April 18: The Many Looks of Brandon

I think it first started in my freshman year of college. I was in a strange and unfamiliar place and I didn't have a job. My savings was a one-way road. My bank account wasn't being replenished in any way; it was simply dwindling with every purchase. I had to cut back on everything I could, which included haircuts.

As August turned to September turned to October, my short, spiky hair grew into a wavy mess of brown disarray. I began wearing a baseball cap to class because I didn't know how to style longer hair. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to part it down the middle or slick it back. Keep in mind this was before Zac Efron and Justin Bieber redefined the hair-across-your-forehead look. I didn't have a celebrity to copy which meant I didn't have any sense of direction whatsoever.

By the time April hit, I had given up all attempts to maintain a stylish look so I thought I would grow my first goatee. Again, I didn't have the slightest idea how to care for the look, so I just let it grow and curl over my lip and into my mouth. I didn't want to trim too much of it off so with every morning shave, it grew wider and wider. I now had shoulder-length, wavy hair and a thick goatee. I was Jesus.

In May, all of the new hires for Residence Life met each other at an informal gathering. We played ice breakers and talked about what the next year would be like. Not many people remembered what anyone looked like when they saw each other again after a long summer so my crazy appearance was lost and my first impression didn't mean anything; except for my friend Becca. On many occasions she reminded me how she thought I smoked pot and played acoustic guitar on grassy knolls. I wore all hemp and cared more about the environment than my own well-being. I was a hippy.

I kept a fairly conservative look for the next six years. Keeping my hair short could again fit into my budget so I didn't do anything too exciting. I grew out the goatee a few more times and kept it trimmed. With facial hair, I would meet new friends and whenever I shaved, they were always shocked. They were only familiar with Goatee Brandon. It wasn't until I was fired and was forced to go back to a restricted budget, however, that I grew out my hair again.

I had just moved into a new apartment and I didn't have a job. I couldn't afford to get my hair cut. Plus, I really liked that early-Office-Jim Halpert-look. As my wavy locks returned, I found another job but would quickly realize that I was an outsider amongst the employees. I don't know what it was, but I never really clicked with the staff as a whole like I had in Residence Life and at the place of my firing. I felt too straight-edge to really get along with anyone. There weren't any good looking girls that I wanted to impress so it was the perfect time to grow out a mustache to go along with my poor attempt to look like a Dunder Mifflin sales associate.

My friend Max participates in Mustache March every year where, you guessed it, he grows out a mustache for the month. It looked creepy, disgusting, and awesome every year and he was always trying to get me to join in on the fun, but I could never bring myself to do it. Now that I didn't give a damn about what I looked like, I could really let my new facial friend shine; and I did.

My hair kept growing and my hesitation to bring the blade too close to my precious upper lip hair resulted in a slow crawl down the sides of my mouth. Before I knew it, my hair was all over the place and I had a fantastic handlebar mustache. I don't know what the parents thought when I greeted their tables, but it had to be something along the lines of, "Don't you dare look at my child, you perv." I was a biker hippy.

The 2008 Baseball Winter Meetings forced me to cut all my hair off and shave away the hilarity I had created. The purpose of the meetings was for me to find a job so I had to look somewhat professional. I never would have believed, however, that the job I would get would lead to another great opportunity to create magic.

I was now being paid to sit in an office with eleven other guys and watch baseball for upwards of sixty hours a week. The office was in Coplay, Pennsylvania and there wasn't a good looking girl in a one hundred mile radius of the town. I decided it was the perfect time to bring back my mustache (with a new twist) and try out the famed soul patch. My facial hair grows slowly so it took about a month to fully materialize, but once I could curl both sides of my mustache into a Spanish twist and my soul patch was a perfect isosceles triangle, I knew I had something special. I was a pirate.

Ironically, this was the exact time of the summer that I had planned on visiting my aunt in Washington D.C. She said she loved it and thought it looked really good, but you know how family can be; especially family that you see every five years. They don't want to hurt your feelings so they'll say encouraging things even if it's the opposite of their actual opinion. What my aunt didn't realize, however, was that I wanted to look this stupid. It was hilarious and seeing the reactions of total strangers was my idea of a good time.

On my visit, I met my aunt's step daughter for the first time. This was a girl that had to hear stories of my sister and me for ten years without ever meeting either one of us. Oh, how I wish I could hear her thoughts upon shaking my hand! After my visit, my aunt was talking to my mom and I'll never forget what she told her. Apparently, her step daughter did have an opinion! She told my aunt that if I ever wanted a girlfriend, I would have to shave. Priceless.

It's funny how quickly people grow used to one's appearance no matter how ridiculous that appearance might be. I kept the pirate look for a few more weeks, but once I became tired of it I shaved it off and all of my friends couldn't stop commenting on how weird I looked without it.

It's been ten months or so since I've had any sort of facial hair and the itch to try something new was back. I've done the mustache. I've done the goatee. I've done a variation of the soul patch, but never had I done the genuine, look-how-tough-I-can-look-with-a-patch-of-hair soul patch. I have to admit, it's coming in quite nicely. Sure, it looks absolutely ridiculous and when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror I can't make eye contact with myself, but it's something new and fun. I'm a douche bag.
Maybe it's a sign of insecurity or maybe it's a sign of pure awesomeness. Whatever the case may be, it's fun to change my appearance for the sole purpose of trying something new. It's also fun to look back and imagine how all of my past encounters picture me. The guys I rowed crew with in college remember Jesus/Hippy Brandon. A few people remember Goatee Brandon. My co-workers from Dave and Buster's remember Biker Hippy Brandon. The Baseball Info Solutions gang remembers Captain Brandon and now the new hires at Matt's Famous El Rancho (Always Good) only know Douche Bag Brandon. I'm looking forward to one day introducing Lumberjack Brandon.