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Soon After Retirement, I Found Myself in a Hairy Situation
In my youth, I grew a beard to look older; now it’s the opposite
On his journey in the new world of retirement, Neil Wertheimer left behind his former clean-shaven look, grew a beard, and made other “visual upgrades.” Here‘s what happened next.
Jonathan Carlson
This is the fourth in a series of columns about retirement by former AARP Publications deputy editor Neil Wertheimer. Read his previous column here.
On my last day of full-time work, my coworkers threw me the most beautiful of retirement parties. In the days that followed, photos of the event poured in via text and email. I was horrified.
In shot after shot, beneath my exuberant grin I looked overweight, splotchy, dull. I saw myself as just a few steps removed from some old uncle from Florida named Frankie or Irv, the type who wears plaid sport coats over under-buttoned pink dress shirts, keeps his thinning hair in a Brylcreem-slicked comb-over, who seems to take pleasure in saying embarrassing things a little too loudly at restaurants. Maybe that’ll be me in 20 years, but certainly not now.
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This was no way to enter a retirement for which I had so many plans. I vowed to make an immediate visual upgrade: Get a better haircut, lose the gut, dress with more flair. I made some tepid attempts, yet six weeks later that crazy uncle was still staring back at me in the mirror. A light bulb went off: Grow a beard.
I first dabbled with a beard more than 40 years ago, at age 22. For some reason I wanted to look older then; that bout of grizzly-faced insanity lasted but a few months. During the COVID pandemic, I succumbed to trying a beard for several months to be in solidarity with my sons, who were opting for no haircuts until lockdown ended. But the beard grew somewhat wild and was soon mowed. Now, in retirement, I vowed, let’s do it right: keep it trimmed and tended.
The stubble of week one appeared frighteningly white; my sons congratulated me on my budding career as a mall Santa. Ha. But as it filled in over the coming weeks, thankfully in a salt-and-pepper coloring, good things started to snowball (please excuse the expression).
I got compliments! Bunches of them! Which gave me the impetus to try harder. I struggled with keeping my beard trimmed via scissors, so I ordered an electric hair clipper with all the fancy attachments. I soon learned how to use a few to keep my beard height uniform and my cheeks and neck shaved and neat. Which then led to buying a made-for-men face lotion and bottle of beard oil, products I had never used before. And suddenly, a woman friend giving me a hello hug said, “You smell nice!” I was so taken aback, she could have sold me a sports car on the spot.
I switched barbers for the first time in years. The old one had long ago said to me, “You should cut your hair like George Clooney: classic, distinguished,” and I had gone along. But I don’t look like George Clooney; at best, I might look like his accountant. George’s super--neat, perfectly side-parted coif didn’t serve my looks and certainly didn’t match my personality. The new barber, hearing of my retirement and hopes for a more spirited look, went for a flowing, wind-tossed cut: longer on top, shorter on the sides.
And then … why was I wearing pocket T-shirts almost every day? How about some fun, button-down tropical shirts, or linen? I even got new glasses frames. My bathroom counter went from a toothbrush in a glass to a lineup of grooming concoctions. My morning ritual in front of the mirror went from 30 seconds to five minutes.
Now’s the time that you, dear reader, say, “This pathetic guy is simply trying to chase youth instead of accepting his age.” And to you I would say, “Oh, so wrong!”
Hear me out: Retirement, if you want to do it well, often means meeting a lot of new people, as well as getting back in touch with old friends, neighbors and colleagues. If you are lucky, these lead to more get-togethers. You begin to piece together a new social world, maybe some volunteering roles, or part-time work or offers to travel. It’s a fresh start. And most likely it’s exciting and a little frightening.
In this context, there are two approaches to take to retirement appearance. One is, “I made it this far, I really don’t care anymore what people think of me; I’ll look as I wish.” The other is, “I’m embarking on a whole new career of sorts. If I show myself with energy and pride, who knows what good things might emerge?”
Don’t for a moment think that people don’t notice how you show up for your first days, weeks and months of nonwork. You might not give a damn what they think, but that doesn’t negate the fact that yes, they are making judgments on how you choose to present yourself.
I’ll put it another way: A little bit of vanity doesn’t make me (or you) self-absorbed or delusional. I still worry more about taking care of my family, friends, health, brain, country and world than I do my beard, wrinkles or balding head. But seeing photos of myself from a year ago versus today, I now look happier, healthier, more playful. I’m making new friends, even getting some unexpected invitations. Call me egotistical, but I have no problem with where my beard has begun to lead me.
AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.
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