The Quiet Revolution

There is a quiet revolution sweeping across the men of America and perhaps the world.  It may not be pretty but it is real.  Driven to the depths of despair, crime and depravity men are gradually rubbing their stubbly cheeks saying, "I am mad as hell and I am not going to take it anymore!"  Okay, maybe that was from the movie Network but we are still mad as hell or at least lighter in the wallet then we want to be.

What is the source of this depravity?  What could cause such consternation?  It is a daily ritual exercised not by choice but by necessity.   The act of  of slicing follicles known simply as, shaving.  I can still remember being a child and watching the Gillette commercials.  A perfect cut as a blade sliced through not one but two cylindrical tubes representing hairs.  It lifted them and then excised a perfect cut releasing the tubes into the simulated skin providing the perfect shave.  It was followed by a commercial for Aqua Velva as a sexy woman ran her hand across a clean shaven mans face.  As a young man I knew this was my future.  As soon as those hairs started to proliferate everything else would happen in do course. 

It didn't.  My tender young face quickly fell victim to the blade that left such a trail of destruction my best friend would always ask me if I had been scratching with a log again.  I tried everything.  Different blades, electric razors, I even considered some kind of secret powder sold only to African American's called Black Magic.  Over time either technology improved or like a worn piece of leather my face accepted it's fate.  Frankly, I prefer to think it was the technology that saved me.   Along came Gillette and the great American razor arms race.  I once read that Gillette never released a new product without having one waiting in the wings.  It started with two blades, then three, four, five!!! More must be better.  Each new iteration added a blade on the front, on the back, lubricating strips, rubberized handle, motorized!  It was addicting, intoxicating.

There was just one problem.  Oh they knew what they were doing, the evil geniuses at Gillette sat in their board rooms rubbing their hands together like mad men.   As each new razor came out they phased out the previous one and increased the price.  Blades are now worth more than gold!  Every trip to the shaving aisle became an exercise in pain management.  Tears would well in my eyes as I reached for the box of four blades that frankly cost more than a dinner in a nice restaurant.

One day I was at Target and a man noticed my pain.  He watched as I lifted the blades, put them back, then lifted them again.  Like a kindred spirit in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting he spoke to me.  I almost thought he was going to embrace me as the following words flowed from his mouth.

"You know you can buy those at the flea market for a third the price."

I was shocked. He instructed me where to go and I thanked him profusely as I placed the box back on the shelf.  I knew my life would change forever, I just didn't know what it would make me become.

The next Saturday with family in tow I ventured to what is for me, one of the least desirable places on the surface of the Earth, the flea market.  I navigated the tables as illegal Mexicans darted by me their arms filled with vegetables and living creatures.  Looking down I spotted them.  Two boxes of exactly what I needed.  The price was ten dollars.  Carefully I inspected the boxes trying to determine if the glue was original.  I wanted to be sure some nefarious person had not simply inserted their used blades.  Everything seemed legitimate so I forked over the cash.

Later that day flush with victory, I gave the box a closer inspection.  It was then that I noticed the CVS tag.  Oh my God, these blades are hot!  Gillette had sent me over the edge.  In my effort to obtain that clean shave I had entered a world of depravity.  I shopped among thieves.  I was feeding an underground economy of crime.  Gillette had made me almost a criminal.  What would my friends, my family say?  My mother would be so ashamed.

Like a drug addict hitting bottom I have picked myself up.  I found a generic razor at CVS with blades for four bucks.  It works okay.  I miss the vibration, I miss the clean feeling but day by day, I am working through it.  Baby step by baby step I am on the road to recovery.