We Need to Talk About Nose Hair

And everything else happening on men's heads

I was in line at the pharmacy counter when I heard footsteps approaching. I turned to see an elderly man settling into place behind me. I gave him a polite smile and nod, in an “I acknowledge you, but please don’t try to converse with me” kind of way.

The man was dressed in a crisp, blue blazer over a pressed, pink button-down shirt. His thinning hair was neatly combed. And from his nostrils hung two batches of bristles so long and thick you could scrub potatoes with them.

It was confusing. He clearly cared about his appearance, which one would assume meant logging at least a few minutes of mirror time each day. How could he have let this undergrowth get so overgrown? When he brushed his teeth, did he not see those schnozzle stalactites shooting down?

As hard as it is to comprehend, it seems that he didn’t.

Were this an isolated incident, I wouldn’t think too much of it. But he was far from the first man of a certain age I’ve seen with no nasal situational awareness.

There are hordes of old dudes walking the streets with thickets of asphalt-colored hair sprouting from their snouts. You’ve seen them. They’re usually around when you’re trying to eat.

Here’s the thing: I happen to have a nose. Like most of the models on the market, it comes equipped with hair. Because I am a human man, those hairs sometimes need to be trimmed. If I wait too long, I can feel them. If things get dire, I can see them. That’s when I grab the weed-whacker and go into lockdown until the situation has been contained.