AT a certain point in every man’s life, the hair on his head begins an epic journey to the grossest corners of his body. Here are the places it ends up:
Since we stopped being so closely related to apes, evolution has done away with back hair. Until a man hits 45, that is, when it starts growing for no apparent reason. And always in random, unconnected patches, so that a slab of already unappealing back will soon look like the speckled hide of a cow.
Long the home of excess hair, the fuzz around your privates only grows stronger with age, in direct opposition to the rest of your body. If you haven’t already got into manscaping, now is the time to start. And keep a close eye out for the single grey one that grows creepily longer than the others.
Living in a moist breeding ground, bum hair is the most inconvenient of all, even preventing you from the simple act of walking when the dreaded chafe kicks in. Plus, wiping will soon feel like you’re forcing your way through overgrown woodland like the prince in Sleeping Beauty.
Fictional hobbits in cute waistcoats can pull off charmingly fuzzy feet, but you’re a middle-aged man in sandals. If shaving them feels too weird, nick some of your partner’s Nair. Just don’t inflict them on the general public come summer.
Nose hair does the vitally important job of stopping foreign bodies getting into your lungs. However, you’ve got enough of it already, so why does your body decide to produce more of it as you age? The best thing to do is disguise this newly hideous sprouting by growing a moustache. This is why facial hair is so popular.
You completely ignore your eyebrows for the first four decades of your life, and then you wake up one day and they’ve suddenly started shooting out errant hairs up to a foot long. Should you trim them or lean into the mad professor look? Ask your wife, she’s the one who has to shag you.
Apparently, your ears are one of the only parts of your body that never stop growing, and it seems the same is true for the hairs nestled within them. By the time you’re 65 it’s so thick and bushy that you can longer hear, which is handy for pretending you didn’t hear the doorbell when your annoying little shits of grandchildren want to visit.