Inside Darren

Shaving is always such a major ordeal. The concept seems simple enough: Drag a sharp blade across your face, cutting each hair short enough so that they’re flush with your skin. So why does this procedure always end with me feeling like I need a chin-tourniquet?

My face despises being shaved. I have some sort of genetic disposition against smooth-facedness. Consider the following:

1. My beard is thick, and is thickly distributed across my entire face (below the nose, of course). If I let it grow, I’m sure it would completely obliterate my mouth, and I’d look like one of those street vagrants who you think could make a great Santa Clause, if only they could get rid of that “rotting cabbage” smell and the beard-lice.

2. The whiskers which grow across my neck do not grow straight up, but come out at an inclined, diagonal angle. This often leads to hairs which come out of the skin, make an arch, then start to burrow back down, which in turn leads to irritated “bumps” which catch on the razor and bleed. Shaving in this area requires working “against the grain”, otherwise the razor passes over leaving the hair untouched. In-grown hairs must be pulled out with a pin.

3. In order to get a smooth shave, I must go over each area with at least 5 or 6 passes. This leads to increased irritation and razor burn. It makes no difference whether I use a razor, or an electric shaver.

4. I bleed. No matter what razor I use, which direction I shave in, or how I treat my face beforehand. I don’t know if I bleed from cuts, or from my very pores, but I can’t remember my last bloodless shaving experience. My styptic applicator “Nik-Aid” is the only thing that prevents me from dying in a pool of chin-and-neck blood on my bathroom floor.

5. Twenty-four to Forty-Eight hours after shaving (no, I don’t shave every morning: I’m not a masochist), I develop several neck-zits in the areas most irritated by my previous shave. I thought perhaps that thorough washing would prevent this development. It does not. I can only assume that this is just another way that my face is telling me: “Let the beard grow - It will help convince people that you’re actually 30 years old.”

Now, there would be some advantages to not shaving. I could avoid all the difficulties listed above, for starters. My face would be considerably warmer in the winter. I would add an extra 20-25 minutes of free time to my “shaving days”. I could apply for movie roles where they’re looking for that “disheveled, unkept hobo” look. And I could regularly use my face to scratch itches on my hands or arms, instead of having to use my other hand (this is especially useful when carrying objects in both hands).

On the other hand (so to speak, ha!), there are some disadvantages to growing the beard. The main one being that Larissa would disown me.

So, it seems as though I am hopelessly resigned to have to bear the burden of constantly razing this shaggy face of mine. And bear it I shall. For we who have been cursed with thick-beardedness are learning a long lesson in perseverance, and if you happen upon us looking smooth-faced, you can now gaze on us with rightful awe at the ordeals we endure in order to appear socially acceptable.