Fact: Towards a History of Beards

Beards are so popular these days that scientists have proclaimed a moment 'peak beard.' They argue that having a beard is more attractive to women when the majority of men are clean shaven. (In the elegant language of science, beards are a "negative frequency-dependent sexual selection trait.") Because the proportion of bearded gentlemen increases daily, we will soon hit the point when the majority of men are bearded and so having a beard is no longer attractive. Stock up on razors, guys.

This idea of 'peak beardliness' got me thinking about the history of beards. The thing about beards, of course, is that they only exist because we shave them off. But why do we shave off beards more frequently than other facial or bodily hair? What does the beard mean? Is it a symbol of sophistication or barbarism? Why is having a beard so closely related to philosophers?  I remember back in college all of my philosophy major friends sported beards. Me, the lone English major of the lot, went clean shaven.

I'm nowhere close to figuring out answers to these questions. Instead I will offer some scattered facts.

For the ancient Egyptians, kings and queens alike wore a false metal beard called a postiche to connect them to the gods. The hieroglyphic for the divine is a seated man--wearing a false beard.

Egyptian False Beard

The ancient Greeks talked about their 'beardless boys'--to grow some stubble was a right of passage separating the boy and the man. In Homer, touching the beard is a sign of entreaty. Supposedly Alexander was the first clean-shaven monarch: a clean face was more militarily expedient (someone could grab hold of a warrior by his whiskers), and the fashion spread from him. The Latins rarely sported beards: the Grecophile Emperor Hadrian shocked contemporaries by letting his beard grow out in the Greek, philosophical manner.

Emperor Hadrian, the first bearded Emperor

Beards might symbolize the sophistication of the Greeks or of the philosophy major, but they could also be a sign of barbarism. The Lombards who took over Northern Italy in the 6th century were named for their long beards. (Longo bardi = long beards.) And our own cultural image of the pitiless viking would not be complete without a flowing full beard. (Isn't there some storyline in the Marvel comic Thor about why that normally bearded Norse god goes around as clean shaven as an accountant?)

Beardless Thor

Jumping ahead to the 18th century, we continue to see beardiness as a symbol marking the boundaries of a culture. In Peter the Great's time, a big beard was a symbol of Russianess. Peter, in his efforts to push the country to more European lines, instituted a beard tax, going so far as to forcibly shave people who sported a beard in front of him. This did not go over well with the bearded boyars, who paid their taxes, and retained their beards after Peter's death.

Token showing that the owner had paid his beard tax

Learning Today: Cinderella Is Really Really Old

Something must be very human about the story of the overworked girl rescued from poverty by beauty, magic, and the horniness of a prince. Cinderella, the ultimate gold-digger, first appeared in first century B.C. Egypt--if not earlier--and has been a great career model for young women ever since.

In the Ancient Egyptian version, Cinderella was a Greek slave named Rhodopis, whose rose-colored slipper is stolen by a bird and dropped on the Pharaoh's lap. The Pharaoh does what anybody would do in this situation. He understands that the bird is not just a bird but the great god Horus, and he interprets the slipper a sign from Horus that he should marry the woman the slipper belongs to. (Happens all the time.) A search for the matching foot begins. The correct woman is found, married, bedded, and rescued from servitude, and all her enemies suffer for her happiness. Sounds familiar?

What is it about this story which has kept it in the mouths of babysitters and storybooks for well over two thousand years? People in mud huts have loved it and people in condos have loved it. The children of goat herders and stock traders have begged to hear it as they were falling asleep. In two thousand years, the children of holograph repairmen and time lords will ask to hear it--indeed, it seems that however long civilization endures, so will Cinderella. But why? What makes this story above all others last?

Maybe it's the feeling that out of the toil of our daily life, something magic will rescue us--that out of the normal duties of our day, we will be recognized: as individuals, worthy, and true. That one day, the great god Horus will swoop down, steal our slipper, and give notice to the Pharaoh that we are awesome.