As a member of the cinema-going public, I increasingly find myself tired of the dull, insipid fare that passes for film-going entertainment in this day and age. At these moments I wonder if the higher forms of culture may be dwindling in these modern times, and that the principles of craft, artistry and beauty have no value in a world beholden to the market and enslaved by the lowest common vernacular. But when I begin to get depressed I simply remember that I myself possess access to undoubtedly the greatest piece of art ever created, and it is this masterpiece that ignites my nerves and sets my loins ablaze with love for the highest and most noble aspirations of humankind.
I am of course, talking about my beard.
Reviewers have called my beard “bold”, “shockingly unique”, and “one of the finest young beards of our generation.” My beard reinvents the entire genre of beard at the same time that it redefines and transcends it. “What divine creator could have sculpted this tour du force?”, you are probably asking. Look at that straight, set jawline. It looks like bullet! My beard is unquestionably an individualist, reminiscent of the classic masculine icons of the golden age of cinema. My beard doesn’t need anyone to tell it what it is about; it knows damn freakin well what it’s about. While my beard commands authority, it is, importantly, an authentic beard, and you can never lose sight of the integrity, honesty and forthrightness underlying it. Although most widely recognised for this image of rugged self-reliance, it is not commonly known that my beard is also a master of characterisation, with a seemingly fathomless talent for capturing every detail and nuance of emotion: a subtle change here to express sadness, anger, despair, sangfroid or simply ironic detachment.
In conclusion, why aren’t you seeing my beard right now? I know you’ll enjoy it as much as I did.