Mustaches are in vogue. Mustache mugs. Mustache T-shirts. The mustache on my father. After years, they are all finally cool, which makes my niche profession of mustache-making cool. You may remember my mustaches from such Berkeley Rep productions as The Great Game: Afghanistan, Lemony Snicket's The Composer is Dead, and my personal favorite mustache was a minor plot point in last season’s Three Sisters.
One might ask how, or why, I have developed an infinite obsession and passion for the art of mustache-making. I will say one thing: the mustache makes the man, therefore in some surge of feminist power, I somehow believe that I too have a say as to who a male character becomes.
For example, a few weeks ago, for our staff photo day, the women of the costume shop dressed in drag. While we were very much ourselves in men’s clothing, once I pulled out the mustaches and slapped them on everyone’s upper lip, we transformed. Beer guts out. Hands down pants. Spitting unnecessarily. We were the manliest men in town, all thanks to the caterpillars under our noses.
The art of mustache-making is based on patience and repetition. By using a tiny barbed hook -- think a fishing hook for a tadpole -- one crochets a chunk of hair (a single hair or up to five) into a mesh fabric referred to as lace. The task is both zen and engaging, as you literally watch your mustache grow. (Just add water!)
My most recent mustache can be seen in a current production of Picasso at the Lapin Agile at the Town Hall Theater in Lafayette. The show is costumed by none other than our costume director Maggi Yule, and while the clothes are fantastic, what would young Einstein be without a mustache? Just a weird dude with some crazy hair.
And now, if you too find yourself in need of an amazing custom mustache, just follow the trail of hair to my little corner of Berkeley Rep, and we’ll see what we can do.
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