I must return to the vexing subject of side whiskers. I am currently attempting to cultivate a pair, so that when another opportunity arises for me to dress in full Regency Rig (at, say, the Jane Austen Festival in Bath) I shall be able more closely to resemble, Count Henri-Amédée-Mercure de Turenne, or perhaps Francois-Xavier Fabre's anonymous gentleman (well, one can but hope).
After a week and a bit of carefully not shaving the relevant areas the whiskers are beginning to establish themselves successfully. Unfortunately my wife has decided that, rather than giving me that essential Regency dash that sets apart the true Pink of the ton, they are beginning to make me resemble Beau Holder.
I bet George Brummell never had this problem.