From the London Telegraph:

When the First World War began, it was compulsory for all British officers to have a moustache. Poignantly, that edict was revoked in October 1916, because the new recruits were so young that some could not rustle up more than a thin, mousey streak.

and

That the fate of the Empire and the moustache have gone in hand in hand is an intriguing notion. As the red patches on the world map have dwindled to insignificant dots, such as Gibraltar and the Falkland Islands, so the once-universal furry caterpillar on the lip has become an endangered species.

and

In the years between the wars, the image of the moustache underwent a subtle change. Instead of being a symbol of respectability, it started to suggest that the wearer was something of a rake, a bounder, the sort of fellow not to be trusted in taxis.

The 826 Seattle mustache-a-thon (a fundraiser for the children’s writing center 826 Seattle) is almost over. For six weeks, I’ve been habitually mistaken for a rake, a bounder, and an untrustable-in-taxis kind of guy. That has its charms, but I won’t be sorry to see my mustache go.

Anyway, if you don’t hate children, writing, or me, you might consider donating: Don’t force me to admit I’ve lived for six weeks with this unsightly chunk of fur on my face for nothing.