim, with exceedingly little attention paid to the neck and upper borders. I hate to shave/ Shawn Vestal , SR. More here.