Razors — Ya get what you pay for

I oughta slap my 15-year-old self. All things considered, I wasn’t a terribly snotty teen, but I harbored one stereotypical male desire so misguided, that to see it come to semi-fruition now, it gives me a lot of anger.

I wanted to shave.

I didn’t want a beard, I wanted an anti-beard. Sure, I had some micro-hairs dotting my chin, and peach fuzz on my lip to scrape off. But I wanted to feel the slick slice of a razor blade across my face and see a streak of clean skin beneath. I wanted 5 o’clock shadow after a long day, and to nuke it the next morning. I wanted my face to smell like Barbasol.

I take it back.

These days, I hate shaving. I like being clean-shaven. I think I look much more attractive. I can’t really pull off a beard or that constant stubble look. But the process of shaving— a mere five minutes — gets me irrationally annoyed.

I’m very cheap with my razors. I buy the shittiest, most disposal kind because why should I pay $14 dollars for two razors and 10 blades? It’s not like my beard is made of Kevlar. But then, as you’d expect, the razors are awful. They snag and cut and burn and generally make the experience awful.

So sometimes I buy more expensive razors. And I hate that I could have had two burritos for the costs of a slightly smoother face. Which makes me sad. I’m sad when I realize that women have it far, far worse. Not only are their razors more expensive, but c’mon the beauty standards thing goes past shaving legs. Make-up, hair, clothes, weight — it goes on and on. Society has been kind to me, and I’m still complaining. This is about as first world as it gets.

I take it all back.

Even though I’m short, skinny, pale, wear glasses, etc., these thing don’t bother me. I can’t really help them. But I can choose whether to shave or not. If I stopped shaving, would I abandon this feeling?

Maybe my annoyance has nothing to do with the price of razors, or the lies of advertising, or body shaming or anything: maybe I’m annoyed that something so simple as shaving still takes effort and time and money.

I guess I think I’m more important than shaving.

One day, that might be true. For now, I’ll alternate between tearing my face off with cheap metal or having a blissful, expensive experience.