Michael Infantine, Staff Writer

This past November, I decided to break loose from the tyranny of my electric razor (and any standards of socially acceptable personal grooming, for that matter) and embarked on the scraggly, patchy, adventure of No-Shave November. Little did I know of the pain, inner turmoil and emotional angst this month without a razor would produce. In fact, just about the only thing this month didn’t produce was facial hair.

Autumn is a time of abundance, and while things like fallen leaves, produce harvests, heavier coats and pumpkin spice lattes abounded throughout the month, my facial hair, evidently unamused by the autumn spirit of abundance, was not quite so plentiful. Instead, like the budding flowers in late winter, afraid or unable to pierce the snow, so too my facial follicles lay dormant.

This was not my first experience with an underwhelming No-Shave November. It all started a year ago—my first encounter with the tantalizing, fickle temptress that is No-Shave November. In my first semester of my freshman year of college, though my mind had matured and developed enough to earn me a spot at one of the country’s top universities, the hormones in my body responsible for growing facial hair were not so industrious. In fact, after a month without shaving, I had accumulated such little growth that the stuff on my face wasn’t even identifiable as hair. After receiving countless comments like, “Why do you have dirt on your face?” “When was the last time you showered?” and even, “You call that facial hair? I’m pretty sure you could put some milk on your face and have a kitten lick that off,” by one particularly mean-spirited homeless man on Eddy Street, I knew I needed an ace up my sleeve this time around, and that’s why I got a head start.

On Halloween, as I lay in bed, visions of beardedness danced in my head. I was determined to make sure that this year would be a success after last year’s debacle. As I awoke on November 1, already a week in and with an entire month of glorious growth ahead of me, I pictured myself come December 1 with a Duck Dynasty-style beard complete with a mustache that would make any self-respecting walrus jealous. What I got was anything but.

About a week into November, my quest for a long, luscious face-carpet was well underway, but my boyish hormones had other plans. It was November 7 and I could count the number of whiskers on my face on one hand…and still have four fingers left over. I feared that this would be a repeat of last year and I would be doomed to another sparse, itchy mess on my face once again, but I decided to stick with it.

Come week two, I was finally starting to see some growth, but it was around this time that I also came to a frightening realization. There might just be something even worse than not being able to grow any facial hair at all: being able to grow a patchy, disgusting beard that is quite visible, and egregiously so. I was hoping—praying—that this would only be temporary. An awkward teenage phase of sorts that would soon pass as my beard filled out. Sadly, this was not the case.

By week three, I was growing desperate. I certainly had some semblance of a beard that was visible to the naked eye, which I suppose was an improvement from last year, but it was totally uneven and wholly unhandsome. At this point I was ready to try anything. I considered turning to Human Growth Hormone or Miracle-Gro. I’m no science student, but if it works for plants, it can work for a human face, right? November was drawing to a close, and despite the fact that I was actually growing more hair, the patchy mess on my face was even worse than the previous November’s.

Come week four, I put the “man” in “gerrymandering.” In a last-ditch effort to create the illusion of thicker scruff, I attempted the comb-over; to absolutely no one’s surprise, the finished product was totally unconvincing. It looked like I had lost a fight with an angry hairdresser.

At this point, I was all out of time and options, so it was time to come to terms with the fact that No-Shave November 2013 was a failure. Maybe that razor wasn’t such a tyrant after all.

Michael Infantine is a sophomore PLS major who is still recovering from the trauma of the past month. If you would like to send him a fake beard or some encouraging words, you can reach him at minfanti@nd.edu.