title: One Thousand Mustaches: A Cultural History of the Mo
author: Allan Peterkin
description: <div>"<I>One Thousand Mustaches</I> is the greatest book ever written about mustaches! It will make men, women, children and animals the world over want to grow their own. This book is the first step in a facial hair revolution!" &#151;Morgan Spurlock, filmmaker (<I>Super Size Me; Mansome</I>) and Mustached Know-It-All<BR><BR>"As beards sprout everywhere, the mustache has become the new beard for those who want to distinguish themselves from the masses. <I>One Thousand Mustaches</I> is a fun romp through the history and meaning of the &#8217;stache in all its furry forms." &#151;Phil Olsen, World Beard & Moustache Championships<BR><BR>"A lighthearted cultural history of the 'stache &#151; and its many incarnations &#151; through the ages." &#151;<I>The Advocate</I><BR><BR>"A veritably funny look at mustaches, their bravado, and their irony." &#151;<I>New York Press</I><BR></div><br /><br /><DIV>"<EM>One Thousand Mustaches</EM> is the greatest book ever written about mustaches! It will make men, women, children and animals the world over want to grow their own. This book is the first step in a facial hair revolution!" Morgan Spurlock, filmmaker (<EM>Super Size Me; Mansome</EM>) and Mustached Know-It-All<BR><BR>"As beards sprout everywhere, the mustache has become the new beard for those who want to distinguish themselves from the masses. <EM>One Thousand Mustaches</EM> is a fun romp through the history and meaning of the stache in all its furry forms." Phil Olsen, World Beard & Moustache Championships<BR><BR>"A lighthearted cultural history of the 'stache  and its many incarnations  through the ages." <EM>The Advocate</EM><BR><BR>"A veritably funny look at mustaches, their bravado, and their irony." <EM>New York Press</EM><BR></DIV>
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  ## Chapter One
  
  
  It was the mustache that reminded me I was no longer in England; a solid, gray
  millipede firmly obscuring the man’s upper lip; a Village People mustache, a
  cowboy mustache, the miniature head of a broom that meant business. You just
  didn’t get that kind of mustache at home. I couldn’t tear my eyes from it.
  
  
  “Ma’am?”
  
  
  The only person I had ever seen with a mustache like that at home was Mr.
  Naylor, our math teacher, and he collected Digestive crumbs in his; we used to
  count them during algebra.
  
  
  “Ma’am?”
  
  
  “Oh. Sorry.”
  
  
  The man in the uniform motioned me forward with a flick of his stubby finger.
  He did not look up from his screen. I waited at the booth, long-haul sweat
  drying gently into my dress. He held up his hand, waggling four fat fingers.
  This, I grasped after several seconds, was a demand for my passport.
  
  
  “Name.”
  
  
  “It’s there,” I said.
  
  
  “Your name, ma’am.”
  
  
  “Louisa Elizabeth Clark.” I peered over the counter. “Though I never use the
  Elizabeth bit.