“What would you say if I shaved off my moustache?” Marc asks Agnès. She replies, “I don’t know. I love you with it, but then I’ve never known you without it.” She goes out briefly to do some shopping, leaving him in front of the bathroom mirror. And, playfully, just to see how she’ll react, perhaps spice up their contented, quiet lives, he shaves off his moustache. She comes home and doesn’t notice a thing. What’s most strange is that she’s not even pretending to be oblivious. No one else notices, either. He dines with friends that evening, sees work colleagues the following day: no one notices a thing. Marc stands alone, the only one convinced that until the day before he’d had a moustache. He’s the only one who can see it in old photos. He’s the only one to believe, to see, to remember – he feels like he’s going crazy. Is everyone ganging up against him? Is there something more going on?