I’m sick of Brian Wilson

Those that know me may assume I have beard envy immediately, and move on from this. In a lot of cases they’d be right, as a bearded man I’m always on the lookout for beards better than my own (and there are plenty).

But Wilson’s beard is as fake as the rest of him. While it grows in full, thick, and consistently, it is obviously dyed black now. There are a lot of things my kind of guys don’t do, and as far as my informal list goes, dying any hair on their body would rank close to the top.

And then there is the fact that as recently as 2009 there were articles like this being written about Wilson.

The punk-rock, pseudo-intellectual, pseudo-Chuck-Norris, pseudo-Chuck-Manson, pseudo-Kenny-Powers is a marketing gimmick, and has nothing to do with baseball. And when the world series ended last year, Wilson almost had a moment of non-merchandisable genuine joy when he hesitated to do his goofy arm-cross to sky-satan move that has become his trademark, a la this similarly opportunistic athlete.

When the Brian Wilson train comes to a halt, I’ll be waiting there to laugh. Fred Durst: The Sequel, you’re fucking out.