Mustaches are back, New York Times proclaims

Nicky Austin, the hair and makeup stylist responsible for maintaining the iconic Ted Lasso ’stache, attributes the rise in mustaches among her clients in Los Angeles to the pervasiveness of beard culture, as well as a new openness to grooming.

“I know men who see their barber every weekend to keep their fades looking fresh, which would have been unheard-of 20 years ago,” she said, adding that those experiencing male-pattern baldness often find mustaches a style game-changer.

The attention is also part of the fun. Christian Illuzzi, an artist in the Ridgewood neighborhood of Queens, has been shocked by the attention his mustache receives. He has worn a beard since he was a student at the Fashion Institute of Technology in the 2010s, and only adopted his full mustache in the past few weeks.

“I’ve gotten compliments before, but never as much as on my mustache,” Mr. Illuzzi, said, echoing the experiences of others. “Guys on the street will say, ‘Hey, awesome mustache.’”

Mustaches became more common in queer spaces around the end of the 2010s, especially thin ones that complemented the manicured, Tom of Finland leather-and-harnesses sexual aesthetic that reigned. And they could have stayed on the edge of mainstream popularity if the pandemic had not hit. During that time, men began to transition from beards to stand-alone mustaches, bringing others along with them.

“Quarantine definitely liberated me from having to deal with that awkward middle phase, which always kept me from growing one,” said Lucas Johnson, an English teacher in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, who grew out his thick, wide, chevron-style mustache two years ago. “As someone in my late 20s, it’s been this nice way of feeling fashionable while still feeling like I’m ascending into more mature adulthood.”

He also appreciates its versatile associations. “The mustache connotes authority, but also suggests a certain amount of silliness,” he said. “It’s very masculine, but it’s also very flamboyant and quietly sort of queer-coded. The entire gender spectrum is obsessed with my mustache, as am I.”

The mustache’s popularity has always been particularly susceptible to cultural icons and trends of the moment. In the early 1900s, mustaches were often elaborate, like the bushy walrus style of Theodore Roosevelt or the waxed ends of the English mustache (think Archduke Franz Ferdinand), ironically if briefly revived in the early aughts by suspender-wearing hipsters across America.

Until 1916, British soldiers were actually forbidden from shaving their upper lip, perhaps because of the mustache’s deep associations with virility and strength.

More contrived styles were also an easy target for mockery. Charlie Chaplin’s toothbrush mustache, that small patch above his lip, was adopted specifically for its humorous appeal‌, ‌before becoming associated with Adolf Hitler and forever losing its place in the fashion cycle.

After the cleanshaven 1950s, the mustache became the countercultural facial hair of choice for myriad groups considered subversive — longhaired hippies, Marxists, gay men. Freddie Mercury wore what remains one of the most iconic mustaches of the century.

As the sharp style division between mainstream and counterculture began to blur in the 1970s and ’80s, the mustache came to be associated with a masculine swagger and was found on the faces of Burt Reynolds, Tom Selleck, Sam Elliott and others. Not everyone could pull it off, which was always part of its appeal, but these hypermasculine associations lent themselves to exaggeration, and the mustache was playfully adopted in queer culture. It also became widespread throughout the porn industry, giving it the whiff of degeneracy.

Of course, in many places, such as the Middle East and Mexico, the mustache absorbed its own rich set of associations, and these were often brought to the United States, giving the style different meanings for different groups. For Black Americans, as well, its evocation of authority and assiduousness made the mustache particularly popular among leaders during the Civil Rights era, including Thurgood Marshall and Martin Luther King Jr., before it lost favor in the ’70s. (As Wesley Morris detailed in a 2020 essay in The New York Times, it remains a vivid way of engaging with Black identity.)

By the end of the 1990s, the mustache had fallen so deeply out of fashion that few thought it would ever return. But as a critical mass of mustache wearers has gathered, the style has slowly become free of the subculture associations it garnered in the 1980s, leading more people to imagine it on their own face.

Today, two options have proven particularly popular: a chevron (like that worn by Ron Swanson in “Parks and Recreation”) and the prominent mustache embedded in a face of stubble, known as a beardstache (Think Henry Cavill, the Weeknd or any Ph.D. student in Brooklyn). More carefully groomed choices, including the pencil mustache, the parted mustache or the mustache with waxed ends, remain the domain of the uniquely capable among us.

But any style choice that significantly changes one’s face is going to feel a little comical, a little ironic and playful. And in a world revisiting the very core of what masculinity means, those associations can be welcomed, too.

“I think a lot of people are grappling with questions of, How do I embody my masculine side in a way that feels good and doesn’t feel performative,” said Mr. Johnson, the English teacher in Brooklyn. A mustache, he said, “feels like a fun way to indulge that without compromising being sensitive, being flamboyant and being stylish.”

The stand-alone mustache, which requires at least a minimum degree of grooming, also suggests the wearer is someone who takes pride in his style. Ari Goldstein, a student at the University of Pennsylvania Carey Law School who initially grew out his full, dark mustache as a joke in college, enjoys the intentionality of the mustache.

“It makes me seem more approachable and friendly,” he said. “It’s also a way of looking a little unique without needing to pick an outfit.”

Like others, Mr. Goldstein appreciates that his mustache is a conversation starter, though he tries not to get too wrapped up in what others think about it. “I think people map their own meaning onto your mustache,” he said. “My mustache means something to me, but people are probably associating it with other mustaches they have feelings toward, so I think the range of reactions I get, which is pretty broad, reflects the broad role of mustaches in society.”

As the mustache becomes more popular, many men are realizing that they know very little about its upkeep. What style works for their face? How should it be trimmed? How long does it take to grow out?

“Just because the guy wants something doesn’t mean it’s necessarily suitable to his face shape or his hair texture or his growth type,” said Mr. Conrad, the barber in Vancouver. “Part of it is about working with what you have.”

But small adjustments can have a big impact. The only difference, he said, between that dad-friendly Ted Lasso mustache and that badass Burt Reynolds mustache is some subtle shaping.

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Best news I've heard all year!

This article is late to the trend. They have been popular with young men around Seattle for the last few years.

They’re 7 years late with this article.

Hated it forty years ago, hate it now.

R8 the pic is not a mustache, it's a mangina because the guy didn't shave under his lip. If you're going to sport a mustache, sport just the mustache without the shit under your lip. If you have the shit under your lip it's a mangina.

When it works, it works. Only a few can pull it off, but far too many try. It’s like wearing a Speedo in that regard.

Right on time for the NYT, 10 years behind the trend.