#Playing with Tiger's facial marks. Wanted to make it look like he had a crown

[snailchasers-den]

Slightly higher quality than usual SpottedTiger drawing.

I've got them on the brain as usual.

[thenewgentlemangolfer]

Hairy thing called Golf

Beards and Beards and Beards

A short trip into the history, ideology and culture of Beards in Golf.

This should be easy, your trusted author thinks, watching the small white sphere rise up into the sky. The ball takes a slight turn right before descending, more a fade than a slice he would like to think. It then disappears after one, two or three bounces into the short semi-rough on the right near the small but dense wood, some 220 meters away.

He twirls his club in this well-known manner, smugly practiced by pros and hackers alike since a certain Tiger Woods hit the golf world with full force so many years ago. He lets the driver slide into his bag. The next shot should be an easy pitch on this sunny Saturday morning. Just like the story he has just sold. An easy pitch. Nothing could be simpler. He strokes his big, greying beard, feels its pleasant roughish softness and length. He enjoys the tickling of the hair in his palm. Just a short genealogy of the beard in golf. History, culture and style. An easy one, he thinks. Watching his opponent tee up. Little did he know of the task at hand.

It Flows - It Grows

Our relationship towards male facial hair has, for the longest time, been an interesting one. Ever since we achieved the intellectual capability to reflect upon ourselves and have thus possess the ability to change, deliberately alter and interpret our appearance, the male beard has been a major point of concern. Its look, length, colour, form and mere existence have been the topic of theories, the reason for discussions, arguments and maybe even wars.

Myths and stories surround the modicum of fur from prehistoric times. And no wonder: seen from an evolutionary point of view, our facial hair is a link between domestication and an imaginary pre-human animal world: ancient, dark, frightening but somehow free. As all androgenic hair, our beards – at least for some – seem to point back to a time, when we were not constrained be the shackles of culture and learnt manners.

The long grass hides and sometimes keeps its secrets

He walks on the freshly mowed grass, towards where he believes his ball might be. On the fairway, out in the open, everything can be seen. But a ball that has rolled off into the long stuff might be lost for good. The long grass hides and sometimes keeps its secrets. It is mysterious and potentially dangerous. Hunting for his ball along the right side of the fairway, your author ponders his Stone Age ancestry.

While poking around beyond the clean-cut line that divides the tightly shaved fairway and the scrubby unkempt grass of the first cut, there is a rustling noise from the dark wood nearby. He startles: A bird, a rabbit maybe?

Club in hand, his bearded prehistoric antecedent would have – for most of his time - dived and darted through the woods, hunting for boar and dear, birds and rabbits. Just to survive.

But he would have also known playful pastimes. And it seems highly likely, that some early form of golf, probably something involving a stick and a stone, would have been played by prehistoric man. This man, of course, would have had a beard. Shaving, though a truly ancient art has only been practised for the last 20.000 odd years. Long after we learned to play…

 He finds his ball hiding in the thick long grass. He’ll have a shot… not an easy one though, but a shot. While addressing the shiny white sphere, almost hidden in the rough, something weird happens. It’s as if his ancient caveman DNA has taken over. His fingers cramp, his grip fastens, his knuckles bulge white as he strangles the club and lurches toward the ball with unexpected brute force. He can’t help it. Like some strangely dressed animal, beating down on its helpless prey. Of course he mishits, and instead of watching a high shot drop softly to the green, he spots his ball clumsily hobbling out of the rough just to stop 60 yards short of the pin. He swears under his breath and observes his opponents slow elegant swing. A round well-practised action that sends his ball on a steep trajectory up to the skies. The gods of golf seem pleased, as they guide it towards the flagstick.  “Good shot!” your author mumbles into his beard, barely audible.

The first meagre whiskers on the face of a young adolescent are, in most cultures, greeted with joy and great pride. They mark the beginning of a rite de passage from boy- to manhood.

Children and women in the west usually do not have beards. There are though famous and fascinating exceptions from this rule; alas here is neither the place, nor the time to discuss them. Having a beard has historically been a manly thing.

Biblical strongman Samson lost all his immense strength after Delilah shaved his hair and beard. Egyptian noblefolk would treat their goatee-like breads with red henna and sometimes weave golden strings into these cherished and colourful affairs. The Greeks, for the longest period of their cultural dominance, were big on beards and thought soft beardless cheeks to be unmanly and effeminate. Spartans would never go without. 

Fashion changed with Macedonian Emperor Alexander the Great, who outlawed beards for military reasons. Alexander himself was nearly always portrayed without facial hair. In Roman times, on the other hand, young men would use their first shave to mark the transition into the adult world and throughout their long lasting Empire, nearly all Romans would stay without a beard for most of their lives. 

After the Fall of Rome, rugged Germanic tribes and the Celts dominated Europe, from the North to the South. Most would wear beards, some Celts fancied moustaches and long hair, but almost nobody would shave. Later, medieval priests and clergymen shaved as a sign of soft-cheeked celibacy, while knights, soldiers and noblemen would not want to be seen without their hairy symbols of virility and honour. And it seems safe to say: Early golfers on the Scottish links will most likely have had beards.

In the centuries to come, beards would change in form and length, but facial hair always remained an important aspect of male identity. It was during the Renaissance, that whole theories concerning the beard were written. Many people in the late 17th century, for example, believed that facial hair was a form of bodily waste, generated by heat in the testicles. Beards of that time in their manifold forms where thus, as so often throughout history, strongly connected to the idea of masculinity and sexual dominance.

The 18th century saw a strong decline in the wearing of beards. Enlightened thinkers were expected to have open faces as a symbol of their open minds. Chivalry and politeness were virtues of the era. And the rough looking beard was just not en vogue. 

One of the earliest golf paintings, the famous “View of St Andrews from the Old Course” from around 1740, shows six men playing golf on the links. The unknown artist painted not one of them with a beard. The 18th century golfer went without whiskers and bristles.

Of course, that century also brought forth some of the earliest golfer portraits known to art history. And no wonder, famous portraits by David Allan and Henry Raeburn show men without beards - though with golf clubs.

But the beard was to return and with full force. The Victorian era – despite all its oppressive morals - resurrected a more obvious masculinity. The British Empire was at it zenith, the last unchartered territories were being “discovered” for the crown (or rather stolen and conquered) by her majesty’s army and bristly-bearded explorers. Military style moustaches and rough beards inspired by adventurous characters set trends among British men.

The new beard-mania spread across Europe like wildfire. Soon, the beard was yet again ubiquitous. Men of all nations, ideologies and social ranks would join the race for the best beard. The 19th century saw an unprecedented diversity in facial hair 

And with the rise of new razor technology (Gillette’s invention of the double edged safety razor, was just a few decades away) and a growing urban barber culture, there were hardly any boundaries to what form of beard could be worn. Tiny Moustaches with upward turned pointy ends (Emperor Wilhelm), big bushy beards covering most of the face and half of the chest, and huge sideburns with close-shaven chin and upper lip could all be seen at high society events, in factories, offices and - of course - on the links.

Charles Lees’ famous painting The Golfers, considered by some to be the greatest golfing painting of all, dates from 1847 and shows several very fine examples of the aforementioned facial hairstyles.

No pictures on the scorecard

With his opponent already on the green, ball marked, eyeing up his putt for a birdie, or at least a very simple par, your author pulls himself together and evaluates the situation. His ball has come to rest in a dried-out divot. Not a very deep one, but it gives him a lie bad enough to make his hands shake nervously as he grabs his wedge from the bag. “Half a swing should do the job”, he mutters, “just get it close to the pin. Par is still a possibility”. He can feel his opponent’s relaxed gaze upon him, as he takes a cautious practise swing. “Just don’t duff it”, he whispers. He doesn’t. His wedge, nervously swung, without much conviction, skulls his ball and sends it dashing along the ground, bumping to the left and to the right. He sighs and looks away in disgust, slamming his club back into his bag. He is just about to give up and concede the hole, when he hears a laugh and tentative clapping. Applause? Turning, he sees his maltreated ball has come to rest just a few inches from the hole. His rival shakes his head laughingly. “Well,” he thinks, “there are no pictures on the scorecard”.

The 19th century not only brought forth great amounts and numerous styles of beards, moustaches and whiskers but also some very significant changes to the game of golf and also huge technological progress.

The rise of professional golf and the development of photography occur nearly simultaneously.

While for centuries only the very rich had the time and the funds to have their portrait taken, photography would quickly democratize the process.

Though still far from being cheap, with the new technology growing and spreading fast, people from all social backgrounds and professions would proudly stand model. Families, businessmen, artists and athletes all had their picture taken. And it seems that professional golfers were especially fond of the process. Big-bearded confident men, in their Sunday bests would pose for the photographer, some holding clubs, or trophies, others looking to an imaginary horizon for new challenges and victories.

These men were Morris, Robertson, Braid to name just a few.

The Close Shave

Pumped up by the lucky outcome of his terrible shot, he feels at least ten inches taller, walking around the green. His opponent, still shell-shocked, lines up his putt, as your author marks his ball with an old 50-pence coin. Pretending to check the dimpled orb for scuffs and dirt, he complacently stands aside to watch. The putt for birdie doesn’t fall, but closely shaves the edge of the hole. His opponent smiles and taps in for a four. Easy par.

But this golden age of beards didn’t last for long. Once again, times changed and a new 20th century cleanliness and rosy-cheeked neatness took over. The beard lost its appeal. The bourgeoisie preferred to shave, and country club life was the highest manifestation of bourgeoisie attitude. Scruffy beards, whiskers, sideburns would before long mark you as an anarchist, socialist or revolutionary. Around the midcentury, artists, beatniks and writers would rediscover the pleasures of facial hair, but for mainstream golf culture, the beard would remain an egregious thing, reserved only for the most anomalous of characters.

From behind his ball he looks at his line. Looks longer than he should at a shot that looks longer than it did a few seconds ago. He nervously runs his hand through his beard.

There’s a story about the great Arnold Palmer and David Duval. Duval, at that time, was one of the best players in the world. During the British Open at St Andrews young Duval, sporting a tidy goatee bumped into Arnold and his agent Alistair Johnston in the Royal and Ancient clubhouse, the clean-shaven Palmer couldn’t resist and told Duval “(…) facial hair doesn’t have a place in golf!” He said this surrounded by the ancestral portraits of our bearded golfing greats. He might have been “The King”, but he sure was an arrogant one. Such were the times.

This one to halve the hole, he reminds himself, taking his stance. His hands quiver slightly over the putt as he pulls back the club. His stroke is firm and dead centre as he accelerates through the ball. But something along his line of play diverts his putt and he watches in horror as the white sphere trickles past the dark round target. He taps in for a five. Hole lost - but still in the game. Laughing, they both walk towards the next tee.

Whatever you believe in, whatever you might like

And today? Well, hipsters and fashionistas from around the world have brought about a renaissance for the beard. There’s almost no advertisement for anything without a male beard. Nowadays, facial hair is no longer a sign of class or ideology, but a mere fashion statement and a question of personal style. There are hardly any areas of life, where a beard might look out of place. You can be a lawyer, a doctor, a priest, a musician, a skater or a CEO: your hair can grow.

But then, there’s still golf. Like the small Gaelic village in the Asterix comic books, golf holds its ground. Although there are no official rules on facial hair, the PGA expects its members to “present a neat appearance in both clothing and personal grooming” and recently, the occasional request has been issued towards bearded players to tidy up their whiskers.

Whatever you believe in, whatever you might like, There is a long and illustrious shared history between our royal and ancient sport and the beard.

Starting next week we will be bringing you a brand-new and not all too serious bi-weekly series portraying famous golfers with famous beards. The first part of course will feature the legendary Morrises. Be sure to come back!