Mustache

He's saying "Ottoman-ist," trust me.

 Several years back, BE instructed me on the semiotics of the Turkish mustache. One sort of mustache means this, another means this. It explained why there were so few mustaches about. Guy were just unwilling to say what mustaches say here.

There's nothing more I can say about Hitler that hasn't already been said.

And then the AKP/Fettulahçı/religious guy mustache started to abound. It wasn't just the ties or the shirts or the un-calloused hands that told you it was a religious guy place. It was the mustache.

Way back when, I had a job at an English course called Interlang. Over the course of a year, they were slowly going out of business, and more and more often they weren't paying us on time, or in full. After awhile, they weren't paying us at all. I went for 3 months not getting paid, knowing my chances of getting paid were slightly better than the teachers who left town with promises that they would get paid. Pretty soon, it came to be known Interlang was about to be taken over by English Time, the local McSchool of English. For the two weeks preceding the buyout or takeover or whatever, I was in the director's and accoutant's office trying to squeeze whatever few lira I could get out of them, just enough for food and rent or whatever.

The accountant was slightly more honest than the director (also the owner), and then he quit turning up altogether. The owner/director kept assuring us we would get our money after Interlang was sold. And then it was sold. Overnight, the interior underwent some renovations with a lot of frosted glass and shiny bits and the owner had run off to San Francisco.

In the office were a bunch of busy-looking guys in pressed white shirts with those ties and the wispy mustaches that sang "Fetullahçı!" They briskly assured us there was no chance of getting our money and then more or less shooed us out of there.

Moral of the story 1: I still believe I'll get my $2,000.

Moral of the story 2: I knew exactly what those mustaches meant. Also I knew there was fuck-all chance of getting my money unless I whored myself to English time. No thanks. There were plenty of other places to whore myself, and I did.

There's no arguing with the mustache.

The things BE told me about Turkish mustaches are confirmed by this cartoon.

Cartoon shamelessly stolen from http://www.razblint.com/. She's brilliant. You should check her out.

Nonetheless, despite, or perhaps because of, the semiotics of the Turkish mustache, mustaches are suddenly all over the place, even on grown-up guys in jobs that are supposed to be "clean-shaven" by the old rules. By "old rules," I mean the rules from around a year a ago. Even some working class fellows are sporting "the Communist." Or maybe it's "the Nationalist."

I honestly don't care what your mustache is saying.

I admit there's quite a lot of blurring of the meaning of Istanbul mustaches. I also admit I go a bit weak at the knees and find myself unable to do much but dribble.



That's right. Turkish men are rocking the mustache. Or should I say "rawking?" These are guys who can grow a whole face of hair in 2 days, and change the style every 8 hours or so. When a Turkish man decides to grow a beard, it's done by then end of the week and he's already bored of trimming it. But the thing about the Turkish mustache is, when a Turkish fellow has a mustache, it still looks hot even after his 11am shadow has fully taken hold.

I've hated mustaches for a long time. To me, they represent the icky part of the 70s.

The cheesy.

 And the sleazy.

 Or they represent "hot, but hopelessly gay." By "hopeless," I mean, "hopeless for me."

Just fuck off already, please.

But I'm definitely coming around on the mustache thing. In spades.

I've noticed a resurgence of interesting facial hair or Portland hipsters the last few times I've been home. While I applaud the re-emergence of muttonchops in theory, in practice on a fair, ginger-gened, otherwise hairless fellow that needs 6 months to grow proper muttonchops... well, ew. Same goes for their patchy goatees and frail beards.

I wasn't the least bit impressed with any of the mustaches I saw on this last trip back to the States. Bringing back the mustache pleases me in theory, much like the attempts to bring back the hat and the pipe. But again, in practice, I'm kind of like, "You dick. Quit trying so hard."

I know. I'm a judgmental bastard.

Even this guy earns a few hawt points.

But the Turkish mustache. Damn. It's cool. And pretty bad-ass when done right.

Maybe I'm overly optimistic, but in addition to the hot-ness of the Turkish mustache, I'm also hoping those guys are quietly sporting a revolution of sorts. The semiotics haven't changed, after all.





Dear Turkish men,

Thanks for making my day a little brighter, every day.

Sincerely,
Stranger

Where do I sign up for your revolution? I wanna change the world.