Umbrellas have been around for a long time — at least 3,000 years, according to T.S. Crawford's A History of the Umbrella — but they were used by only select segments of the population for much of that history. Ancient Egyptians used them to shade their pharaohs, setting the tone for an association with royalty and nobility that would also surface in China, Assyria, India, and other older civilizations. Meanwhile, they were deemed effeminate by ancient Greeks and the Romans who assumed many of their cultural habits. It should be noted that these early umbrellas protected against the sun, not rain, and were generally used by women to shield their complexions. The association between women and umbrellas persisted through much of Europe for centuries, and stubbornly remained into the 18th century, even after the first waterproof umbrellas had been created (around the 17th century in France).
Baltimore was once the umbrella capital of the world.
The nation’s first umbrella factory opened in Baltimore in 1828. The Beehler Umbrella Factory motto was “Born in Baltimore, Raised Everywhere!” By the 20th century, Baltimore factories made 1.5 million umbrellas annually, and the city was deemed the umbrella capital of the world.
In England, at least, the man credited with ushering in a new age of gender-neutral weather protection was merchant and philanthropist Jonas Hanway. Having spotted the umbrella put to good use during his many travels, Hanway took to carrying one through rainy London in the 1750s, a sight met with open jeering by surprised onlookers. The greatest abuse apparently came from coach drivers, who counted on inclement weather to drive up demand for a dry, comfy ride. But Hanway took the derision in stride. Shortly after his death in 1786, an umbrella advertisement surfaced in the London Gazette, a harbinger of sunnier days to come for the accessory’s reputation as a rain repellant for all.
The English word “umbrella” originates from the Latin term “umbra,” meaning “shade/shadow.”
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Umbrella champion Jonas Hanway was a pronounced opponent of tea drinking.
You’d expect a man bold enough to navigate the hardscrabble streets of 18th-century London with a dainty umbrella to possess a certain determination to get things done, and indeed, Jonas Hanway was a champion of many causes. He founded the Marine Society to recruit cadets for the navy, served as an executive for the Foundling Hospital children’s home, advocated for the safety of chimney sweepers, and even attempted to convince a nation of tea drinkers that they were doing something profoundly wrong. This last effort came by way of his 1756 work “An Essay on Tea,” which summed up the evils of the seemingly benign refreshment with the subtitle: “Considered as pernicious to health; obstructing industry; and impoverishing the nation.” As with his umbrella crusade, his zealous stance on tea drinking was met with a degree of public mockery, most notably in a response by famed British writer and lexicographer Samuel Johnson in Literary Magazine. But there was no posthumous redemption to be earned in this particular arena, as his countrymen and women went right on indulging themselves with the beverage, and continue to do so to the tune of 100 million cups daily.
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Tim Ott has written for sites including Biography.com, History.com, and MLB.com, and is known to delude himself into thinking he can craft a marketable screenplay.
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Climate change isn’t just raising the temperature of the world’s oceans — it’s alsochanging their color. As the oceansabsorb the excess heat generated by greenhouse gases, that heat is altering the aquatic life in their waters.Research published in Nature in 2023 shows that the familiar blue hue of the oceans has been steadily transforming over the past 20 years into a greener shade, especially in tropical and subtropical areas of the world.
The world’s largest migration happens in the ocean every single day.
Every night, trillions of sea creatures called zooplankton travel to the ocean’s surface to feed on photosynthesizing phytoplankton. Although the distance for some organisms is only 1,000 feet, that’s the equivalent of a human swimming 50 miles in an hour.
The color of the ocean is dependent on a variety of factors, but one key is thelight absorption of H2O. Water usually readily absorbs longer wavelengths of light — red, yellow, and green — and scatters blue. However, a concentration of marine life can cause emerald waters. The newly green hue detected by the 2023 research likely reflects a change in the ocean’sphytoplankton — the algae responsible for70% of the world’s oxygen, and which also provides the foundation for the marine food web. Scientists monitored ocean color usingNASA’s Aqua satellite, and found marked shifts toward green in about 56% of the world’s oceans between 2002 and 2022. Statistical simulations showed that added greenhouse gases are to blame, although it’s not exactly clear how, since areas that warmed the most at the surface weren’t the ones that turned green the most. Some scientists theorize that the change may have to do with reduced mixing in the layers of ocean water, caused by the heat, which limits the nutrients that rise to the surface and consequently affects the types of plankton that can survive. But don’t go color-correcting your photos just yet: While satellites can detect the change in ocean hue, the change is slight enough that most humans probably wouldn’t notice a difference.
The world’s cleanest and clearest large body of water is the U.S.’s Crater Lake.
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Human eyes are most sensitive to the color green.
Human eyes can perceive only a small fraction of the electromagnetic spectrum. The visible spectrum, which excludes things like radio waves, X-rays, infrared, ultraviolet, and (very dangerous) gamma rays, stretches from around 380 nanometers (nm) to about 740 nm. Glimpse a rainbow — or recite the elementary school acronym ROYGBIV — and you’ll notice that green lies right in the middle of our visual sweet spot. The color occupies around 520 to 565 nm, and the light sensitivity of the human eye in daytime peaks at about 555 nm, which is a green that’s close to yellow. Because of this advantageous middle-of-the-road placement, the human eye can discern more shades of green than any other color. Since seeing green is also less of a strain on our visual system, the color positively affects our mood — essentially, our nervous system gets to relax. Green’s innate ability to “placate and pacify” is one reason the hue can often be found in places of healing, especially hospitals.
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Darren Orf lives in Portland, has a cat, and writes about all things science and climate. You can find his previous work at Popular Mechanics, Inverse, Gizmodo, and Paste, among others.
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The circus brought death-defying performers and exotic animals across the American landscape in the 1800s, but it also introduced something a little sweeter: pink lemonade. There are two origin stories for the rose-tinted drink, both involving the big top. One version, revealed in a 1912 obituary, credits the invention to Chicago saloonkeeper, theatrical promoter, gambler, and circus vendor Henry E. Allott. The story goes that after running off to join the circus at age 15, Allott accidentally dropped some red cinnamon candies into a tub of traditional lemonade, only to find that the new mixture was a hit with concession-stand customers.
Named for the color of their flesh, pink lemons yield a clear-colored liquid.
The alternate and more colorful version of the drink’s dawn comes courtesy of an innovative clown named Pete Conklin circa 1857. Fed up with his wages, Conklin renounced the bells and sequins, and instead followed the circus as a lemonade vendor while his former co-workers wound their way through Texas. One hot day, legend has it, Conklin was dismayed to find he had run out of water as his parched customers demanded something to drink. Scouring the lot for replenishment, he dashed into the changing tent of bareback horse rider Fannie Jamieson, who was washing her red tights in a bin of water. Conklin grabbed the bin, its contents colored pink by the garment's aniline dye, and after dumping in the usual sugar and soggy lemon, he unveiled his new “strawberry lemonade” to an appreciative crowd. This story was later confirmed by Conklin’s lion-tamer brother George, and while it may be a tall tale regardless, it’s the type that goes down well when accompanied by a tall glass of our favorite pink beverage.
The Jewish community of medieval Egypt drank a proto-lemonade of lemon juice and sugar called qatarmizat.
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Circus peanuts were used to create a famous breakfast cereal.
Circus peanuts likely didn’t originate at the circus, and their murky origins are just one of the many mysteries surrounding the banana-flavored marshmallow treat that ostensibly has something to do with peanuts. Fortunately, there is one thing we know for certain about this holdover from 19th-century penny candy bins. According to General Mills, a product developer named John Holahan decided to mix chopped-up circus peanuts with Cheerios while experimenting with new cereal ideas in the early 1960s. The result was the marshmallow-oat mix that became Lucky Charms, another food product with a name that offers no clue to its content, but nevertheless has endured as a staple of American culture.
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Tim Ott has written for sites including Biography.com, History.com, and MLB.com, and is known to delude himself into thinking he can craft a marketable screenplay.
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Although not the most glamorous of methods, sweating is a biologically ingenious way to keep cool. Our sweat glands employ energy — in this case, heat — to evaporate water off our skin, which in turn cools us down. Humans, along with some monkeys and all of the great apes, use a similar cooling technique, but sweating isn’t as ubiquitous throughout the animal kingdom as you might expect. For example, pigs don’t sweat — not really, anyway.
Sweat itself doesn’t smell — the liquid is made up of lots of water and a little salt. However, sweat glands in our armpits and groin release a type of sweat that is protein-rich, which bacteria then feeds on. The byproduct of this microscopic meal is what actually causes body odor.
Pigs dohave some sweat glands, but they’re insufficient to play a significant role in regulating the creatures’ body temperatures. Instead, some of a pig’s internal body temperature is regulated by a thyroid-produced hormone, but the most fast-acting method for keeping cool is simply wallowing in mud. When the mud evaporates, it takes some heat with it, just as when human sweat evaporates. Pigs will also seek shaded areas, lie flat on cool ground, or even pant similarly to dogs. The fact that pigs don’t sweat much has created an idea that eating a pig is unhealthy because they can’t release toxins through sweat — but that’s just a myth.
Hibernating during the summer to keep cool is called estivation.
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The phrase “sweating like a pig” comes from iron — not the animal.
During the traditional iron smelting process, hot iron was poured into molds lined with sand and arranged with one runner feeding into many rows. The molds were said to resemble a row of piglets suckling a sow, which is how crude iron became known by its common name, “pig iron.” The phrase “sweating like a pig” comes from the fact that as the iron cools, water vapor condenses on its surface — a signal that it’s now safe to handle. Although this phrase is likely a 19th-century European invention, the Chinese first used pig iron thousands of years ago, and it’s still used today as a raw material for iron steelmaking.
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Darren Orf lives in Portland, has a cat, and writes about all things science and climate. You can find his previous work at Popular Mechanics, Inverse, Gizmodo, and Paste, among others.
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You may wonder how a long, purple fruit came to be called an eggplant. It all has to do with a specific popular variety from the 18th century known for its egglike color and circular shape. Eggplants were domesticated in the Indo-Burma region as early as 300 BCE and were called vatingana — a Sanskrit word derived from vani, meaning “wind.” During the British occupation of India, English horticulturist John Abercrombie took note of a particularly common local cultivar that looked white and spherical, much like a typical bird’s egg. In 1767, he wrote about this “egg-plant” in the book Every Man His Own Gardener, denoting the first use of the term in English literature.
New Jersey harvests more eggplants than any other U.S. state.
While China is the biggest global exporter of eggplants, New Jersey harvests the most of any U.S. state. According to a 2019 report by New Jersey’s Department of Agriculture, the state harvests an annual average of 849 acres of eggplant, ahead of California’s average of 705 acres each year.
While these white, circular eggplants have since fallen out of fashion, similar varieties including the Easter eggplant are still grown. But in general, the most widely grown type of eggplant is known for its dark purple color and elongated shape. It wasn’t until the early 19th century that a shift to this variety took place in the United States, when new eggplant seeds were brought over by immigrants from various parts of Asia. In time, those colorful eggplant varieties came to displace the once-standard pale, ovate type.
Despite the fruit’s change in appearance, the original nomenclature stuck in the United States and Canada. However, other areas have coined names of their own. In the United Kingdom, the fruit is known as an aubergine (a French loanword). A brightly colored variant is referred to as a garden egg throughout parts of Africa and the Caribbean. And around the 16th century in Europe, eggplants were also briefly called mad apples, a name inspired by the fact that they’re members of the nightshade family and thus were once believed to be poisonous if eaten.
The Caesar salad wasn’t named after Julius Caesar.
It’s a common misconception that the Caesar salad was named after Roman statesman Julius Caesar. In reality, it was named for Italian American restaurateur Caesar Cardini. After Prohibition became law in the United States in 1920, the California-based Cardini decided to open a new restaurant across the border in Tijuana, Mexico, so he could legally serve alcohol. But it wasn’t the booze that kept people coming back — it was the salad he became known for. While the exact origin of the dish is debated, there are some theories. According to his daughter, Rosa, the salad was improvised on a busy Fourth of July weekend when the restaurant ran out of various ingredients. The one thing we know for sure is that Cardini claimed credit for the recipe, and in 1938, he moved back to Los Angeles and opened a shop to sell bottles of his beloved namesake salad dressing.
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Bennett Kleinman is a New York City-based staff writer for Inbox Studio, and previously contributed to television programs such as "Late Show With David Letterman" and "Impractical Jokers." Bennett is also a devoted New York Yankees and New Jersey Devils fan, and thinks plain seltzer is the best drink ever invented.
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It was 1942, and among many other challenges, wartime Great Britain had a big problem: Nazi U-boats. These German submarines destroyed U.K.-bound merchant ships laden with much-needed food and supplies, and the attacks became so frequent that from March to September of that year they sank close to 100 merchant ships a month. Airplanes at the time couldn’t fly far enough from land-based airstrips to protect these ships in the ocean, and this aviation limitation left a 300-mile lane of unprotected waters known as “the mid-Atlantic gap.” Britain’s legendary prime minister, Winston Churchill, was desperate to close this gap by any means necessary, and dreamed of building floating islands where planes could refuel. Unfortunately, aircraft carriers were few and far between, and steel was hard to come by during the war effort because it was needed for weapons, tanks, ships, and more.
It takes more than 20 years for some modern aircraft carriers to run out of fuel.
In the decades following WWII, aircraft carriers increased in size and complexity. Today, a modern aircraft carrier uses nuclear power for fuel, an energy source so dense that these massive ships — some weighing 97,000 tons — don’t need refueling for more than 20 years.
One day, a potential solution arrived when Lord Louis Mountbatten, the head of Britain’s Combined Operations Command (and beloved uncle of the future Prince Philip), presented Churchill with a strange chunk of ice. This wasn’t any normal piece of ice, however: It was pykrete (named after its creator, Geoffrey Pyke), which was a type of ice reinforced with wood pulp. The result was a material that melted very slowly. For Churchill, a vision of a fleet of aircraft carriers made from pykrete came into focus. The proposed pykrete ship would’ve been the biggest “ship” ever constructed, displacing 26 times more water than the largest ship at the time and requiring 26 electric motors for propulsion. A 60-foot-long prototype was soon constructed in Alberta, Canada, that weighed as much as five blue whales. But by 1943, things had changed. Escort carriers had arrived in the Atlantic and long-range aircraft such as the B-24 Liberator had closed the gap for good. Despite pykrete’s amazing ability to hold its shape, the dream of an iceberg aircraft carrier soon melted away.
When an iceberg breaks off from a glacier, it’s called calving.
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Some scientists think the moon might be partly responsible for the Titanic’s demise.
On January 4, 1912, a celestial event occurred that hadn’t happened for more than a thousand years. The moon made its closest approach to Earth in the last 1,400 years while it was almost full, only a day after the Earth made its own annual close approach to the sun. According to Texas State University scientists, this one-of-a kind cocktail of astronomical activities created an exceptionally high tide. Their theory posits that this tide allowed some icebergs that would usually get stuck on their journey south from Greenland to be refloated, pushed into southbound currents, and put in the path of unsuspecting ships crossing the Atlantic. One such ship was the Titanic, which famously — and tragically — struck an iceberg that April.
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Darren Orf lives in Portland, has a cat, and writes about all things science and climate. You can find his previous work at Popular Mechanics, Inverse, Gizmodo, and Paste, among others.
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Compared to dinosaurs, humans have occupied only a speck on the timeline of Earth’s history. Modern humans appeared on the stage 200,000 years ago (up to 7 million years ago if you include the whole human family), while dinosaurs roamed the globe for about 165 million years. Despite the large span of time stretching across three distinct geologic periods (Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous), many people view the age of dinosaurs as a monolithic moment in history when dinosaurs all lived together. In fact, more time separates stegosaurus and Tyrannosaurus rex than separates modern humans from the so-called “King of the Dinosaurs.”
It’s not just state flowers and birds — some states also have fossils to represent them. For example, Colorado’s state fossil is a stegosaurus, Kansas’ is a pteranodon, and Utah’s is an allosaurus. Other states have mammal fossils, like mastodons, whales, and saber-toothed cats.
Stegosaurus roamed what’s now modern-day North America during the late Jurassic, about 155 million to 145 million years ago. Although it didn’t live alongside the ferocious T. rex, its contemporary, the allosaurus, was also a nightmare of powerful teeth. T. rex didn’t arrive on the scene until some 68 million years ago, during the late Cretaceous — a difference of some 80 million years. So while a comfortable 66 million years separate humans from the dinosaur’s dramatic, likely asteroid-induced downfall, the stegosaurus and T. rex lived even further apart. This startling fact doesn’t even take into account Triassic dinosaurs, such as herrerasaurus and eoraptor, which are twice as chronologically distant from the T. rex as stegosaurus is. Turns out, the age of dinosaurs is much more complex than its name suggests.
The T. rex roar in “Jurassic Park” was a composite of sounds from a tiger, alligator, and baby elephant.
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Scientists aren’t sure why stegosauruses had plates.
The word “stegosaurus” is Greek for “roof lizard,” a reference to the giant dino’s most recognizable feature — its series of plates that run nearly the length of its body. In the dino world, these plates are as iconic as a triceratops’s triple horns or a T. rex’s small (yet surprisingly strong) arms, but scientists still don’t really know why this icon of the late Jurassic had these plates. Instead, we’re left with several theories that could help explain this fossilized mystery. One idea is the plates were a sexual characteristic, with bigger, pointier plates being considered more attractive. Another theory suggests the plates helped regulate temperature, as they could soak up heat during the day and then dissipate that heat at night. Other scientists argue the plates might have been used to communicate, intimidate, or defend stegosaurus against carnivorous predators. Whatever their purpose, these mysterious plates have made the stegosaurus one of the most recognizable dinos in the world.
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Darren Orf lives in Portland, has a cat, and writes about all things science and climate. You can find his previous work at Popular Mechanics, Inverse, Gizmodo, and Paste, among others.
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Most fruits tend to have sweet smells that delight our olfactory systems and make our mouths water. One, however, has a reputation for being so noxious that many people can’t make it past the rind to its sweet center — or even stand to be in the same room with it. The durian fruit, sometimes called the “king of fruit” in Southeast Asia (where it’s native), is so unpleasantly fragrant that it is banned from public transportation in Singapore. The spiky fruit is also often prohibited in hotels and outdoor public spaces in the region.
Each pineapple is made up of many berries, which develop around a single core and eventually merge. Every scale on a pineapple was once a flower.
Describing the odor associated with durians is no easy feat. Some chefs and adventurous eaters have likened it to rotten eggs, pungent cheese, or sweaty gym socks, though lovers of the fruit say the smell is worth enduring for its creamy flesh, which tastes of caramel and almonds.
Yet the unpleasant aroma can be so overwhelming that it causes confusion and complaints. On at least two occasions in Australia, the fruit’s lingering scent was powerful enough to be mistaken for a natural gas leak. And in 2018, passengers on an Indonesian flight refused to board a plane loaded with more than 2 tons of durian in the cargo hold because of the intense smell. Scientists believe durian fruit’s nauseating aroma comes from a higher-than-usual number of genes for volatile sulfur compounds, which become “turbocharged” as the fruit ripens. However, the scent has a beneficial purpose for the plants themselves: It’s likely durian fruit trees evolved to use the sour stench as a way to attract animals that dine on the fruit and spread the seeds throughout wild areas.
The world’s largest tree fruit, jackfruit, can weigh up to 100 pounds.
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The Supreme Court once ruled that tomatoes are vegetables.
It’s a popular fun fact that tomatoes are botanically fruits, but in the U.S. they’ve been considered vegetables — legally — since the late 19th century. The Tariff Act of 1883 required produce importers to pay taxes on foreign-grown produce shipped into the country, specifically vegetables (fruits were exempt). Importers — such as New York’s Nix family — believed they could evade the 10% tax by dealing in tomatoes, since the vine-growing crop is a fruit. A fight with the New York Port Authority led the Nixes to argue their point in court, and after six years, the case made its way to the Supreme Court. Despite the Nixes’ argument being biologically correct, the Port Authority won the case on two points: Tomatoes are related to several nightshade vegetables such as potatoes and peppers, and unlike other fruits are typically served with dinner instead of dessert. Ultimately, the ruling closed the tomato tax controversy for good.
Nicole Garner Meeker
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Nicole Garner Meeker is a writer and editor based in St. Louis. Her history, nature, and food stories have also appeared at Mental Floss and Better Report.
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Original photo by Peter Hermes Furian/ Shutterstock
Seeing into the future is supposed to be impossible. But if you travel to the Diomede Islands of the Bering Strait, the impossible becomes reality. The Diomedes consist of two remote islands, Big Diomede (part of Russia) and Little Diomede (part of Alaska). They’re only 2.4 miles apart, but the international date line runs in between them. That means that when you’re in the Alaskan fishing village of Little Diomede and looking at your Russian neighbor, you’re actually gazing into tomorrow. It’s no wonder these landmasses have been nicknamed the Yesterday and Tomorrow islands.
For a few hours every day, three different days occur on Earth at the same time.
Thanks to the quirks of the international date line and time zones, there are two hours a day when three days are happening at once. Because the date line curves to encompass Kiribati, part of the island nation has begun Wednesday while other spots in the world haven’t ended Monday.
Today, Big Diomede has no permanent population (except a few observation posts), whereas Little Diomede has a population of around 100 people, mostly Native Alaskans. Native people long passed freely between these two islands, even after the U.S. bought Alaska from Russia in 1867, but things changed with the Cold War. That’s when the “Ice Curtain” (a reference, of course, to the “Iron Curtain” of the Soviet era) came down between the two islands. Since then, travel between Big and Little Diomede has been strictly forbidden, even though ice in the winter forms a land bridge between them, making it theoretically possible to walk into the next day.
When Secretary of State William Seward bought Alaska from Russia, the press called it “Seward’s Folly.”
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The U.S. has one ongoing territorial land dispute with Canada.
No matter how much you like your neighbor, you might have a few disagreements if your backyards share the largest land border in the world. Since April 11, 1908, the border between the U.S. and Canada has been a mostly settled issue, but one spot is still up for debate (on land, that is; other maritime disputes exist). Machias Seal Island, along northern Maine’s coast (or possibly New Brunswick’s coast), got stuck in a geographic “gray zone” when two separate documents essentially granted each country claim to the island. Although the place has an old Canadian lighthouse (Canada even makes sure to staff the lighthouse 24/7 for “sovereignty purposes”), the U.S. doesn’t recognize the land as Canadian. Luckily, this hasn’t escalated into too big of a deal, as it mostly inconveniences only lobster fishermen and tourists watching puffins.
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Darren Orf lives in Portland, has a cat, and writes about all things science and climate. You can find his previous work at Popular Mechanics, Inverse, Gizmodo, and Paste, among others.
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Humans have a few biological advantages compared to other species. The most obvious is our big brains, which have empowered us to become the dominant species on Earth. But another feature that is often overlooked is our chins — a trait unique to humans. Yes, we’re the only animals on Earth with true chins. You might be thinking, “Wait a minute, I give my cat chin scratches all the time,” or “Surely chimpanzees, our closest animal cousin, sport some kind of chimp chin,” but the answer is nope and nope (respectively). When you’re scratching the “chin” of your feline companion, what you’re really doing is scratching the mandible, i.e., the lower part of the jaw — not the chin, which is the bony part that juts out at the bottom of your face. Elephants and manatees also have chin-like protrusions in their lower jaws, but they don’t quite qualify as true chins.
William Shakespeare originated the phrase “take it on the chin.”
William Shakespeare is the progenitor of some 1,700 words, but the phrase “take it on the chin” originates from the world of boxing, a sport where the phrase essentially describes the entire profession.
The mystery of why no other animal has a real chin gets even more interesting because past human species, such as Homo erectus and Homo neanderthalensis, didn’t have chins either — instead, their faces simply ended in a flat plane. So why did evolution find the need for human chins? Scientists aren’t exactly sure. The most prominent theory is that chins help humans chew, but scientists from Duke University and the University of Florida found that chins aren’t actually much help there; they technically make chewing more difficult, as they reinforce the wrong part of the face for aiding mastication. Chins also don’t help much with human speech, which is another theory that’s been suggested, and researchers say it’s unlikely they’re a mere product of sexual selection or a protection against violence, such as punching. Some scientists think the chin might be a spandrel, a byproduct of other evolutionary changes that on its own serves no real purpose — basically, a happy accident. We may never truly know exactly why humans have these extra bony bits on the ends of our faces, but keep your chin up. After all, you’re the only species that can.
The scientific name for the chin is the mentum osseum.
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Scientists aren’t exactly sure about the biological reason for beards.
If you’re a practicing pogonophile (aka a lover of beards), you may not be too concerned about the reasons behind the time-honored art of beard-growing. However, scientists like to get at the why of things. While hair on our head protects us from the sun, body hair aids in thermoregulation, and hair below the belt protects against bacteria, beards have no known specific biological function. Some scientists have argued that facial hair could aid in protecting the body against ingesting harmful bacteria, but then it’d be likely that women would have evolved to have beards as well. Instead, some evolutionary biologists theorize that beards act as a tool for intersexual attraction regarding women and intrasexual competition with men. In other words, beards subconsciously message virility to women and formidability to men. But as is typical of fashion, beard popularity trends come and go, and studies show that attraction is often influenced by “negative frequency dependence,” meaning if everyone has a beard, preference for clean-shaven faces increases (and vice versa). So, just as the beautiful plumage of a male bird is merely a color display to impress a feathered female while intimidating the competition, beards (or a lack thereof) may be a man’s own form of peacock posturing.
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Darren Orf lives in Portland, has a cat, and writes about all things science and climate. You can find his previous work at Popular Mechanics, Inverse, Gizmodo, and Paste, among others.
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