The mustache - I was never happy with the fullness of it. I was a bit too young. Maybe I'll bring it back in my mid-thirties.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I had a mustache when I was 13.
My mustache has become this weird iconic representation of a certain era.
It was my mustache that landed jobs for me. In those silent-film days it was the mark of a villain. When I realized they had me pegged as a foreign nobleman type I began to live the part, too. I bought a pair of white spats, an ascot tie and a walking stick.
I think I've become the go-to mustache man. It works in period pieces. Modern-day mustaches are probably creepy. But I get compliments - everyone's like, 'Wow, love the 'stache, dude.'
When I went to the Olympics, I had every intention of shaving the mustache off, but I realized I was getting so many comments about it - and everybody was talking about it - that I decided to keep it.
The mustache represented the old John; I didn't want to be that guy anymore, so I shaved it off. It was ritualistic in a way.
A mustache really defines your face. My dad had a mustache when I was growing up, and I can still remember when he shaved it, he looked like a completely different person.
Nowadays, if you have a mustache, people look at you like you're crazy. But when I was growing up, I never saw my dad without a mustache.
I couldn't wait to grow a mustache. I stopped shaving my upper lip the day I graduated from high school.
Having a mustache and never smiling became a permanent component of my persona through the quaintly self-important decade of the seventies.