Splitting hairs never was so much fun
By Mike Gitter
I shaved for the first time when I was 10 years old. My friend Graham and I
borrowed his father's razor and shaving cream and attempted to turn the pale,
boyish peach fuzz on our faces into what might become a veritable forest of
man-fur. Graham went first, and as soon as the blade touched his face, he
started bleeding profusely. He was disappointed, but at least he got to stick a
piece of toilet paper on his face. I came out of my first shave unscathed,
having learned from the error of my friend's ways--I kept the plastic safeguard
over the blade.
Years later, I started shaving out of necessity (with the safeguard off). Like
many adolescent males, I began to take shaving very seriously, and to this day
I am one of the most neurotic shavers I know. It has always taken me twice as
long as the next guy to groom myself, but there is a payoff. After I shave,
there is no trace of hair anywhere on my face. It's my own little way of
recapturing my carefree boyhood.
When I returned to Yale this fall, I was greeted by the traditional, "Hey, how
was your summer?" the ever-clever, "What classes are you taking?" and even the,
"Did you hear they're going to make a show about a girl's life at Yale called
My So-Called-Education?" But amidst these humorous interchanges came the
repeated and surprising query from my male friends: "Have you made the switch?"
My common response to this was a shrug and a smile (because I had no idea what
the hell they were talking about), prompting a shake of the head and a fatherly
pat on the shoulder from each well-intentioned inquisitor. It was not until the
discussion of "the switch" came up in my own suite that I was made aware of
something that has since changed my life.
"The switch" refers to the movement from Whatever-Razor-You've-Been-Using to
the Mach 3 razor by Gillette. It sounds like a joke, but it's not, sweetheart.
This razor is big news, not only at Yale, but nationally, featured everywhere
from The New Yorker to the Internet.
Being the shaving afficionado that I am, I was not swayed by the forceful
advice of friends and roommates, nor by the persuasive advertising I saw
courtesy of Yale's cable TV setup. After all, I could get the closest shave in
the world with my trusty Schick Tracer FX ($5.99 at Rite Aid). It's not the
size of the blade, it's how you use it (or something like that). And I've never
been one to blindly follow the cosmetic trends of my time. So who needs this
newfangled Mach 3?
I do. With much reluctance, I made "the switch" last week, and everyday I
sacrifice my facial hair to the shaving gods in thanks. I love this razor. This
razor makes me want to shave. It makes me want to shave so bad that it makes
you want to shave.
Anyone who tells you that you get a closer shave with this razor than with any
other razor is a downright liar, and should never be trusted in matters of
great importance. Although you get an amazingly close shave with the Mach 3,
you can get a similarly close shave with almost any razor. The difference is in
time and in comfort.
With the Mach 3, shaving takes me half as long as it used to (which was about
as long as it would take the average person to shave using, say, a steak
knife). And it is so comfortable and smooth that my friend Graham would have to
work pretty damn hard to repeat his first shaving disaster. So no cuts, no
irritation, close as you can get, and all in a lot less time. And on top of
that, it's only about a dollar more expensive ($6.99 at Rite Aid, $6.39 at
Super Kmart).
So what's stopping you? Make the switch. If you're really stingy, you can wait
until you run out of blades on your Gillette Sensor--or whatever piece of crap
you're currently coping with--and buy the Mach 3 instead of new blades for your
old shaving jalopy. The longer you wait, the more bliss you'll miss. And we all
want to see the pretty face under that funk you call a beard.
Come on, be a man.
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