Why spending thirty minutes and fifteen bucks getting your stubble scraped off at the barber will change the way you think about your face
A few months into the semester, a commercial for that very razor came on TV in the dorm. A booming voice claimed using it was just like shaving with a new blade each time, on account of the self-cleaning. My friend asked me if that was true. I told him yes, proudly proclaiming that it gives me a clean shave every time.
"No it doesn't," he said quite plainly. And who was I to argue with cold hard fact? There was always some kind of stubble poking out between my horrifically acne prone skin, which was probably only aggravated by the razor and whatever weird cleaning solution was left in there. I resolved that maybe it was time to shave like a man—you know, with a razor. Even then, the idea of taking a blade to my face then was frightening, though I'd seen it done millions of times.
It felt strange to ask one of my guy friends for help in this department for some reason, maybe because they all already knew and would assume it was basic knowledge. So I enlisted the help of Carly, whose experience was limited to shaving her legs. Good enough, I figured. A shopping list, trip to the drug store, and grooming lesson, I had a smooth face for the first time since I pubertized.Â
Flash forward ten years to an older, presumably wiser version of myself. By then, I'd explored the exciting world of stubble, full beards, seen some gray hairs, and everything in between. I did manage to come up with one hardcore rule: Once the summer hits, it's bare skin all the way. Each time I shaved, I assumed I was getting just about as close as you can get to a perfect.
I was wrong. Very wrong, and proven so by the magic and wonder of a straight razor shave.
Sure, it takes a half hour and costs you more than a shave in front of your medicine cabinet, but it's worth every minute and penny. First, your face is completely blindsided by an artfully choreographed troupe of hot towels, laced with eucalyptus. Your hairs are softened, your skin feels alive. Then the familiar chemicals come at you, only in the hands of a professional barber. In the throws of hot shaving cream (and in my case, a Sinatra heavy soundtrack), you feel more of man than ever before. You're carrying on one of mankind's greatest legacies.
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The razor comes out, and tiny stroke by tiny stroke your face is purged of stubble. After a little while, the towels return. Hot towel, hot towel, and then your pores are shut tight by an impossibly refreshing cold one. The chair pops back up and your looking at your face with new eyes. You haven't seen this since you were a boy. Are you looking through time? No, it's the magic of the straight razor. The cleanest shave on earth. Miles better—light years, even—from that old electric dud.
Pricing from the pros is prohibitive, but you don't have to get one every day, maybe just every few weeks. Of course, you can always take matters into your own hands, just make sure you've got a steady hand.
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