Mike Reeves-McMillian asks: I have been cultivating this moustache. Is it steampunk?
Oh, folks!
You can not believe how excited I am to delve into the thorny issue of facial follicles. Please be so kind as to notice I did not say “hairy issue.” That is because I am a gentleman, and, as such, puns avoir la bouche amère.
One of the most glorious things about modern steampunk culture—what a simply delicious turn of phrase, that—is that it has called upon men of all stripes and dots to take a good long look at their facial hair. Frequently, the testicularly-inclinded you will see at a local sci-fi convention and a similarly-located steampunk event will be one and the same, but they will often look quite different. Neckbeards will have been removed. Mustache-tip will have been waxed. Side-burns will have been sculpted. In short, steampunk men (and particularly gifted women) look at beards not as just an excuse not to shave, but as an element of fashion in their own right.
As current trends in steampunk lean toward emulating the gentry, facial follicle perfection is sought after more and more. Which brings us to Mr. Reeves-McMillan’s distinctly unimpressed face pictured above. What a beast that mustache is! How unruly! How powerful! Why, I can picture countless Dowager Countesses bon-moting and fan fluttering at the very mention of such a ‘stache. Clearly, it is not fit for polite society.
But is it fit for steampunk society?
As for the picture itself, well, il n'y a pas de quoi fouetter un chat. Office-lighting is never flattering. But it is not the picture we are judging, it is the mustache. And while Mr. Reeves-McMillan is clearly not impressed with his modern surroundings, the question is, might that ‘stache, in another, steampunky context, be appropriate? What if it was not upon the bored and beyond-it all Mr. Reeves-McMillan, but a daring revolutionary in an industrial-era city, molatov cocktail in one hand, aether-powered raygun in the other?
In short, does that mustache dream of steam-powered sheep?
While the mustache itself is not the waxed and waved variety that normally comes to mind when one imagines “steampunk mustache”—a thought I am sure has taken up many hours of your days, dear reader, as it has mine—to say it is not steampunk would be to say that the underclass itself is not steampunk. A working man such as Mr. Reeves-McMillan requires a working mustache, and if he is too busy making the world turn to groom it to standards of the upper crust, so be it. Which is why I cannot help but say that this walrus-esque protuberance is, in fact, steampunk.
If you wish to accost me in person--and, why wouldn't you?--I will be attending Watch The Skies tomorrow with no less august persons than Tee Morris and Pip Ballantine of The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences, Sarah Hunter of Brute Force Studios, and Steve Walker, my partner in steampunk graphic noveldom.
















