Ben Sloot

I found myself watching SecWar hold court with his senior commanders and declare:
“No beardos. No fatsos. We’re preparing for war.”

Every generation rediscovers the idea that discipline should look a certain way—trim, pressed, and uniform. There’s a timelessness to holding the line on standards, but also something predictable about how easily we drift from them when no one’s watching.

Pick your battles. Appearance feels like the easiest one to win.
You can’t fix global supply chains or force readiness from a memo—but you can order everyone to shave.

So here’s to the next great Department of War directive—issued with confidence:

“Effective immediately: No beardos. No fatsos. No exceptions.”

Somewhere, an auditorium of generals remains perfectly still.
Division deepens—whether generational, ideological,
or simply among those still learning to be strict with self
and forgiving of others.

Gel, cream, or are you a dreaded dry guy?