Though, a week ago, the fu manchu was, according to one blogger I then met, “one of those faint, prepubescent mustaches that look like the wearer has just finished drinking Yoohoo and forgot to wipe his lip,” it quickly grew out to something more terrifyingly bushy, something that received even worse reviews.

So, as of this morning, I’m back to clean-shaven, though likely to return – out of equal parts style and sloth – to my scruffy-bearded standard.

At the same time, my hair (as in head-top, rather than facial) has also reached the latter stages of the cut-grow-grow cycle. At the start of each such circuit, my hair spikes up, entirely on its own. So, in an effort to imply intentionality, I often use pomade during that first stage, as if to say, ‘yes, it’s supposed to look like this.’

Somewhere along the way, however, my hair loses its alfafa enthusiasm, laying down in such a way as to invite (at least when beardless) frequent comparison to Matthew Broderick. And, normally, at that point I stop using pomade.

But, this time through, oddly enthralled with the idea of stylistic self-experimentation (regardless of the distinct non-success of Project Fu Manchu), I’ve decided to keep pomading, and keep growing, as long as I can get my hair to stand straight up.

I’ve begun to discover already that doing so requires far more gel than usual – may soon even necessitate a whole new stronger, firmer-holding compound. But that shouldn’t deter me. Already, I’m achieving a solid two-plus scalp-top vertical inches. And, god knows, I could use the extra height.