After Paul Ryan accepted the position of speaker of the House he did a curious thing, one almost unheard of by modern American politicians: He grew a beard. The reactions generally varied from “rowr, sexy” to “gross, beardo,” which was to be expected. But there was another reaction, one even sillier and yet, somehow, more telling: quiet ruminations on social media and in the dark, dank corners of comment sections that the speaker’s new beard was not a fashion statement but a semi-secret announcement that he had committed to Islam.
One might think that this accusation is too silly to dignify with a response, and one would be right. And while the impulse behind such ruminations is both absurd and malignant—one couched in baseless conspiracy-mongering and demonization of not just a religious minority but also a supposedly traitorous Republican—it’s not altogether surprising. As Christopher Oldstone-Moore notes in Of Beards and Men, shifts in facial hair have long been a potent signifier of societal change.
“Changes in facial hair are never simply a matter of fashion,” Oldstone-Moore writes. “The power of beards and mustaches to make personal and political statements is such that, even in the ‘land of the free,’ they are subject to administrative and corporate control.”
Facial hair can also be used to inspire and impress, as we see in the tale of Alexander the Great. Oldstone-Moore notes that the Macedonian king kept his own face clean-shaven during an age when beards were the norm, likely in an effort to emulate the appearance of the smooth-skinned legend Achilles and the younger iteration of Heracles.
“It stood to reason that Alexander would attempt to look like these heroes,” Oldstone-Moore writes, “and because painters and sculptors of his day rendered gods and heroes in the immortal splendor of youthful, beardless nudity, he did his best to follow suit.” The example Alexander set would pass down to his men, whom he commanded to shave ahead of the battle of Gaugamela. Outnumbered, at a minimum, by five to one, Alexander commanded razor be set to skin—a move Plutarch suggested was designed to give Persians nothing to grasp in battle but which Oldstone-Moore writes was designed to encourage them to “identify with their smooth-faced leader, and to distinguish themselves from the inferior, bearded Asians they confronted.”
As a result, Greek fashions were forever changed. Out was the masculine beard, in was the chiseled jaw: “From Macedonia to Mesopotamia, it was a complete about-face for respectable men: a new look for a new era.” The style would continue through much of antiquity—Caesars Julius and Augustus were both portrayed with clean chins—with brief interruptions here and there, such as the reigns of the noted Stoics Hadrian and Marcus Aurelius.
Sometimes the impact of rulers was far more direct than mere influence, as in the case of Russia’s Peter the Great. The 17th-century ruler fancied himself a man of the West and tried to drag Russia kicking and screaming into the European world. One of his methods of doing so was forcing the bear to trim its fur. “When prominent nobles gathered to greet their long-absent lord,” notes Oldstone-Moore, “Peter declared the advent of a new era by producing a pair of scissors and shearing off the beards of his leading courtiers right then and there.”
But Peter wasn’t done yet—and Cass Sunstein himself might approve of the “nudge” that Peter would utilize to convince the rest of his realm to follow suit.
The money vs. hair question hit a different pitch in America during the 1960s and ’70s, as clean-cut businesses like Disney and McDonald’s fought against the onslaught of hippie-inspired beards. That war already seems quaint, as beards are more or less mainstream again. Perhaps not de rigueur, but plenty common on magazine covers and behind restaurant counters alike. And at least for a brief moment, behind the speaker’s podium.
Sonny Bunch is managing editor of the Washington Free Beacon.
