Bernard O'Shea: Men, stop plucking yourselves this winter

I have an embarrassing confession: I once thought my nose hairs were my arch-nemesis.

Bernard O'Shea. Photograph Moya Nolan

I'd spend hours battling them with tweezers, tiny scissors, and even one of those infernal spinning, vibrating gadgets that yank them out by the root. Imagine it: me, nose-hair warrior, with the bathroom looking like a war zone, tiny clumps of hair dusting the counter as if I were attempting avant-garde decor.

After years of this ritual, I started to ask myself: Why do we even have nose hairs? Indeed, they aren't just there to embarrass me. As it turns out, nose hairs have a far more respectable existence than I ever imagined. Far from being my personal grooming curse, they're a team of defenders standing between my lungs and the outside world.