Though some may be quick to decry it as iconoclasm, please be sure to read L’Ennemi’s article in its entirety. His noetic journey reverberates with many of the ideals which we all, as Beardivists, pursue.



Growing a beard seemed to be a natural extension of my personality and my autism. I had always liked the way they looked on men and I admired many who sported facial hair: Hugo, Van Gogh, Tolstoy. It seemed that a beard was the aesthetic parlance of genius. Not that I believed my growing a similar facial configuration granted me equal status with these giants, but it certainly could not hurt. I never liked shaving, nor had I ever been especially fond of the shape or appearance of my clean shaven visage. My Aspergian aversion to certain tactile experiences led me to avoid shaving altogether. The feeling of a razor on my face never brought me any pleasure or any sense of cleanliness after the act. In fact my hirsute proclivities were reverse the normal male standard:  I shaved my head down to bare stubble while I let my facial…

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