I have been successfully wearing this wax for the last four years. As Australia has extreme temperatures (40 degrees Celsius plus), a sustainable wax is needed. My handlebar measures 15 inches plus & I have proudly worn it for 30 odd years. Wella Styling Wax is light, clear, non-odorous,non-greasy, non-sticky. It sculpts and moulds any shape; separates individual strands & gives texture; washes out easily. The plastic container measures approximately 5cm x 5cm, with a screw top lid and available at chemist shops. More information can be obtained via its web site: www.welladesign.com
Submitted by member Mocrawf
Tags :Moustache+wax wella
Whiskers and wax is evolving.
'Mocrawf', (photo in the members album to your right) a handlebar wearer of 37 years has found this site, and together we are changing the direction of Whiskers and Wax slightly.
The site will now be aimed at getting as many people from Australia with a handlebar moustache, (ie: a moustache with graspable extremities. Whether it curls up or hangs down, if you can hold it in your fingers you're in) to send in their photo and a blurb about themselves, where they come from, hobbies etc. The aim is that as the ranks increase and we find people from various states joining up we can form a more cohesive social club or set of clubs in the tradition of the European and American clubs. We can begin to interact in the social aspects of our hobby, meet, have golf days, even begin to do a bit of work for charities. The Ultimate goal however is to have some fun and make some friends in the process.
So if you have a handlebar moustache, or have stumbled across this site and know someone who does, get in touch. Send a photo. There will be no onus on anyone who sends in their photo to participate any further than they wish, and all contact and other details will be dealt with in the strictest privacy.
To the last Whisker.
Although I loved French classes at school, and have visited France on more than one occasion, twenty years of having no need to speak it in my daily life has rendered my experience of French movies the same as most of us. I read the subtitles and pick up those few small phrases where the character asks those simple touristy questions regarding boulangeries and the price of a cup of cafe. Or when they swear. So last week when I noticed "La Moustache" on the World Movies channel I looked forward to the experience of watching a French movie that obviously by the title had something to do with a moustache.
Those two criteria were met with a gusto. The rest of the movie was just vaguely bizarre and left more questions than it answered. Plot spoiler follows.
Marc has a moustache that apparently can be seen only by him and law enforcement officers. The law enforcement part is not actually a large part of the movie, but good looking blonde female police officers validating your average certifiable moustache wearing French man need mentioning in my book. After shaving off his signature moustache to gauge peoples reactions Marc is surprised to find that no-one, not even his girlfriend, ever remembers him having one. He spends an inordinate amount of time finding photos and other evidence to prove his recent hirsuteness all of which mysteriously disappears when he attempts to present it to his disbelieving friends.
After a period of believing that people are pulling his leg as some sort of over the top practical joke, he starts on a downward spiral into madness, and heads to Hong Kong to clear his head. Why Hong Kong is the destination of choice for the mentally unstable is not made apparent, nor is why he spends so much of his time on ferries. After living in a small hotel room for a few weeks and growing a beard, he one day finds his girlfriend there, and rather than the confrontation he expects after having run out on her, he finds that he is actually with her on holiday. He never went missing. He never had issues with his friends. He was never alone. We are left with twilight zone music playing in our head as we wonder if he ever had a moustache at all.
And lastly back to my French skills. It probably makes a lot of sense to native French speakers, but La Moustache? A moustache is feminine? Should I call my mo Shirley from now on?
And suddenly it's the end of January 2007. My how time flies when you have a baby keeping you busy.
This is the year of the WBMC being held in Brighton on the South of England coinciding with the 60th Anniversary of the founding of the Handlebar club in 1947. Sadly the increase of financial commitments and the decrease in income whilst Alison is off work means that I will have to read about it when I would far prefer to have been there.
Ah the tribulations of the hirsute.
Roaming around the net looking for all things moustache I came across an article from a couple of years back. It's the usual article on the moustache and its validity in modern society. I think this should be the year to get the word in the streets of Australia that the moustache is back. It is alive and well and living on the upper lip of many of us who suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous pointing whenever we go out in public. I would like to see some form of movement here even if the geographical difficulties render our coalition electronic. Perhaps one day we might field a team in one of these events. At the very least we could have a beer or two.
I wish you all a prosperous and joyful 2007, and look forward to bring you a year of moustachely goodness no matter how it may wax (or wane).
Although there are many recipes for do it yourself wax on the net I've never attempted to brew my own. I've tried a few different types of commercially available wax, but generally to no great effect. Wax by its very nature is soft and pliable when heated, and Sydney is not renowned for its snow fields and cold climate. The best I had been able to come up with was a wax which is intended to provide grip on lawn bowls balls, and though the hold is reasonably firm, the consistency of the wax makes it difficult to work with, difficult to wash out and sometimes leaves a "dandruff" effect.
On the Whisker club site I found Brothers Love styling pomade. Not having a brother and unsure what "pomade" meant, (a scented ointment, esp. one used for the scalp or for dressing the hair I am now aware) I had Bruce send me a tube or three.
My first impression was that the "ointment" was indeed "scented". Strongly so and even more noticeable as it is literally directly underneath your nose. But with a hairdryer and a bit of twirling it had the best hold of any substance I had tried. I was in heaven. Depending on how you use it you can achieve a natural look or a more twirled at the ends waxed look. Even my strong and straight mo hair (makes me sound like a goat doesn't it) was no match for the hold and control of the love of my brother, regardless of how perfumed he was.
Having been suffering drought conditions for some years, and with water restrictions the biggest daily news event in New South Wales, I was glad to see some much needed precipitation when my wife and I went into town to see the ashes urn at the Sydney museum. My smugness dissipated however when my wife, ever cognizant of my moustachly pride, pointed out that the moist atmosphere had caused my mo to droop and the bonding effect of the product to fail.
I haven't given up on Brothers love by any means though. Further testing with application and drying techniques must be performed. Anyone out there who uses the product and has any advice, please leave a comment below.
I've been away for a while, both do due a busy work schedule and for some pre baby "let's get away so we can reminisce about what going away was like with just the two of us until we do it again in our sixties unless junior becomes a golf genius and makes us a squillion", time. (My wife is due in November, by the way). I was in Queensland a week or two back with my accountant/mate. Always go on trips with your accountant and keep every receipt. This trips business expenses included dressing up in tuxedos, going to the casino and playing Texas hold'em, and basically looking like James Bond wannabes. This was actually my first time at a casino. I've been to the one in Sydney, but only to see a show at the Lyric Theatre, not to gamble. And I must say that casinos are the most soulless and death defyingly boring places on the planet. The night also included one of my least favourite pastimes.
At the casino I had, as is usual, 3.2 zillion comments on my ridiculously old fashioned moustache. "Twirl it baby", "Kerrrist, is that thing real"?, and so on. But the night club scene was infinitely more annoying. I had actually volunteered to go back to the hotel and let the other two night owls enjoy themselves, but as is often the way the cry of "Maaate, it's only 4am and the night is young and we're so drunk that we're going to do stupid things in the middle of the street and embarrass you until you say yes" had me paying a five dollar cover charge, having my wrist stamped and walking into a Maelstrom of noise in a tux with my bow tie undone and drooping around my neck.
I stood with my mates in a huddle near the bar tapping my feet and trying to look hip or whatever it's called. Then from my left came a tug on my mo. I turned in disbelief to see a young woman in tight jeans, high heels, and a push up strip of cloth doing exactly that. With the look of anger on my face she recoiled stammering that she just wanted to know if it was real. I thought about grabbing her breasts and asking the same question, but men in tuxedos don't do that sort of thing. One of my mates was chatting up an "Italian bird", and my accountant was working out the profit and loss of being friendly towards the barmaid when I decided that I would call it a night.
The next day in jeans, boots and a tshirt I got far fewer comments. People probably assumed I was a cricketer. We had to check out of the hotel at 9.30am, and with the flight not being until 2.30pm we did what all good Aussie men do and went to the pub for breakfast, stayed for lunch and then cabbed it to the bar at the airport.
It's strange but often younger blokes with dyed hair, facial piercings and wierd clothes look at me as if I've just landed in a spaceship. They make comments about how weird an old fashioned mo is. I often wonder if they own mirrors.
If you Google information on the moustache, you will often see pictures of a time before the dark ages of upper lip topiary, when men were black and white or sepia. I assume the world was born this colour, and didn't change until Technicolor was invented in Hollywood sometime in the early 20th Century. The clothing of this time was very different to today. Fob watches and waistcoats were in abundance, and even photos of Australians in the late 1800's working on farms or logging plantations worked in the formidable heat of the bush in collared shirts, trousers held up by braces, hats and moustaches designed to soak up billy tea and provide sustenance long after the meal break was over.
But times change, and fashions have now followed the path of least resistance, providing clothing that is lighter, cooler, and covered in slogans.
Fear not that I eschew the well dressed look. I am as much at home in the well cut suit as the next chap, but my secret, laid bare before you is that I now collect clothing, dare I say it, with moustache slogans. They range from the purile to the peculiar, but form a part of my growing collection of that which relates to the moustache.
Next week, other collectables and where to search for them.
One of the great things about eccentric behavior is that it is often more widely accepted under the auspices of charity work. People shave their heads or die their hair and gain sponsorship for a good cause.
If you are reading this then you are interested in moustaches presumably. And if you are interested in raising funds for charity then I have the event for you.
Movember. Click the link and take a look. You should be able to sign up some time in August.
Not only does it give the average bloke both the reason and the chance to start on a moustache, but it raises funds for prostate cancer research. I for one am all in favour of doing away with prostate cancer and the examination that is part and parcel of the check up at your G.P.
So join the ranks, grow a moe, raise some money and avoid the finger.
To the last whisker.
The moustache, mustache, moe; spell it and call it how you will, has not the same level of acceptance as it once did. Back in the days when men were men, facial hair was the fashion of choice. Huge curling moustaches, beards cascading over barrel chests, pomade and wax an essential item in a mans grooming routine. Snoods and moustache cups aplenty.
Where did it all go?
There are frankly too many reasons to list. Examples range from the effete 19th century powdered wig and white foundation worn by men of "class" influencing fashion through to seventies porn. Who has not heard people talk of the porno look? An association from seventies pornos that frankly is unwarranted. The boom of the goatee, that sad and sorry excuse for hirsute acceptance, (achievable by all men as the goatee grows where all men's facial hair grows easiest) is a cop out, and features in more pornographic films, (so I am lead to believe), than the poor misjudged moustache does.
But the movement is awakening. Clubs for aficionados are on the rise. Annual events fill the calender in Europe and the USA.. Web sites are emerging. The call has gone out.
"No one is likely to cast us in a porno so what else can we do with these things now we've grown them?" was the cry.
This blog aims to join the ranks of those attempting to answer that question. Look to the links for world bodies devoted to facial fungus. Read the posts on events as they happen. Get in contact with me. I am a member of the Handlebar Club of England and the Whisker Club of America. Join the ranks.
The moustache is back. Grow hair on your face and put your tongue in your cheek.
Down razors and join us, for the revolution is here.
To the last whisker.