"I do not think, therefore I am a moustache." - Jean-Paul Sartre

I was a senior in high school the first time I heard of Movember. Embarrassed for the boys who couldn't physically grow a mustache while thankful that physical signs of my maturity could be manipulated by a padded bra, I assumed "Movember" was a new form of male peacocking. It was four years before I learned that a charitable cause was promoting the unkempt and occasionally pedophilic facial hair of my male friends each November. I wondered whether they had known all along. Surely they would have mentioned it if they had.

On November 13, I saw a friend after five months, first from afar. He was fully bearded and being pet on the face. Once I was within earshot, the rant started: "This is like the third person who has done that. How does having this thing on my face signal that I want to be touched? What if I just came up to you and started petting your face?" As if on a cue, a mutual friend joined us, instinctively raising her hand to stroke his face. 

"Is this your Movember?" She asked. This was trigger #2.
"Oh my god, don't touch me. No. This isn't Movember. This is me being lazy for three weeks. It's like a guy can't just be lazy around November."
"Jeez. No need to be insulted. It's such a good cause."
"I completely support the cause. But I don't like facial hair as a way of supporting it." 

That night, I thought more about Movember. Especially in San Francisco, where the mustache symbolizes prevalent irony, is Movember cheap? Are we turning something serious and important into a tacky euphemism? 

I've decided the answer is a nuanced "no." 

My grandma died two years ago after a difficult battle with breast cancer. Since then, I’ve done annual runs during breast cancer awareness month. This year, my five-mile run through the Golden Gate Park was contemplative. I think about my grandma everyday, but I don’t think about how she died very often because it hurts. This run eases that a little by bringing together a strong, supportive community for a few hours. 

On Friday, San Francisco came together as a city to help a leukemia patient's wish come true. Throughout the day, five-year-old Miles fought off villains to save "Gotham City." And though people flocked to get the perfect instagram of this kid in a Batman costume, he doesn't need to wear the cape to be a hero. He fought off leukemia all by himself. For most of us, there was an unspoken agreement to forget that scary reality for the day. It was a willing suspension of disbelief. 

Upon returning from the events at Union Square, a coworker mentioned to me, "It's so amazing. This kid who is battling leukemia lived more today than most people will live during an entire lifetime." I shivered in response. My coworker was the first person I heard mention the actual heart of issue -- childhood leukemia. 

It's painful for us humans to talk and think about the brutal realities of life and death for what they are. Instead we find comfort in indirect symbols and metaphors. But you know what? It isn't careless or tacky. It's really not such a bad thing. Without these quirky initiatives, I don't think we as a society would turn our attention to these causes, even via obscure symbols, with such grand-scale dedication. We can go on donning our prettiest pink and mustaches if that's what it takes. But whatever we do, we just can't participate for the wrong reasons or let ourselves forget why these things exist in the first place. Movember, pink ribbon runs, and wish-granting among numerous others exist to raise funds for research and treatment, to promote awareness, and to defeat cancer. 

They exist to salute our real-life superheroes.