Last Updated on November 13, 2025 by Michael

How to Get Rich Selling Fake Mustaches on eBay: Your Path to Hairy Fortune

So you want to make money online but everything sounds like a scam written by someone who definitely lives in their mom’s basement?

Yeah. Same.

Here’s the thing though—while everyone else is losing their shirts on NFTs of cartoon apes or trying to become the next big podcaster (spoiler: nobody needs another podcast about productivity), there’s an actual, legitimate, completely ridiculous way to make money that nobody’s talking about.

Fake mustaches.

No really. Stay with this.

Why This Is Actually Genius and Everyone Else Is an Idiot

You know what’s wild? People spend $2,000 on a purse that holds the exact same crap as a $20 purse. They buy water—WATER—for $8 because it came from a glacier in Norway or whatever. But tell someone you sell fake mustaches online and suddenly YOU’RE the weirdo.

The mustache market is massive. And completely ignored. Which is perfect because it means you’re not competing with every twenty-something who just discovered dropshipping.

Consider this: Halloween alone creates a desperate need for millions of mustaches every single October. Not full costumes. Just the mustaches. Every community theater in America loses half their facial hair inventory to that one method actor who insists on taking his work home. Corporate America—in its infinite wisdom—demands “fun” props for team-building exercises that everyone would rather die than attend.

Don’t even get started on bachelorette parties. Those people will buy ANYTHING if you put it in a gift bag.

The beautiful part? Mustaches are idiot-proof inventory. They don’t expire like your dreams of becoming a DJ. They don’t need software updates. They just sit there, in boxes, being mustaches, waiting to make you money.

The Money Is Stupid Good

Look at this insanity:

The Product	What You Pay	What They Pay	Your Profit	Your Dignity
Basic Cop Stache	$0.30	$9.99	$9.69	Still intact
The Ron Burgundy	$0.75	$24.99	$24.24	Slipping away
Victorian Villain	$1.25	$49.99	$48.74	What dignity?
The “Divorced Dad at Wine Tasting”	$2.00	$79.99	$77.99	Dead and buried

Those margins would make drug dealers jealous. Except this is legal and you don’t have to worry about getting shot. Just emotionally destroyed by eBay reviews.

Getting Started (Warning: This Gets Weird Fast)

Alright, you’re convinced. Or desperate. Either works.

First move: Hit up Alibaba and order 5,000 mustaches. Why 5,000? Because that’s the minimum order and arguing with Chinese suppliers about quantities is like explaining Instagram to your grandmother—theoretically possible but emotionally devastating.

They’ll arrive in approximately 47 boxes that you’ll need to store somewhere. Tell people it’s your “distribution center.” Don’t tell them it’s actually your studio apartment and you now sleep on a bed made of mustache boxes. That’s nobody’s business.

Essential supplies you’ll need:

• Plastic bags (yes, the ones from literally every drawer in your kitchen)
• Labels (invest in a printer that won’t betray you)
• Bubble mailers (buy 1,000, regret nothing)
• A business name that doesn’t include “69” or “420”
• An explanation for your family that doesn’t make you sound insane

Quick note about that business name: “Executive Mustache Solutions” sounds professional. “FaceHairBro” does not. Choose wisely.

The Commandments of Mustache Commerce

Never—EVER—use the word “fake”

These are theatrical accessories. Costume enhancements. Facial prosthetics. Confidence amplifiers. Anything except fake. Say “fake” and you might as well be selling “knockoff designer bags” out of your trunk. We have standards here. Low standards, but standards.

Manufacture urgency like the rent’s due

Because it probably is.

“Only 3 left!” Meanwhile you’re sitting on enough mustaches to outfit every hipster in Brooklyn. But those other 4,997? Those don’t exist right now. Scarcity mindset, baby.

Photos make or break you

Three shots only:

• Mustache on marble countertop (sophistication)
• Human wearing it while looking way too happy (joy is contagious)
• Mustache next to ruler (people need to know if it’ll fit their face)

That’s it. No artistic angles. No filters. And for the love of all that’s holy, no bathroom selfies with your mustache inventory.

Writing Descriptions That Don’t Suck

Nobody—and this cannot be stressed enough—NOBODY cares about the technical specifications of synthetic facial hair. They care about becoming someone cooler than who they currently are.

Garbage description that sells nothing: “Black synthetic mustache. 4 inches. Adhesive backing. One size.”

Wow. Riveting. Really painted a picture there.

Description that actually moves product: “Every office has a Brad. Brad got promoted three times this year. Brad drives a Tesla he can’t afford. Brad speaks maybe six words per meeting but somehow everyone thinks he’s a genius.

You know what Brad has that you don’t?

This mustache.

Not literally this exact mustache (that would be weird), but this KIND of mustache. The kind that says ‘Yes, I summer in the Hamptons’ even though you’ve never left Ohio. The kind that transforms you from the guy who brings donuts to the guy who delegates donut-bringing.

Hand-crafted by artisans (okay, machines in Guangzhou, but artistic machines), this mustache doesn’t just sit on your face. It announces your arrival. It demands respect. It gets you invited to meetings you have no business being in.

Brad’s reign ends now.”

Stupid? Yes. Effective? Absolutely. Ethical? Look, you’re selling fake mustaches on eBay. Ethics shipped out a long time ago.

Your Customer Base (They’re All Lunatics)

You need to understand who’s actually buying this stuff:

The October Parent – It’s Halloween tomorrow and little Timmy NEEDS a mustache for his costume. Will pay anything. Will also blame you personally for ruining Halloween when it arrives November 2nd.

The Drunk Shopper – It’s 3 AM, they’re six beers deep, and eBay is open. Your mustache seems hilarious right now. Less hilarious when it arrives and they’re sober.

The Ironic Millennial – Everything is a joke to them, including your mustache. Especially your mustache. Will Instagram it ironically. Still pays full price.

The Community Theater Director – Needs 73 identical mustaches by Thursday. Will email you the entire script for context. You won’t read it.

The Middle-Age Crisis – Just divorced. Trying new things. This mustache represents change. It won’t help, but $24.99 is cheaper than therapy.

The Office Terrorist – Buys in bulk. Uses them for “pranks.” HR knows their name. They’re one mustache away from termination.

Advanced Schemes That Shouldn’t Work (But Do)

Monthly “Limited Editions”

Take the same mustache. Put it in different packaging. Call it “March Madness Mustache” or “Summer Solstice Whiskers” or whatever. Double the price.

People eat this up. Humans are basically crows—we see “limited edition” and our brain shuts off. You could sell Limited Edition air and someone would buy it. Actually, someone already does that. This world is broken.

Subscription Service (Because Everything’s a Subscription Now)

“Mustache of the Month Club” — $34.99 monthly for a $1.50 mustache

You’re laughing. Stop laughing. People subscribe to get one pair of underwear monthly. UNDERWEAR. Something they could buy literally anywhere. Your mustache subscription is practically reasonable by comparison.

Invent Holidays

Pick any date. Let’s say April 7th. That’s now Global Mustache Appreciation Day. You invented it. Right now. Make graphics. Send emails. Have a sale.

Nobody fact-checks holidays. There’s no Department of Real Holidays. If National Donut Day can exist, so can your made-up mustache holiday.

The Influencer Hustle

Find Instagram accounts with exactly 2,000-3,000 followers. These people are desperate for sponsorships but not successful enough to be picky. Send them a free mustache. Watch them create “content” about their “partnership” with your “brand.”

Cost: $0.50 Value of their desperation: Priceless

When Everything Goes Wrong

And it will. Oh, it will.

“This mustache looks fake!” “That’s the beauty of our precision engineering. Nature could never achieve such perfect symmetry.”

“I want my money back!” “While our satisfaction guarantee doesn’t cover existential regret, please enjoy this complimentary 73-page PDF about mustache history throughout the ages.” (You made it in Word. It’s mostly Wikipedia.)

“Do you sleep well at night?” “On a bed made of mustache money, yes.”

“Is this seriously your job?” “…” “Yes.”

The “Competition”

Let’s talk about who you’re up against in the fake mustache game:

• Derek from Phoenix who hasn’t updated his listings since Obama’s first term
• Martha who believes mustaches have “healing chakra energy” and prices accordingly
• Some teenager who doesn’t know how shipping works and just refunds everyone out of panic
• A dropshipper copying your exact listings but shipping from Jupiter apparently

This is it. This is who stands between you and mustache dominance.

Scared? Don’t be. You could run this business during a fever dream and still outperform these people.

Month One: The Descent into Madness

Week 1: You order 5,000 mustaches at 2 AM after three glasses of wine. You tell your friends you’re “getting into e-commerce.” They think you mean something respectable. You don’t correct them.

Week 2: Boxes arrive. So many boxes. Your apartment looks like a facial hair explosion. Your cat is concerned. You spend 47 hours creating the perfect eBay listings, using words like “artisanal” and “curated.” You’ve never curated anything. You don’t even know what it means.

Week 3: Your aunt buys one out of pity. This is your only sale. You consider setting the mustaches on fire. You don’t, because you live in an apartment and that would be arson.

Week 4: You discover the dark underbelly of Facebook—groups for cosplayers, theater kids, and people with questionable judgment. You infiltrate them all. You are now the mustache dealer. Your first real sale happens. Then another. Then five more. You calculate you’ll be a millionaire in 73 years. You order more mustaches.

The Part Where We Get Uncomfortably Real

You want the truth? Here it is:

You’re about to become the person who sells fake mustaches on the internet. Your Google search history will be nothing but “bulk adhesive quality” and “synthetic hair suppliers.” You’ll develop opinions—strong opinions—about different mustache styles. You’ll argue about these opinions with strangers online at 3 AM.

Your dating profile will not mention this career choice.

Your parents will stop asking about your job.

You’ll become the person at parties who somehow steers every conversation toward e-commerce opportunities in the facial hair space.

This is what you’re signing up for.

Still interested? Of course you are. You’ve read this far.

The Exit Strategy Nobody Mentions

Here’s the end game that makes it all worth it:

Build your “brand.” Sell consistently for a year. Create some half-assed social media presence. Then package the whole disaster as an “established e-commerce business with proprietary supplier relationships and proven market penetration.”

Some MBA student with access to trust fund money will buy it for 30x monthly revenue because they think they’re getting into the “experiential retail space” or whatever buzzword they learned last semester.

You walk away with actual money. You never speak of the mustaches again. You pretend this chapter of your life didn’t happen.

Until you start your next venture: decorative eyebrow stencils.

The cycle continues.

Final Words Before You Make This Terrible/Brilliant Decision

Nobody dreams of becoming a mustache magnate. It’s not what you write in yearbooks under “future plans.” Your business school definitely didn’t prepare you for this. Nothing prepared you for this.

But here’s the secret: Someone’s going to sell those mustaches. Someone’s going to serve the millions of people who need fake facial hair for their weird human activities. Someone’s going to make that money.

The only question is whether that someone is you, or whether you’re going to keep scrolling through get-rich-quick schemes that are somehow even worse than this one.

At least with mustaches, you’re honest about the absurdity. You’re not pretending to be a “life coach” or selling a course about selling courses. You’re just a person with a garage full of fake mustaches and capitalism-induced brain damage.

That’s almost respectable. In a late-stage capitalism, we’re-all-doomed-anyway kind of way.

So order those mustaches. Write those descriptions. Embrace the absolute insanity of what you’re about to do.

Because in a world where someone became a millionaire selling pet rocks, where people pay monthly subscriptions for razors, where Supreme can sell a brick—a BRICK—for $30, selling fake mustaches is basically conservative.

Your customer is out there. Right now. They’re planning a theme party, or casting a play, or having a midlife crisis, or just drunk enough to think a fake mustache will solve their problems.

Go find them.

Sell them some dignity. At $24.99 plus shipping.

(Premium executive mustaches available now. Limited quantities. Obviously.)