Most mornings, I follow a fairly typical routine: swish around a little mouthwash, take a… Most mornings, I follow a fairly typical routine: swish around a little mouthwash, take a shower, find some clothes and have breakfast. But where does shaving fit into that equation? For me, it’s not a daily event, and that’s not because I prefer to sport a scruffy mug.

I’ve been a beardless boy wonder for 21 years now, and I’m starting to lose hope. Beards are stylish, rugged and cool. But I can’t grow one, and I just can’t find complacency in my smooth-skinned state.

Having such docile hair follicles means cutting costs on shaving cream and aftershave, and it means fewer bloody nicks from razors. Sure, it’s also a real time saver. Even when I do shave, it’s simply a matter of clearing the speckles of dirt from my upper lip and chin. Facial hair first appears at the corners of the upper lip and then spreads across it. One of the last places facial hair shows up is along the sides of the face. So maybe there’s still hope, right?

Yet my scant 5 o’clock shadow rolls in more than a few hours late, if it chooses to show up at all. I’ve had an electric pocket razor since high school — I’ve never had to change the batteries. Those guys who wake up every morning, drudge to the bathroom sink, lather on the shaving cream and swipe and swipe and swipe call me lucky. I disagree.

Lacking a beard is the facial equivalent of a school uniform. It limits a mode of self-expression and personal style. The wearer has no choice but to give off an appearance that’s neat and rather bland. And people will always think you’re still in high school. If I ever hope to become a wise old man — or at least feign the appearance of one — I’ll lack the defining visual feature. And I can guarantee that a beard would prompt less double-checking and fewer skeptical stares from behind the counter at liquor stores — having an out-of-state license doesn’t help either.

If I could grow a beard, I’d be sure to experiment with the range of styles. Hairstyle experimentation can get a bit risky. If it looks bad, you’re stuck with it until your next haircut. That is, unless you don’t mind getting a buzz cut to fix things. As for beards, if those handlebars aren’t working out, shave them off and in a few days you’ll be back to the stubbly, rugged look.

Beards have historically been a trademark characteristic of virility. In ancient Greece, lacking a beard was shameful. The ancient Egyptians had varying outlooks on wearing beards, but beards were highly associated with the divine, and many Egyptian relics feature gods’ faces adorned with ornate beards. Today, pickup trucks, bench pressing and Denny’s Lumberjack Slams are all quite manly, yet the beard remains a natural and timeless mark of masculinity.

Maybe you think the beard is an indicator of scrappiness, laziness and free-spirited rebellion. Tell that to Andrew Carnegie, Abe Lincoln, Walt Whitman and … Brett Favre. I’m not sure why the clean-shaven look is the standard for today’s affluent businessman. I’ve heard growing and maintaining a good-looking beard takes some tedious trimming, brushing and even conditioning. Any gentleman who devotes that kind of care to his appearance should be a benchmark of how to present one’s self professionally.

But perhaps more importantly, a 2008 British study found that women were most attracted to men who had some stubble on their faces, the Telegraph reported. Of the various photographs of men that the women rated, those with full beards were perceived as the most masculine, aggressive and socially mature, even though stubbly men still won for overall attractiveness. The clean-shaven men ranked last in masculinity. I don’t think the dirt-stache was ranked, but I’m willing to bet any guy who wears one is a real lady killer.

Part of the problem has to be genetics. My dad typically dons the clean-shaven, businessman look. Yet even so, he can’t pull off the full beard. He’s in his 50s and he still has no sign of sideburns — wonder if he’s given up by now.

I’ve literally dreamt about a fine day when at last I’ve sprouted a thick, bushy beard, and I can walk around proudly sporting my trophy piece.

Then I wake up. I run my hand over my face to rediscover the familiar smooth plain.

Alas, part of growing up deals with facing realizations. Some dreams just won’t come true.

E-mail Keith at [email protected].