I shaved my beard and my family’s reaction was not flattering | Paul Ashenden

My kids couldn’t remember me without a beard, and when I had to shave it off their reaction was less than flattering, writes Paul Ashenden. See the video.

Man Shaves Beard. It sounds like it could be the title of a book. Maybe it could be the sequel to the Trent Dalton hit Boy Swallows Universe?

Or maybe not.

Actually, that’s a stupid comparison, because a boy swallowing the universe would be quite an impressive achievement. A man shaving his beard, on the other hand, is a much more ho-hum event.

Still, a man shaving his beard was a rather noteworthy occurrence in my house – a house in which the only permanent male inhabitant is this author.

I’ve had whiskers of some form or another for the better part of my adult life. When young Aussie cricketer Ricky Ponting grew a goatee in the mid to late 1990s, I figured if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me.

In the 30-odd years that have followed, I’ve had some sort of facial hair nearly every day. For 20-odd years it was a goatee but after not shaving at all for two weeks while trekking Kokoda in 2018, I was happy with the full beard and have kept it ever since.

Advertiser Journalist Paul Ashenden before his shave

The Advertiser Journalist Paul Ashenden had a shave

For a while after Kokoda I kept it reasonably short but in the past few years I’ve let it become a bit scruffier – maybe three or four centimetres long.

My beard had become part of my personality.

I liked it.

I enjoyed the morning routine of washing, oiling and combing. I became accustomed to stroking it with my thumb and forefinger as I was pondering the world. And I appreciated the protection from the sun it provided my face and neck.

My adult children cannot remember me without a beard and my wife’s memories of me are similarly dominated by mostly auburn (but increasingly grey) whiskers poking out of my face.

But the beard needed to come off. I was headed to BHP’s Olympic Dam for a story and strict safety regulations at the mine demanded a clean-shaven face just in case I needed to wear a respirator.

Removing the whiskers wasn’t something I was especially keen on, but the prospect of visiting Olympic Dam was an exciting one so I took a deep breath and headed into the bathroom with clippers and a razor in tow.

I emerged with my face, as they say in the classics, as clean as a baby’s proverbial and with trepidation I approached the family to get their response.

A clean-shaven Advertiser journalist Paul Ashenden at Olympic Dam.

It was instant, and it was harsh. To be honest, I had been hoping for a bit more respect!

But when they glimpsed my bare chin for the first time in years, my daughters, aged 22, 20 and 19, showed zero restraint.

Their jaws dropped in unison and they raised their hands to their faces in an (unsuccessful) effort to contain the loud guffaws and shrieks emanating from their mouths. Within seconds, they were doubled over in uncontrollable laughter.

“What do you think, gang?” I asked them. They couldn’t answer through their hysterics.

My wife at least attempted to be tactful. Her words told me she thought it looked nice. Her smiling eyes suggested she thought otherwise.

I gave them a minute to compose themselves and asked again for their verdicts. “No, it looks weird,” the eldest said. “No, it looks terrible,” said the youngest. “I don’t like it,” the middle daughter announced.

Within a couple of minutes my wife admitted she didn’t like it and said I looked like Beaker from The Muppets.

Within the same time frame, two children were holding up pictures on their phones and asking me to spot the difference. One was a picture of the new me, the other was a meerkat.

It took a while for the third child to join the pile on, but she later sent a message (with accompanying pictures) to the family group chat suggesting I look like the dad from the movie How The Grinch Stole Christmas.

As the only male of a five-person household for the past two decades, I had become accustomed to being the odd one out and to a small level of good-natured ribbing – but this was next level!

Even days after the big shave, I have found myself in mid conversation with one or all of them, only for them to inexplicably start smiling, laughing and looking away as they come to grips with my new look.

It’s all been good fun and I’m happy to have provided them with a laugh.

The beard will grow back soon enough and the reaction from the family has left me in no doubt that it will remain there for as long as is humanly possible.

But their hysterical reaction to the less hirsute me has left me wondering … maybe there is a book in this after all.

Originally published as I shaved my beard and my family’s reaction was not flattering | Paul Ashenden