Pre-College Perspective: Mustaches are great. Please do grow one.
Modern Analysis: Spending all my time around pubescent boys who could hardly even grow armpit hair, fuzz on the face must have seemed like something foreign, mature, and attractive. Oh, and old-school awesome. This was before I realized that mature hair follicles correlate in no way with a mature brain. Sometimes the two maturities co-exist, but that is by exception and not by rule.
Freshman Year Perspective: Mustaches are funny. Let's don them together.
Modern Analysis: Some freshman boys could grow decent 'staches, but mostly they came in patchy and lopsided and were a source of humor. I'd never experienced a "No-Shave November" or a "Mustache March" before and thought it was a decent competition which would be made even better when had among the older and wiser returned missionaries. Creepers made them shamefully irresistible, in an indescribable way.
Now: I was willing to give Mustache March a chance, but we're two-thirds of the way through and I'm quite frankly a bit nauseous.
Oh men, stop fooling yourselves. Obviously you have something to prove, or else a freshman girlfriend who loves you solely for your long-term ability to grow creep-status on your face. I imagine that only a hipster could pull off a socially-acceptable mustache, and no self-appreciating hipster would stoop to that bandwagon-esque level.
There are two people alive who can pull of the 'stache.
1) Tom Selleck
2) My dad in the '80s
I imagine the hope for these levels of awesomeness is what sustained my perspectives prior to this point.
But unless you have the world's nicest dimples or some coke-bottle glasses, it's time to take a razor to the face.
I apologize to those whom I may have offended, and invite you to attempt to offer evidence to the contrary.
I'll keep an open mind.
Good luck.