Fist Patrick called it a few years ago during our senior year at NYU. Beards, he claimed, were going to be make a comeback. And he was right.

In fact, in recent weeks, Christopher Schulz, an art gay in Brooklyn, has received a lot of press for his independently published periodical Pinups that taps into what is becoming known as the “post-bear” culture. Its pages are essentially decorated with images of naked young guys who like their beards, buzz, fuzz, and fur (in fact, the original cover boy is a contributor to this very blog!). And guess what? No mention of bears, cubs, otters, wolves, dragons, witches, unicorns, or time-eating CGI robots. How refreshing! Schulz, instead, considers Pinups to be a larger, publicly-displayed method of feeding his artistic and sexual appetite. It’s not porn for hairy guys and it’s not a catalog dripping with false homoeroticism. Pinups, Schulz claims, “[embraces] natural beauty as opposed to the plethora of ubiquitous Adonises in the commercial ether,” and while that’s a lot of fancy wordage, I totally get it. And it makes me feel super.

2006, a time before Pinups, saw the rebirth of shag, and while it took a while to grow on me, personally, I am an admitted slave to the scruff. So last year, when I grew my own (it’s a scruffy shell of fuzz, not an attempt at being mistaken for Bin Laden), I would never have guessed that I would experience a sea change in the way I was received by others. While I’m well aware as a 24-year-old urban dweller that appearance is everything, I was still floored to find myself the recipient of flirtation (more so by my bearded brethren, naturally) as soon as I sprouted the fuzz.

The journey of self-discovery (or, rather, lessons in how to use an electric razor) clued me into a lot, too. Whereas being a gay man with a beard (and body hair, to boot) could once constitute one’s involuntary acceptance into the world of homosexual forest animals, I think it’s safe to say that our generation – one who doesn’t really (nor necessarily need to) care about the constrictions of labels – has avoided such a need for self-validation. Just because we have tummy hair or a disheveled goatee doesn’t mean we want to run off to P-Town with old dudes who could crush us like flies, nor does it mean that petite, hairless dudes wouldn’t want to do the same.

If you’re into bears, may you forever enjoy your nights of scented candles, Eucerin, and the Collector’s Edition version of Fatso. But if you, like me, can appreciate a sexy fella without his need to put on a show or slap a “Hello My Name Is PAPA BEAR” sticker onto his bountiful chest hair, you’re in luck. They’re everywhere!

4 Responses to “The Post-Bear Affair”

1. Fist Patrick Says:
   May 12th, 2008 at 1:50 pm

   2005 will always be remembered as “The Year of the Beard” when I decided to grow my scruff. We’ve been together 3 years, my beard and I.

   [reply this comment]

2. Drew Says:
   May 13th, 2008 at 1:14 am

   I’m with you on this one. And there’s something nice about being able to grow a facial hair — or, more accurately in my case, simply not shave for a few days or weeks and have the beard me the consequence — and not seem like I’m making a statement.

   [reply this comment]

3. Christopher Schulz Says:
   May 13th, 2008 at 9:58 am

   Thanks for the shout out. Great post!

   [reply this comment]

4. JJS III Says:
   May 13th, 2008 at 12:35 pm

   AMEN TO THAT!

   ::snaps fingers, but not in the whole Z-formation kind of way::

   [reply this comment]

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