I hear that “beardos” are now persona non grata in the US army. The honourable Pete Hegseth, the chisel-jawed Secretary of War of the United States of America, has banned the hirsute subcategory of soldier. This includes Sikhs, Muslims, and Nordic pagans — also anyone who gets ingrown hairs, which is a common problem for those with very curly hair. So far so very Imperium. The Romans also liked it clean shaven and looked down on the beardos as garden-variety barbarians. (Until Emperor Hadrian, but that is neither hair nor there.) This latest salvo in the culture wars is par for the course — all those millennial softies with their beard oils and soft jawlines are not welcome in the Department of War. And don’t you dare forget it.
There are a few things you should probably know about the honourable Secretary of War. For one, he is not a comic-book character. I know it’s hard to believe given the matinee soapie-idol thing he’s got going on — that whole Ken Forrester appeal that looks great in a uniform and on a screen. Apparently, it was this general “looking the partness” that inspired the Don to appoint the telegenic Fox News host to his cabinet. And, in keeping up with his appearances, Pete’s first big priority on the job was to change the name of his actual job. He needed a properly aggressive, hyper-masculine title. Secretary of War is much more imposing than that weak-willed Secretary of Defence title. So, yes, in case you thought you were watching a fictional post-apocalyptic narrative on Netflix, he is in fact a flesh-and-blood personage of great self-importance. He went to Princeton and Harvard and probably can’t believe his luck because, despite the early promise of his gilded youth, he had kind of fudged things.
Pete may look the part but, sadly, there is a lapse between the sign and the signifier. He was pretty atrocious at keeping track of the money at all the places he worked where they gave him access to the cheque book, never mind campaign funds. He also couldn’t really keep track of other numbers, like alcoholic beverages consumed or the number of willing and unwilling ladies one could concurrently consume. Under normal circumstances you would brush all this off and tut-tut about the empty vessel. These are all too human traits and who among us can really afford to throw the first stone?
But when you are the leader of the newly minted Department of War and the rest of the world is at your mercy, it’s the kind of thing that speaks to strength of character, the stuff of discipline and inherent values that may be called upon when you have the world’s biggest army at your disposal.
I don’t know, call me crazy, but when you have decided that you are on a war footing as opposed to a defensive holding pattern and you appear to wield unlimited power because your boss man likes the way you look and the way you can throw your weight around because you have a way with macho posturing, well, then I would like to know that the man in charge is more than a pretty boy with pretty privilege that gets him everything he wants despite his all-too-obvious Achilles heel.
I mention Achilles because, despite his heroic semi-godlike birth, fantastic good looks, and brilliant swordsmanship, the guy was a big baby who got his knickers in a knot because some other general took his trophy. The trophy in question? A princess of Troy, who was now enslaved and therefore parcelled out to these okes for their pleasure. Different times. As a consequence he threw a tremendous hissy fit that lasted for months, refused to fight, so got his best friend (who went to the battlefield in his armour) killed, and then threw an even bigger fit, killing the Trojan prince and dishonouring his own team by dishonouring the dead body of the enemy.
All this to say that, if you fall for the hype, you make yourself and everyone around you vulnerable on every level. You can take the beardo out of the army but a square jaw does not a hero make.
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Aspasia
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