Things that are Weird: Shaving

Every couple of days and/or whenever I feel like it, I hurt myself. I pick up a sharp instrument, something composed of four separate scything blades, and scrape that instrument over the most sensitive and precious skin on my body.

I don’t always cut myself, in fact, I rarely do. I don’t usually get razor burn or bumps or other outward signs of irritation, but it still hurts, even if it’s just a little bit of pain. My face, that thing we think is so important, is left a little raw, feels a little bit stung by whichever morning breeze I eventually expose it to.

Then I go back to the bathroom a few days later, stand in front of a mirror and do it all over again, just to whisk off a few imperceptible millimeters of hair that will grow back in an instant.

I get that shaving feels good. Those days when I do it (which are only Monday, Wednesday and Friday as I am still not technically a Man yet) I cannot stop rubbing my hands over my never-been-smoother cheeks. “Who replaced my face with a baby’s ass?”

But it’s still ridiculously weird, isn’t it? I mean, razor blades are sharp. They’re really sharp. They’re sharp enough that sometimes people take them into bathtubs and use them to slice open their wrists. And we men rub them against our face.

Sure, the things designed to not kill you immediately, and most of the time the worst you’ll get is a little nick, but again, think about how close a man could be to bleeding out all over his bathroom countertop. Just a tiny slip while shaving the neck, and not even Chuck Malarchuk’s doctor could save you.

And what about straight razors? They’re for the closest shave and the closest you’ll ever be to dying in a barber’s chair.

People do this every day. I just think it’s weird, that’s all. Think about it. It’s kind of weird, isn’t it? We do this, we’re expected to do this, commercials on television tell us to do this thing with an instrument that is inherently dangerous, could and most likely will cause damage to ourselves and everyone just walks around like it’s no big deal, like it’s some sort of rite of passage.

Oh, the things we do for vanity.