A Day in the Life of a DBCO Beard. Told By the Beard. You're Welcome.

The following is told from the perspective of a DBCO beard. A beard that is soft enough to sit on, long enough to envy, and absolutely done pretending to be humble about it. Names have been changed. Nothing else has been toned down.

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6:15 AM — The Shampoo

This is where it starts. This is where legends are made.

He reaches for the DBCO Beard Shampoo. Twig and Berries. Because today is not a day for subtlety. Today is a day for dark berries, mysterious undertones, and the kind of scent that makes people forget what they were saying mid-sentence.

Aloe Vera Juice base because water is for people who don't care and we very much care. Baobab Protein from the actual Tree of Life in Africa penetrating my shaft with the kind of intention that most people only dream about. Mafura Oil going so deep into my hair shaft that I genuinely lost my composure for a moment.

I am not ashamed of that.

I emerge from this shower softer than I have any right to be. More conditioned than seems fair. Smelling like something that should probably require a permit.

He towels me dry. Applies the Mist. Two spritzes of Twig and Berries and I go from incredible to actually dangerous.

We step out into the world.

God help them.

8:00 AM — Breakfast

Corner table. Busy coffee shop. He's got his earbuds in scrolling through his phone like a man who has no idea what is happening three feet behind him.

I know. I always know.

Two women at the next table. One leans over to the other and whispers something. I catch every word because I am a beard and eavesdropping is literally one of my superpowers.

"Do you smell that?"

"Oh my god yes. Where is that coming from?"

They both look around. Their eyes land on him. He is completely oblivious. His coffee is getting cold. His phone has his full attention.

"Him? Really?"

"I know. But that SMELL."

A pause. A long pause.

"I would sit on that beard."

9:00 AM — The Office

Her name is Jess. She works two desks over. She has been here every morning for two years and every morning she finds a reason to walk past his desk at least once.

Today she makes it three steps past before she stops. Turns around. Walks back. Leans on the edge of his desk and without saying a single word reaches out and runs her fingers through me from root to tip like she owns the place.

He looks up from his computer.

She shrugs. "Sorry. I just had to. You know I can't help it."

He does know. Everyone in this office knows. I know. I have always known.

She walks away. Looks back once. Smiles.

I am living my best life.

12:30 PM — The Gym

He thinks this is about fitness. It is not about fitness.

This is about what Twig and Berries smells like when a man is working hard and the scent is radiating off his beard like a weapon.

The woman on the treadmill next to him keeps glancing over. Not at him. At me. She has headphones in but I can read lips and what she just mouthed to herself was not something I can repeat verbatim on this platform.

He finishes his workout. Towels off. I am still holding the scent. Still conditioning. Still doing the work while he thinks he's the one doing the work.

Adorable.

6:00 PM — Getting Ready

This is my favorite part of the whole day and the morning shower is a strong competitor so that tells you something.

Going out with the guys. Looking for trouble. Looking for the kind of trouble that smells your beard and asks if she can see you again.

He showers again. Fresh application of everything. The whole system. Shampoo. Mist. Balm. The full DBCO treatment because tonight is not the night for half measures.

He stands in the mirror. I am shaped. I am conditioned. I am holding the scent of Twig and Berries like a man holds a secret — close, intentional, and with full awareness of the effect it's going to have.

He looks at me. I look back.

We are ready.

We have never been more ready.

9:00 PM — The Bar

Loud music. Dim lights. A room full of people doing their best.

And then she smells us from across the dance floor.

I see it happen in real time. She's mid-conversation with her friend. Her nose does something. Her head tilts slightly to the left. Her eyes start scanning the room like a heat seeking missile looking for the source of something that just rewired her priorities for the evening.

Her eyes find him.

He has no idea. He is talking to his buddy about something completely unrelated to the miracle that is currently unfolding ten feet away.

She leans over to her friend. I catch every word.

"You smell that?"

"What?"

"THAT. Him. That beard."

Her friend leans in. Sniffs the general direction of my human. Her eyes go wide.

"Oh."

"Wow."

"Oh."

"I know."

A pause.

"I want to smell that later."

I would like to formally thank the DBCO formulation team for this moment. You know who you are. You know what you did. This is the result.

She makes her way over. They talk. He finally notices her. He smiles. She smiles. She reaches out and touches me without asking and honestly at this point I have stopped requiring permission.

11:30 PM — Her Place

I am not going to get into details.

What I will tell you is that we ended up in her bedroom. What I will tell you is that at some point she looked him dead in the eye and said with full seriousness and complete eye contact:

"Lay down. I'm going to find out if it really is soft enough to sit on."

I want to be very clear that even though I understood exactly what was about to happen, I was not prepared.

Everything went dark.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see. I'd been flattened, instantly. There was warmth. There were sounds coming from above me that I didn't have the context to fully interpret.

He yelled something. I couldn't make it out. Something about not being able to find something.

The sounds from above continued.

He yelled again. "Found it!" Whatever it was. He obviously found it and she was extremely happy about it because the sounds changed considerably.

She screamed something. I'm not sure what. The acoustics were terrible from where I was.

And then.

Light.

Air.

She was no longer sitting on me.

I could see the ceiling again. I could breathe again. I took a moment to collect myself and reflect on what had just occurred.

I still don't fully know what happened up there. I have theories. I am keeping them to myself.

What I do know is that she looked at him afterward and said "your beard really is soft enough to sit on."

He said "I know."

He's been saying that for years. Nobody believed him.

She believed him.

The Bottom Line

This is a Tuesday. This is a regular Tuesday for a man with a DBCO beard.

Whispered conversations in coffee shops. Jess from accounting and her complete lack of restraint. A woman on a treadmill mouthing things. A bar. A dance floor. A bedroom ceiling I will never forget.

Take care of your beard. Condition it. Scent it. Build it into something worthy of the life it's about to give you.

We'll be here. Soft. Conditioned. Unapologetic.

Soft enough to sit on. We always meant that.

🖤 The Beard