Think you have a great beard and/or moustache?  Prove it!

My new friends at Misprint Magazine are hosting their fourth annual beard contest at The Mohawk in Austin, TX, on February 19, 2010.

I have been assured by the creators of Misprint that this thing has a huge awesomeness factor. Be forewarned, it is by no means a serious beard competition…. more like a reason to get together, have some drinks, hear some music, and be astounded by how many amazing beards there are out there.

I have a feeling this picture sums up the night pretty well.

Triumphant rejoicing? Check. PBR? Check. DJ with fuzzy animal ears? Mega-Check.

If you’ll have a beard by the 19th and can get to Austin by any means possible, you need to do this.

One of the toughest things to figure out about your new beard is where the borders should lie on your face.  If you set your neck line too high or your cheek line too low, you run the risk of turning your new look as a ruggedly handsome rennaissance man into that of someone who has no idea how a beard is shaped.  Don’t look like an oaf.  Follow my guidelines to get your beard in the ideal shape!

Seriously… why is that little dab of hair called a soul patch anyway?  I’ve just finished trying to research this and I can’t find any satifactory etymology of the phrase anywhere.  Here’s what I have been able to gather:

• “Soul Patch” was first included  in the Miriam Webster dictionary in 1991
• According to a source on the Wikipedia entry, jazz trumpeters of the 1950s and 1960s grew them for increased mouthpiece comfort.
• Also according to Wikipedia, Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, called the first soul patch he saw a “poor, frustrated beard.”

So my theory on the history of the soul patch goes like this.  It was the height of the 1950s jazz movement.  African-American jazz musicians were getting freaky and white counterculture ate it up.  They felt so cool and progressive hanging out at the club and grooving on the new sounds that were being made up on the spot.  In the midst of that jazz-induced euphoria, these kids noticed their idols wearing this little patch of hair under their bottom lip, not knowing what reason it served.  In an effort to be as cool as the cats on the stage, the guys that were caught up in the scene grew out a little patch to match… and the soul patch was introduced to the non-musicians of America.

That still doesn’t explain why it’s called a “soul” patch.  Soul music isn’t really an offspring of jazz.  Instead, it grew from African-American gospel crossed with rhythm-and-blues (R&B).  And while R&B and jazz can both claim the blues as a parent, it’s hard to detect any resemblance between the siblings.  An audible connection is even less present between soul music and its uncle jazz.  So, there’s just no soul in a soul patch.  I’m going to start calling it a “jazz patch.”  You should too.

Real soul music was made by guys with real beards.  Evidence:

Marvin Gaye?

Barry White?

Isaac Hayes?

There you have it.  There is simply no denying the soulfulness of the full beard.  You may think that little spot of hair under your lip gives you soul, but I’m pretty sure that the ladies aren’t feeling it.  You want to see a woman feel the effects of a full soul beard?  Play “Let’s Get It On” at your next house party.  I guarantee that at least one of the girls in attendance will swoon and start turning her mind toward certain things…

You want to look like you’re a lovin’ man?  Fill in the rest of your beard around that “poor, frustrated” jazz patch.

I recently received a nice gift in honor of the new year from a loyal member of the Beard Coach Army.  Kai “Longbeard” Cofer is a fantastic beard poet whose work appears on it’s very own page here.  He was nice enough to share these verses with me, and I felt compelled to pass them along to you.  Enjoy!

MY DAD’S LONG BEARD
When I was five, I asked my dad,
“Why do you shave your face?”
He said, “I do not know, my boy.
It does seem out of place.
I really don’t like shaving. It’s
Unnatural and weird.”
I said, “I’d like it very much
If you would grow a beard.”

At first it was all stubbly
But then it grew and grew.
At last it was a proper beard
After a month or two.
“Should I let it grow longer, son?
I’ll do what you think best.”
By the time that I was seven
His beard was to his chest.

“Is this beard long enough, my boy?
Perhaps not, don’t you think?
And if I were to shave it now
I’d clog the bathroom sink.
For you I’ll grow it longer, son.”
And so he did post haste.
And by the time that was ten
It hung down to his waist.

My dad he kept on growing it.
He grew it to his thighs.
He entered many beard contests
And always won first prize.
“Perhaps I ought to shave today.”
He’d often like to tease.
By the time I entered High School
His beard was past his knees.

And now that I am twenty-one,
I cannot help but grin.
I think about my dad’s long beard
And stroke my bearded chin.
I want a beard just like my dad’s
A beard down to the floor.
It represents the love we share
Now and forevermore.