Shaving

My lip, yesterdayI have finally become a man. I have just last evening completed my first ever wet shave. That’s right: six and twenty years old, and I’ve never used a proper razor on my own face.

But, you see, I’ve just exited the world of facial hair. For four years (minus a couple of moustache-related ventures), I’ve been clad in a downy coat of human hair around my jowels, hiding a multitude of tiny moles, occasional post-adolescent acne, pale, sunstarved skin, etc. Combined with my chunky glasses, you’d have been well within your rights to suspect that I was hiding something. That wasn’t the case (or was it…?), particularly, but there is a kind of security in facial hair that fends off the outside world, just a little bit.

There is, however, lots of reasons why clean-shaven is the way to go right now:

  • the classic British unpredictable summer
  • the propensity for the likes of milk to get stuck in the beard
  • the multitude of dirty indie types that consider the unkempt, Guevara-esque chinbeard to be the height of musical respectability
  • the opportunity to look like a young Simon Pegg
  • and so forth

So the experiment begins. The last times I’ve done this, I’ve panicked and grown the beard straight back, but this time I’ll be strong and hold out, to see if it grows on me. Also to be considered: whether I can be bothered with this new-fangled shaving pollaver. What’s that all about? Seems like a lot of work to me, although I am officially baby’s butt smooth now.

Further updates as events warrant.

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