Shaving Update

Monday, January 21, 2008

It’s official. I’ve got a scar. My face is permanently disfigured.

I blame Eve for this. After all, she bought me a razor that wasn’t sharp enough, so I had to switch to one that was—one that scarred me. Thanks to her, my dream of being an Abercrombie & Fitch model is now permanently shattered.

If I had a nickel for every time Eve has ruined my life, I could retire today.

Eve, you just suck.

Sweeney Todd's Got Nothing On Me.

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

As you can see from the many photos of me that grace the Internet, The Angry Piper is one good-looking son-of-a-bitch. Last week, something happened that threatened to mar my beauty forever. As many of you may know, I shave with a straight razor, and it’s my opinion that anyone who doesn’t is a flaming pussy, much like Malach. (I'd say much like Dr. Murk, but I wouldn't dare call Murk a flaming pussy if he was dressed in a cat costume and set on fire.)



Some of you may recognize Old Sharpy, my first straight razor, at the top of the picture above. The next one down is a beautiful 5/8”, very similar to Old Sharpy and in fact made by the same company, Dovo. This was a birthday gift from my old friend Eve, who spent way too much fucking money on me as usual.
Old Sharpy certainly lives up to his name, but, alas, he doesn’t get much use any more. I’ve discovered I like wider razors. My favorite— the one I shave with almost all the time—is the third one down, a spike-tip 7/8” Wade & Butcher I paid six bucks for at a yard sale, then lovingly restored and honed it to, well, razor-sharpness. (The last razor is another example of my predilection for shaving with things that could conceivably be used to split wood, another 7/8”, but with a slightly different blade shape. )
I have been shaving straight for a year or so now, and up until last week I managed to avoid any serious mishaps. Last Sunday I decided I would try out Eve’s birthday gift. Contrary to what I first believed when I bought Old Sharpy, no razor is shave-ready out of the box. I honed up my new razor until it felt sharp enough, lathered up, and went to town. After one swipe, it was obvious that I hadn’t honed it enough, as it was pulling my whiskers rather than cutting them. So I rinsed the blade, folded it up, and grabbed my favorite W&B to finish the job. I shaved about ¾ of my face before I decided I would switch hands and shave the left side of my face with my left hand. As strange as this may sound this is actually a very desirable skill to learn, as otherwise I would have to reverse the razor in an awkward grip to shave the left side with my right hand. Plus, I would consider it cheating.
Once, when stropping the W&B prior to shaving, I accidentally reversed the blade direction and neatly sliced through about ¼” of the leather strop. Any worries periodically entertained that my razors aren’t sharp enough are, quite simply, ridiculous. If it can slice cleanly through cured leather, it should come as no surprise that holding it at the wrong angle relative to your skin is a bad idea. I barely dragged the razor an inch before sinking the blade solidly into my left cheek.
Your face is full of blood vessels. When cut, the face bleeds an awful lot. Mine is no exception.
So, after I cleaned myself up as best I could (alcohol, triple antibiotic ointment, gauze and surgical tape), I resolved not to shave until the wound had healed, as I didn’t want to open the cut again and scar my purty face. So, for the next eight days, I did the unthinkable. I let my beard grow.
I loathe facial hair. Particularly my own. After 3 days it began to itch. After 6 days my skin began to break out beneath the hair. Yesterday, Day 8, I could stand it no longer. Although the scab hasn’t healed from the initial cut, I broke out the W&B and mowed my face until it was as smooth as Hojo’s pubes.
The good news is the scab is healing nicely and I’m unlikely to have a scar. The better news is my face is once again clean-shaven.
And I learned a very valuable lesson: never shave drunk.
Kidding.