A requiem to the Yankees’ facial hair policy

We live in times of deep uncertainty, where institutional infrastructure crumbles by the hour. One of my own orienting pillars came crashing down today, as the New York Yankees ditched their decades-long facial hair ban. I’m relatively alone in mourning, but the policy deserves a fair obituary, nevertheless.

After consulting many former and current Yankees, team owner Hal Steinbrenner issued a statement, lifting the signature strictures with the swoosh of a pen. “Ultimately, the final decision rests with me,” he said. “And after great consideration, we will be amending our expectations to allow our players and uniformed personnel to have well-groomed beards moving forward. It is the appropriate time to move beyond the familiar comfort of our former policy.”

The move has garnered near-universal approval, as the Yankees have long been chastised by critics as corporate, old fashioned and faux grandiose. The no-beard policy became a metaphor for the team’s supposed uptight seriousness. On the contrary, though, I have always admired the Yankees’ graceful discernment in this domain, and I will miss it dearly.

I, myself, have a beard, which may undermine my entire argument, but there was just something classy about the Yankees’ maintenance of sartorial simplicity. The facial hair and appearance rules distinguished the Yankees – set them apart from every other ragtag assemblage of sloths and bandits. There was a superior degree of decorum in the Bronx – a utilitarian pursuit of excellence defined by the absence of names on jerseys and bristles on chins. 

I get why they are doing it. We all have to move with the times. Ours is a modern world of free expression, where personal appearance is tethered to identity. Contrary to the political zeitgeist, diversity is a beautiful thing, and within reason, nobody gets to tell us how to dress, think, feel or – well – shave. But I’m still sad to see the Yankees abandon one of their cornerstone differentiators – for totemic reasons, while acknowledging the inexorable march of progress.

In a news conference, Steinbrenner and general manager Brian Cashman said they had caught wind of players not wanting to join the Yankees because of the facial hair policy. And in an age of mass competition, where teams are obsessed with marginal gains, removing a cost-free barrier to elite procurement is a relative no-brainer. Still, I often talk of Yankee Pride and pinstriped exceptionalism. Of mystique and aura. This is a blow to all of those concepts. It alters the Yankee alchemy.

Yes, I’m yelling at clouds. Yes, I’m telling you to get off my lawn. Laugh all you want. Call me outmoded. Call me narrow-minded. But this is how I feel. My favourite team is losing a trademark demarcation, and just like Cleveland deleting Chief Wahoo or Atlanta muffling the Tomahawk Chop, complicated political connotations do not annul the natural sentiments and nostalgic residues of passionate fandom. Decisions can be correct, and you can still grieve their implementation.

If facial hair makes guys more comfortable, and helps them play better, allowing them to grow beards is a small price to pay for potential success. Freer rules may also enrich clubhouse camaraderie and buttress the Bronx as a desired destination. Importantly, there will still be appearance guidelines for Yankee personnel, who will need to be ‘well-groomed,’ so they are not about to become the ’04 Red Sox.

Nevertheless, a sense of mawkishness pervades. Throughout my entire life, the Yankees have been clean-shaven and buttoned-up. Most attribute these appearance policies to George Steinbrenner, Hal’s father, who formalised them in the 1970s, but The Boss merely rekindled dormant codes of conduct etched into Yankee heritage.

In actuality, Colonel Jacob Ruppert, team owner between 1915 and 1939, authored those standards of excellence, ensuring a pristine image by giving each player four sets of home and road uniforms each and insisting they wore suits while travelling. 

Later, that staid aesthetic was best embodied by the legendary Joe DiMaggio, whose austere majesty captivated a nation. Joltin’ Joe was an impeccable dresser who constantly asked associates to assess his comportment. “You look great, Joe,” came the inevitably retort, settling the great man’s neurotic nerves for an hour or two.

It was that image – that elegant essence of order and discipline – which first drew George Steinbrenner to the Yankees, who were ‘as American as apple pie’ in his estimation. A graduate of Culver Military Academy who served in the US Air Force, George lamented the Yankees’ slackening of standards under the corporate aegis of CBS, and set about restoring traditions shortly after purchasing the team.

On Opening Day 1973, Steinbrenner famously wrote a list of players who looked overly hirsute, then had manager Ralph Houk tell the offenders to clean up. Commanded by George, Yankee personnel were allowed moustaches, but not beards. Black cleats were also mandatory, while conservative dress on roadtrips was reintroduced. “There are ballplayers, and there are Yankees,” George once explained, and the distinguishing standards were formalised in 1976.

Steinbrenner was notoriously pedantic about the enforcement of his policies, often confronting players who looked too unkempt. Thurman Munson and Goose Gossage were repeat offenders, while Don Mattingly was pulled from a game and fined in 1991 for refusing to cut his hair. “Maybe they want an organisation full of puppets,” Mattingly said at the time. “Maybe I don’t fit into the organisation anymore.”

Ironically, current Yankee manager Aaron Boone is often chastised as a front office puppet, and this announcement came one day after his contract was extended through 2027. Boone has often been tasked with policing the facial hair rule, even ordering new closer Devin Williams to shave last week as spring training opened. One has to wonder whether relaxing the appearance policy was a prerequisite to extending Boone, a progressive skipper who maintains a collegiate bond with his players.

Indeed, those timeless Yankee standards have become increasingly difficult to govern in recent years, as baseball’s culture has been liberated. To watch a modern Yankees game is to spot fluorescent cleats, lurid bandanas and hulking gold chains. A Nike swoosh besmirches the pinstripes, while an insurance firm is advertised on every jersey sleeve. Heck, even Derek Jeter has a beard these days, so it seems nothing is sacred. George would enter cardiac arrest, but such is contemporary life. Emancipation cannot be suppressed.

To that end, though he is regularly lampooned as a risk-averse bureaucrat who lacks his father’s fire, Hal Steinbrenner will, in time, be considered one of the great Yankee modernisers. From christening the new Stadium and embracing analytics, to commercial expansion and bearded acquiescence, Hal is an agent of change. History will view him favourably, I’m sure, with a few more World Series titles. In real time, however, his transformation can feel blasphemous. But I will just have to trust the process, because precedent is no longer guaranteed.