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Nobody Warned Me That Aging Would Bring a Mustache
I consider myself pretty laid-back. Working from home means my go-to outfit is yoga pants with a few holes and oversized sweaters. When it’s time to dress up, it usually just means swapping in real pants and applying a bit of lipstick—maybe some mascara if I’m feeling fancy. My skin has been fortunate, so I generally skip foundation and blush altogether.
Hair? Not much of an issue for me. My shaving routine is pretty straightforward—I only tackle the lower parts of my legs and armpits a few times a week, particularly in the summer months. My eyebrows have always been thick, but I like them that way, and I’ve never dealt with a unibrow, sideburns, or a mustache. That is, until a couple of weeks ago when the hairs above my upper lip transformed from invisible to dark and noticeable, seemingly overnight.
What on earth happened? I turned 38 this winter, and suddenly I’ve become a gray hair magnet, with new strands emerging every time I pull my hair into a bun. And now, this mustache situation? I couldn’t help but wonder if the lost color from my scalp hair had somehow migrated to my lip. I know it doesn’t make sense, but neither does my sudden facial hair dilemma.
Back in my teenage years, I had a moment of panic when I thought I saw a mustache. Standing in my mother’s bathroom with one of those magnifying mirrors, I noticed the fine hairs and convinced myself they were a serious problem. So, I did something reckless—I grabbed my mom’s pink razor and tried to shave it off. Unfortunately, I ended up with a small cut and a lot of fear, which led to me abandoning the shave altogether.
For the next 25 years, I lived in blissful ignorance of any upper lip concerns. But now, the mustache was back, and I couldn’t shake it off. I figured I’d ignore it—maybe it was just a figment of my imagination. But the more I looked in the mirror and at photos, the more it haunted me. It was time to take action.
I swore I wouldn’t let a razor come near my face again, and waxing was out of the question (who wants darker hair?). So, I took a trip to the drugstore and picked up some “crème bleach” (what a fancy term!). I didn’t tell anyone, as the whole situation felt rather embarrassing, and I was completely unsure if the bleach would help or just make things worse—like a bright white mustache instead of a dark one.
That Saturday night, while my husband was at a family gathering and my kids were fast asleep, I decided to give it a go. As I mixed the bleach, it stung a little more than the instructions indicated, and I almost wimped out. But I pushed through, and when it was done, I was pleasantly surprised—it lightened the hair to a much more manageable shade without wrecking my skin.
When my husband returned, I excitedly shared my adventure. He was perplexed about why I felt the need to do anything at all, having not even noticed the mustache (note to self: men really can be oblivious). Now, I’ve noticed my upper lip skin is a tad darker too. Ever heard of melasma? Me neither, but apparently, there’s a cream for that, and I need to step up my sunblock game.
From what I gather, I’m not in the clear yet. Friends have warned me that the mustache may be just the start—next comes chin hair. Fantastic.
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Summary
Aging can bring unexpected changes, like surprising facial hair that no one warns you about. This lighthearted exploration of a mustache discovery highlights the ups and downs of getting older, from cosmetic challenges to the humorous experiences that come with them.