Contrary to what these ridiculous studies might suggest, this didn’t manifest itself in a sudden upsurge of draconian views and values. Rather, it gave me an extra boost of confidence.

I was in my early 20s, I’d moved to London, wide-eyed and feeling like a fish out of water. Growing a beard felt like a statement of intent. I’d conformed to an old gender stereotype linked with masculinity, and I felt like I was telling the world that I’d arrived, I had a beard, possibly a hairy chest, and almost certainly medium-sized hairy balls.

Lots of my female friends absolutely hated it, some were curious about it, my boss back then was very vocal about how she couldn’t stand the sight of it. BUT – and here’s the really interesting bit – almost all of my male friends and colleagues gave it the thumbs up. They loved it.

At the time (this being the early 2000s), we’d been bombarded with metrosexual role models like David Beckham and Brad Pitt (who both, interestingly, have since grown beards), but we didn’t want to moisturise our T-zones or get our backs, sacks and cracks waxed. Having a beard felt like a counter-punch to the femininising wave of new men. We scruffed ourselves up.