Every once in a great while, a mustache comes along that changes the course of history. Slipping the surly bonds of ironic fashion statements, or even honest grooming choices, these mystically macho mustaches stare Fate in the face and scream, “Fuck you! I refuse to play the cards you have dealt me!” before flipping the saloon table over and unloading a six-shooter into every gathered participant.
Behold this mustachioed outlaw, riding off into the sunset with a bulging sack of loot and a busty barmaid hogtied to his saddle! Who is this mysterious marauder? Where does this conquistador come from, who vanquishes all in his path and claims whatever he desires? Where does he get the balls to play by his own rules, many of you may have wondered? Well, just ask John Stossel …
“The mustache changed my life,” he says. “I had always looked younger. When I was 21, I looked like a teenager. When I was 19, I looked 14 – and it sucked.” Stossel … grew his signature ‘stache back in the ‘70’s, around the time Burt Reynolds had his in “Smokey and the Bandit,” and even before Tom Selleck was “Magnum P.I.”
Ah, what a magnificent, bristling paradise that chapter in time must have been. When Men were Men, free to express their masculinity with a glorious lip sweater – a yardstick, if you will, whereby strangers could size up their virility and social status. Woe have our hairy kindred been these past few decades that the crumb catcher has lived in exile, its tradition only carried on by the rural W.T. who couldn’t grow a decent ‘stache if their mothers had laced their Captain Crunch with Rogaine! … But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is a Mustache, and John Stossel is the sun.
Stossel knows that mustaches have fallen in and out of favor – and he doesn't really care. "I have heard that it had gone out of style, but if you hold on to something long enough, it'll come back," Stossel says.
This is clearly a man of character and conviction. He’s not going to be swayed by the fickle winds of pop culture. Like a 1972 Gran Torino, his mustache stands the test of time.
So many years into a TV career that has earned him 19 Emmy Awards, it's an asset because it gives him a recognizable look, he says. People pass him on the street – even when he's riding his bike, complete with helmet – and say, "There's John Stossel."
Last year, we embarked on a journey that spanned the entire nation and the outer limits of good taste. We risked it all – put our balls to the wall, our mustaches where our mouths were, and we were rewarded beyond our bushiest imaginations. You, our Mustached Brethren, joined us in this Noble Movement. Again we impeach you, our fair Michigan Men, to spread the word of our Cause. Like Stossel, we will show a unified front of unmistakable recognition. As if to say, “Yeah, I’m a Michigan Man, you got a problem with my mustache, motherfucker? Because I believe in Rich Rodriguez, and Tate Forcier, and Dilithium. I believe in perfectly quaffed silver hair, and wolf trainers, and Brock Mealer.” And all the doubters and cynics and haters will at last be proven wrong, and you’ll have an awe-inspiring I-Told-You-So sprouting victoriously from your fucking Face. Because it’s our coming out party, baby, and the mustache rides are free. Let’s get our goddamn swagger back!
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