…Or How Jeffrey A Tucker Saved Me Hundreds of Dollars, Years of Frustration, and Pints of Spilled Blood

One of my proclivities in life is that I go clean shaven only half the year. For the colder half of the year, I make use of the natural scarf that evolution has so kindly provided me and let my thick Slavo-Gaelic beard fend off the winter weather. Then, usually some time in late March or early April, I wake up one morning with a strong desire to rid myself of my magnificently hirsute face warmer. And so, after a nice hot shower and a fond farewell, I set to work with a miniature electric chain saw and part ways with my beautiful beard until autumn.

This go-beard-or-go-bare pattern has served me very well over the years. Indeed, I’ve often defended the practice not only practical and aesthetic grounds, but on moral ones as well. But for as much as both states of masculinity have to offer, my summery, clean-shaven aspect has one distinct disadvantage: maintenance.

Now shaving isn’t typically held to be a difficult task, but I have several significant disadvantages in that arena. First, only shaving for six months of the year means that I have, at any given time, less than half the practical shaving experience of your typical human male. Secondly, I’m a bit on the lazy side, so I usually only shave every few days, which means the whiskers have had time to dig in and set up fortifications, making shaving more irritating (for both mind and skin) than it needs to be. Finally, and perhaps most critically, I’m not the most dexterous of human beings. Which is an extremely kind way of saying that I am, at times, unbelievably clumsy. Even with a fresh razor, the perfect amount of shaving cream slathered just so, plenty of caffeine in my blood stream, and all the time in the world, I still end up slicing my face up more often than not.

That is, until a wonderful man by the name of Jeffrey A Tucker let me in on the most incredibly of secret truths. You see, there are truths that most men dare not utter. For in our society a thing can be true but still be vilified and denounced. But Mr. Tucker has bravely set aside all concern for his own safety and social position and trumpeted unto the world a Great Truth: Shaving Cream is a Racket.

You see, when I said above that even the “perfect amount of shaving cream” couldn’t save my face from bloody gashes? That’s because I failed to see the noble truth of the matter, which is that the “perfect amount of shaving cream” is none. But now I’ve heard the great good news, and just at the right time. I read Mr. Tucker’s essay the very day that I’d woken up with that spring-time urge to cast aside my face’s winter pelt. His arguments seemed sensible, and I was attracted by the idea of not spending the next six months with a half-shredded face. And so, with a freshly-mowed face and nothing left to lose, I decided to give it this small blasphemy a try.

Ladies and gentlemen,…well, mostly just the gentlemen, I can tell you that it absolutely works. My naked face is the least bloody its been since puberty. I get a closer shave, less irritation, and far fewer bloody cuts. Even the annoying mole on my lip that I end up shaving off several times a year seems less tricky.

It’s not a panacaea, to be sure. I’ll not be taking up barbering or be winning any olympic shaving competitions any time soon. But it definitely does improve matters dramatically. My shave is quicker and closer with less irritation and far fewer cuts and gashes.

So men, save yourselves. Throw aside the unguents and emulsions that leave your faces bloody and raw. Shaving cream is a scam and we can thank Jeffrey Tucker for bravely speaking out against it. You may be hesitant, but that’s only the weight of conformity talking. Cast off your foamy shackles and shave as man was meant to: with naught but hot water and a sharp, trusty razor.