A Further Examination of Beard Oil & Its Ramifications

Way back in Sep­tem­ber of 2013, I wrote a post about what it was like to lose my beard oil vir­gin­i­ty. I’ve come a fair dis­tance since Beard Oil & Its Ram­i­fi­ca­tions, and I thought this might be a good time to revis­it the issue. My beard is not as frig­gin’ huge as it was back in Sep­tem­ber. My beard is like a bram­ble patch, and I’m still in the process of fig­ur­ing out if there’s a low-has­sle way to mit­i­gate that. I don’t real­ly mind hav­ing a face that looks like there’s a pubic bush grow­ing out of it, as long as I can keep my chin-hedge prop­er­ly clipped.

Beard oil doesn’t help with that. I have dis­cov­ered that I like how it changes the feel of the beard, and I am very intrigued by the scent pos­si­bil­i­ties. It should be clear that in gen­er­al, I’m cheap, and I’m picky. Know that before read­ing on. I’ve done a bit of research, and here’s what I’ve tried out so far:

Queen Bee Trading Company All Natural Beard Oil

My friend Jeri­ka rec­om­mend­ed this one to me, at $10 (plus ship­ping) it’s about as inex­pen­sive as you can find beard oil, and it has a pleas­ant but unas­sum­ing woodsy scent. I’ve been using it as my dai­ly beard oil, and it’s done the job very well. You can also place a cus­tom order request and get pret­ty much any scent you’d care for. The order came with a sam­ple of the cof­fee-scent­ed oil, and I was a big fan.

Odin Spiced Mead Beard Oil by Bath Sabbath

By far the brand clos­est to my black heart. Every­thing Bath Sab­bath makes is met­al-themed, and they’ve got bitchin’ graph­ic design. I couldn’t pass up try­ing their Odin beard oil ($10 plus ship­ping). If you like sweet­er & more flo­ral scents for your beard, a stronger scent, or a beard oil that’s a bit thick­er than stan­dard, make a run for this. Spiced Mead is right on for the descrip­tion. Think wild­flower hon­ey, drink­ing from mead horns while out­side, in the dark, some­thing slavers. I was con­tact­ed by the pro­pri­etor after leav­ing my Etsy review, and she said she’d send me a sam­ple of her upcom­ing Cer­nun­nos scent.

Tree Ranger Beard Oil by Beardbrand

I just recent­ly received this beard oil, and though it’s nor­mal­ly out of my price range ($25 plus ship­ping) I got a good deal on it from Huck­ber­ry. I like its woodsy scent, the cedar­wood & pinewood essen­tial oils are a good com­bo, but it’s def­i­nite­ly less vis­cous (it arrived frozen) than any oth­er oil I’ve tried, and doesn’t come with a drop­per. This means it is get­ting used up real­ly fast. Unless you’re super picky about the types of oil used and its sourc­ing, you can get a sim­i­lar prod­uct for sig­nif­i­cant­ly less in a vari­ety of places.

The Carpenter by Dream Beard

This was one of the sam­ples that I got in my first attempt at beard oil­ing. It was my favorite, so I bought a prop­er bot­tle ($15 plus ship­ping). The name is spot on. It smells like a wood­shop. What’s not to like about that?

The Gentleman’s Beard Grooming Kit by First Olympian

I felt like I took a big gam­ble with this, but it def­i­nite­ly paid off. This amaz­ing groom­ing kit (£94) came with 4 trav­el-sized oils (Her­mes, Ares, Zeus, Eros), trim­ming shears, and a badass wood­en comb. Each of the oils smell good enough to eat, and kind of leave every­thing else I’ve reviewed so far in the dust. Seri­ous­ly the best stuff I’ve tried. I’ll have to use it par­si­mo­nious­ly.

Combs

I knew I need­ed a decent wood comb for the beard, the Conair comb I’ve been using for my hair for a bil­lion years ain’t got what it takes to clear a swath through my tan­gle, and I want­ed some­thing wood­en to absorb the excess oil. I bought a cheap neem wood comb from Ama­zon and it’s done a great job. I want­ed to find some­thing a bit bet­ter qual­i­ty and made in the USA, if pos­si­ble. All I could scrounge up at the time was Sier­ra Lega­cy Hard­wood Combs. What I got was a great comb, but not for my beard. Now I’ve stum­bled across a few oth­er beard comb options, but haven’t picked any­thing yet.

Thoughts on Privilege, Listening, Empathy, Discretion & Brokenness

I’m 33, and I think I’m final­ly start­ing to inter­nal­ize what priv­i­lege means. I’ve always per­ceived its fram­ing as a neg­a­tive. “You have priv­i­lege, and that’s not fair.” To which my thought has always been: “Okay, so what am I sup­posed to do about it?” Deny­ing it is fool­ish, and not using it (which is what I’ve tried to do for a long time) is also fool­ish. I feel like the best use of my priv­i­lege is to exer­cise it in ways that are the oppo­site of patron­iza­tion.

The eas­i­est method to start, for me, is to lis­ten with inten­tion to those who don’t share my priv­i­lege and have things to say. So the Under 30 open mic at Guide to Kulchur every week is a good chance for me to do that. I’m the only old per­son there. Mean­while, upstairs, there’s a poet­ry chap­book called “For the Young Poets of Cleve­land” writ­ten by an old white guy who is prob­a­bly in his late 50s. He was a grown-ass man when I was 4. The epony­mous poem is a list of rules for young poets to fol­low. The sec­ond poem is a trib­ute to d.a. levy. That pins this guy square­ly to the priv­i­lege of every oth­er old white guy poet in town who thinks poet­ry began and end­ed with the Beats. No young poet is going to pick up that chap­book with any­thing oth­er than deri­sion in mind. The dude ain’t got a clue because he’d rather be didac­tic than lis­ten to what actu­al young poets have to say. That’s what I’m try­ing not to be. (UPDATE: And thanks to Andy, in the com­ments below, I’ve learned that the guy hasn’t even lived in the area for 30 years.)

So I lis­ten. Hard. And I try to release my eas­i­ly reached priv­i­leged judg­ments, because that’s not any sort of pro­duc­tive.

Next up is empa­thy. I’ve always been pret­ty good at empa­thy, but I real­ized that I know that and have there­fore not been prac­tic­ing it. A lazy empa­thy. When I lis­ten hard, I can’t be lazi­ly empa­thet­ic. There are plen­ty of sit­u­a­tions that I haven’t been in that make it hard for me to under­stand what and why a per­son is feel­ing the way they are feel­ing, but their feel­ings are still valid. There’s no such thing as an invalid feel­ing. I’ve been work­ing real­ly hard with my son on this, try­ing to devel­op a healthy under­stand­ing of feel­ings and their caus­es; a place we can both feel safe shar­ing. I’m try­ing to extend that empa­thy to every­one else that shares things with me. Maybe I haven’t been in the exact sit­u­a­tion, but try­ing to under­stand, and ask­ing to under­stand get me most of the way there. Chances are I’ve had the same feel­ings myself once in awhile.

What I’ve most recent­ly awok­en to is the virtue of dis­cre­tion. Typ­i­cal­ly dis­cre­tion is assigned to one’s per­son­al affairs, but that’s small pota­toes com­pared to its exer­cise when it comes to the affairs that anoth­er shares with you. I’ve told many peo­ple over the years that secrets die with me, and I’m still bat­ting a thou­sand on that count. I nev­er real­ly thought of that inten­tion as some­thing par­tic­u­lar­ly valu­able, but late­ly I’ve real­ized that it shouldn’t be denied. I know of not a few friend­ships that have dis­in­te­grat­ed because some­thing was shared in con­fi­dence, but the con­fi­dant could not keep their trap shut. Few things need more care than the vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty a friend entrusts to you. Friend­ship can be treat­ed far too flip­pant­ly.

All of this sort of ties into a final idea I’ve been chew­ing on. The con­cept that we are all part­ly bro­ken. The need to rec­og­nize that fact, the need to under­stand that peo­ple han­dle their bro­ken parts in dif­fer­ent ways. Some pre­tend they are whole, some pre­tend they are whol­ly bro­ken. There are as many ways to per­form bro­ken­ness as there are ways to be bro­ken. If you under­stand that, accept your own bro­ken bits, the prac­tice of inten­tion­al lis­ten­ing, empa­thy & dis­cre­tion becomes very ful­fill­ing. You know you’re doing bet­ter at ensur­ing noth­ing you do makes chips and shat­ters on anoth­er per­son. You’ll still do it, because you’re part­ly bro­ken too, but maybe some­one else will lis­ten, empathize, and hon­or your shar­ing.