I have gone AWOL in the blade wars.
My desertion happened when I noticed that Gillette had issued
Fusion, a razor with five, yes five, blades. This is in response to
Schick’s Quattro four-blade razor, which itself was a response to
Gillette’s three-blade Mach3 and Mach3Turbo, which uses a battery
to make the razor vibrate and followed the Gillette two-blade
Sensor, which was in competition with Schick’s…
But enough. I am a Christian conservative Republican who
believes in profits and free markets — but I also know what
planned obsolescence and scams are. And the shaving wars have been
enough to (almost) turn me Marxist. Like poorly made shoes that
fall apart after six months, bad pop music that sells zillions of
CDs and then fades forever, and American cars that spend most of
the time in the shop, modern razors are forever being repackaged as
new, improved, dynamic, fresh, indispensable. It’s one of the
world’s biggest scams.
The world’s best razors were made over a hundred years ago, and
there was no reason to change them. Men once went to the barber for
a shave until, in the late 1800s, the safety razor arrived. The
safety razor was a thing of beauty, an indestructible chrome weapon
that sat snugly in the hand. Replacement blades were pennies for a
dozen. Then something very sinister happened. In 1895 barber King
Camp Gillette — yes, that was his real name — figured that he
could make millions by marketing a disposable razor. The razor
wouldn’t shave any better than the safety razor — in fact, it
would be considerably worse — but what difference did that make?
There were holdouts, however. I remember seeing a safety razor in
my grandfather’s house, and my oldest brother used one well into
the early 1970s. I remember knowing what the thing was but having
no idea how it worked, and even thinking it a little strange. Thus
was the feminization of American culture given another small
push.
But by the time I began shaving in the early 1980s, the game was
over. The art of shaving became the specialty of a few old barbers.
This was depicted wonderfully in the movie Barber Shop. A
young “hair stylist” is attempting to shave a customer, but handles
his head like a boy playing with a Tonka truck. The old barber,
played by Cedric the Entertainer, seizes the tools from the
youngster and takes over. Shaving is an art, he explains. It’s
about quality, excellence, the masculinity of proper grooming.
“When I’m done his face will be as smooth as Gary Coleman,” he
jokes. The younger barbers gather around, mesmerized by the “old
school” method.
It’s time to relearn that method. When I heard that Gillette was
escalating, I went online and ordered an arsenal of old-school
shaving supplies. I got a “classic” safety razor from Merkur, a
German company that’s been in the business for over a century. Then
I ordered a genuine badger hair shaving brush and a tub of shaving
cream from Truefitt and Hill, generally acknowledged as the world’s
first barbershop. Add to that after shave and an alum block, used
to staunch nicks, and I was ready.
The reason I was ready for nicks and cuts is that several how-to
shaving guides and websites warned that going from a disposable to
a safety razor was like stepping up from a scooter to a BMW.
Generations of girly-men had not used the proper stuff, and there
would be a period of acclimation. It was like those primitive
tribes that intentionally cut teenage boys to usher them into
manhood.
That first day, I stepped out of the shower careful not to let
my face dry. Old-school shaving is also called “wet” shaving, and
the best way to do it is to keep your face as wet as possible. I
picked up the Merkur. If you’ve spent most of your life using
disposables or even the higher-end Sensors and Excels, the switch
back to single-blade can be a real adjustment. For one thing, the
razor is heavier. With a decent safety razor you don’t push the
blade much; you simple let it glide down the face. I tried to
remember all I had learned from the websites: always shave with the
direction hair grows; shaving against results in razor burn. Don’t
force the blade.
Yet like a black labrador puppy’s instinct to swim, it came
easily, like a vestigial organ kicking back to life. And yes, the
first few times I did cut myself — but not as badly I had feared.
Indeed, I had damaged my face much worse in the past using cheap
disposables. But soon I got the hang of it. I was shaving. I was
shaving like a man. Suddenly the last 40 years faded away — the
flower boys of the 1960s, the sensitive men of the 1970s, the
androgynous pouters of the 1980s, the soft grungers of the 1990s —
and the crude, pseudo-masculine Maxim “lads” of today. This wasn’t
about the metrosexual goops and lotions of Queer Eye for the
Straight Guy, nor was it about the dumb, crude and sloppy man
culture celebrated in beer — and razor — ads. It was about being
a man, and a gentleman. It was about using the right tool for the
job at hand. It was about those things that American manufacturers
of everything from cars to clothes need to learn again: quality and
excellence.
I believe in free markets and good businesses getting rich. Yet
I also believe in quality that lasts, and that Americans are the
best in the world at making things if they put their minds to it. I
hope that Gillette and Schick and whoever else wants to bring back
American safety razors, and that they make millions of dollars and
hire thousands of workers because of the popularity of said
product. After all, there are certain things in this world that
were done perfectly and cannot and should not be improved. Jesus
lived a perfect life. The book is the ultimate form of conveying
information. No one will sing “My Way” better than Sinatra. Michael
Jordan was the best basketball player ever, period.
And the safety razor won’t be improved upon. No matter how many
blades they keep adding.
