In Search Of The Serious Mustache

Esquire Magazine has declared the return of the "serious mustache".  You can read the article here, but the gist of it is that after being ironically hijacked by tracksuit-wearing hipsters a decade ago, the sincere, professional mustache is back.  I'm sorry, Esquire, but I'm not buying it.  I was with you when you suggested Stan Smiths with a suit,  and I was totally on board for the sweater vest revival, but this feels like bullshit to me.  We're not talking about guys who wear a helmet to work or are required to catch a ball as part of their job description.  We are speaking of an executive mustache, one worn by stylish men in suits, who have personal assistants and Blackberries (and read Esquire).  Myth, I say.  Here are the only current white-collar mustaches on record:

Actually, I just realized those last two photos are both of Wilford Brimley, so that's only five.

These guys have two things in common:  They're old and they've all been rocking the mustache since the golden age of the '70s and '80s.  They're holdovers, so they can't be counted as part of this supposed mustache new wave.   Their follicles are firmly rooted in simpler, more sincere times.  A glorious era when there was nothing ironic about the mustache.  It was trustworthy, manly, business savvy and everyone from attorneys to surgeons had one.  Here's a photo of me and my father chilling on the wicker, watching the Padres lose in 1981:

Mike Fischer (who was 37 at the time) wore a tie and a beeper to work everyday.  He had a conservative haircut and voted for Reagan.  But, as you can clearly see, he also swung a whole lot of mustache.  And below is newsman Harold Greene, the most respected local anchor in '70s San Diego (which is German for "a whale's vagina"):

It was a time of respect and honor for the mustache.  But those days, I fear, are long gone.  For proof, just look at recent photos of these two mustache Jedi masters:

Nooooooooo! Fucking goatees?!  I can't look at these pictures, they make my stomach feel cold.  These are the Wright Brothers of the serious mustache and even they have let irony rewrite their game.  (As a side note, the ironic mustache isn't really "ironic" at all, Alanis.  Something that is "ironic" is, by definition, something which happens in the exact opposite way to what was expected.  Therefore, the true ironic mustache is when you tell your friends that you've grown a mustache and then show up to a party clean shaven. People that host Wes Anderson movie parties actually have "campy" or "kitschy" mustaches.) Whatever it's called, it's got the old guard scared. Even Saddam Hussein (never one to look to Williamsburg for a fashion cue) laid down his mustache and grew out the full beard near the end.  I ask you, Esquire, if our mustache heroes won't even give it their blessing, how is your heralded "advent of the mustache" ever going to take hold and...um...grow?

And so, I issue a challenge to all who read this:  If you can send me photographic proof of a real live serious mustache, I will gladly post that shit on the blog and eat crow.  A few requirements for submission- The bearer of the mustache must: 1) be 45 or under,  2) have a job that requires business attire (or surgical scrubs),  3) own no more than one White Stripes album  4) never have played in a band, 5) be unable to give directions to the nearest Urban Outfitters.

Good luck.  For the sake of all mustaches, I hope I am proved wrong.