Jason Giambi shaved his mustache yesterday, a tragic day for facial-hair enthusiasts but a good one for those who wish Jason Giambi would just shut up and go take walks and hit home runs and stop bothering us with his thongs and mustache and nonsense.
We used to love mustaches. Really. They’re totally hilarious, and in some contexts we still find them funny. But when Giambi grew that disgusting hellbeast of a lip ornament, we knew mustaches had jumped the shark.
The mustache hit the peak of its hilarity sometime around the turn of the millienium, but once it became a fashionable accessory for every tight-jeansed hipster in Williamsburg it started to lose some of its luster. The great mustaches are the unironic ones, like those belonging to Keith Hernandez, Tom Selleck and Salvador Dali. Silly pencil-thin jobs or jokey handlebars are not what the mustache is about, and not why the mustache is or ever was funny.
If you want to grow a mustache, grow the classic “Dad” stache, and wear it proudly like your old man once did. Otherwise, you’re just contributing to the sharp decline of one of our nation’s most hysterical traditions.



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