Times staff writer Adam Tschorn stopped shaving in an effort to make some follicle friends at the 2009 World Beard and Moustache Championships for his Bearded & Tschorn column on the Image section’s All the Rage blog. It took him less than two hours to scrap the look. He models various facial hair styles along the way.
9:37 p.m. Sunday. After four solid months of hirsute solidarity with the beardsmen, and with the 2009 World Beard and Moustache Championships in Anchorage concluded, I find myself back in the hotel room ready to clear cut my facial forest.
9:50 p.m. The beards been thinned once with a rechargeable trimmer, and Ive shaved near the neck. Oddly, it doesnt look much different. With a little bit of shaping, it could be a Garibaldi-style full beard. I dub it the Meth Dealer.
10:02 p.m. Ah, there is a face underneath. The sink in the bathroom looks as if Ive skinned a possum, but Im now the proud owner of a goatee-style partial beard that I call the Manson.
10:30 p.m. My attempt at carving out the Musketeer resulted in me nicking my chin with the razor and using the trimmer made the ends of the mustache look like a poorly maintained hedge. On further reflection, it looks bulky enough to be something more like a Three Musketeers.
10:43 p.m. This doesnt exist as a category of facial hair anywhere on Earth (though under WBMC rules it would fall into the wide category of partial beard freestyle). Im pretty sure that if I were wearing this stache/soul patch combination in real life, Id also be wearing leather chaps.
10:59 p.m. My buddy Bill says that in this photo I look like a high school phys ed teacher, but to me this is a classic 70s-era porn mustache. Looking in the bathroom mirror I can practically hear the chicka-chicka-chicka kabow music and smell the Nivea.
11:03 p.m. Excited at the prospect of finishing, I trim a little too quickly, leaving an uneven short-throw stache that reminds me of Mario the Plumber from the Donkey Kong video game.
11:15 p.m. Mission accomplished. The entirety of my beard now is now making its way through the plumbing of the Westmark Hotel, and for the first time since Oct. 3, my face is completely bare. After this photo, I decamp to the Glacier Brewhouse across the street where one I’m promptly ignored by one of the bearded competitors Ive come to know. Only a few moments on the outside and Ive already suffered the sting of beardist prejudice.