Suddenly, Home Alone Makes Sense

So I’ve been working on the more classic arts of a gentleman- most recently, due to a not-entirely-misguided sense of economy, wet-shaving with a safety razor.

Now, I’ve been shaving with a safety razor for a few days, (and major props to the always-intriguing Oxhorn for linking me to the post on the subject at The Art of Manliness; that’s how this idea got started) but I’d not previously used aftershave. I understand the idea- it’s an alcohol-based liquid one splashes on one’s face to disinfect any small (or large) nicks (and/or freely-flowing wounds) sustained during shaving and, according to the bottle, to provide a cooling sensation. It’s also the masculine version of a perfume- it masks one’s own scent with something (presumably) more pleasant.

Now, I don’t know if it’s my inexperience with a safety razor causing me to pitch the blade wrong, or the fact that I’m using a Gillette Blue Blade that’s older than I am by a factor of three (but still plenty sharp), or if my face is just unused to this… or if it’s a normal thing.

Regardless of the root cause, the timeline of my morning went something like this.

1. Shower.
2. Assemble shaving kit.
3. Lather.
4. Hot towel. Ah, bliss. Why would any civilized man miss out on this in favor of a Mach 17 Turbo 5-Blade Mongoose Lightspeed Saber-Force Mighty Morphin’ Power Razor, or whatever the current marketing hype is up to?
5. Clean & re-lather.
6. Shave, first pass. Hum some Mozart under my breath.
7. Re-lather. Grumble at brush, which combines the disadvantage of being boar-hair with the positive crime of being badly made; dream of getting a decent one soon.
8. Second pass. Cheeks sting a bit.
9. Cold-water rinse. Ahhhhh, feels nice, stinging goes away.
10. Pour a small amount of aftershave into a palm and get it on both hands. Slap onto cheeks and neck in a manly, manly way.
11. Mozart goes away. Inhale sharply, trying not to curse loudly enough to wake anyone who’s still asleep (within approximately a two-city-block radius). Consider screaming like a small girl-child. Squint at aftershave bottle through the blurring effect applied by pain. Liquid is still cold blue, still claims to be “cooling”. Shriek internally about how truth-in-advertising laws should have that liquid as cranberry red and possibly phosphorescent. Wonder how they can put lava into that form. Clamp hands onto counter to counter-act brain’s reflexive attempt to throw my head under a cold shower and/or full chemical decontamination procedure. Fight back impulse to call poison control. Feel like face has been dipped into liquid fire.
12. Clean up shaving kit, waiting for the burning to stop.
13. Examine self in mirror, probing cheek with a tentative finger. It’s still there and remarkably smooth instead of ash-coated.
14. Realize with a slight twitch that I can look forward to this every morning. Hope that the effect lessens over time. Abandon plans to mail-bomb aftershave company with a package labelled “See how you like it, you bastards“.
15. Realize that shaving has taken the place of coffee for waking me up. Shrug, and move on.