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.

The gods of the beard were smiling on me today, my friends.  I had one of those experiences that makes me thankful for the easy access to the hoards of information that the Internet provides. I present to you a primary source directly from the waning of the last heyday of the beard.

When the author of the editorial below sat down at his desk next to his coal stove, probably in a three-piece woolen suit, pen in hand, to write his beard story, he surely dreamt of the immense readership he would reach by writing to the New York Times.  Well, dear Author, your passionate tale of the rise and fall of your beard will now be seen by untold millions.  They will all celebrate the passion with which you eschewed the mainstream shaving society.  They will all mourn your beard’s tragic demise.  And my hope as Beard Coach is that they will find inspiration, not only in your bold leap into beardedness, but the pervasive sadness that fills the words describing your defeat.

Click the article below to read this true 19th century beard epic…