Razor Burn
My trusty Braun electric razor finally gave up the ghost a few weeks ago, and as my stubble grew beyond “rugged” into “vagrant” (bringing with it a marked lack of approval from She Whose Opinion Matters) the need became pressing enough that I finally started looking at replacement razors.
I recalled that my 5-year-old Braun had been in the seventy dollar range, so I warned Herself that it might well cost a pretty penny. “I don’t care,” she told me. “Just get one.”
So I investigated the Amazon reviews of various razors, and was introduced to an intriguing concept—the self-cleaning razor.
Cleaning my razor is something I don’t enjoy, so the idea of having it done for me sounded attractive. It had a certain Jetsons-style “Life… in the future” appeal. My razor would also be a robot—that cleans itself! Boss!
But then I began to worry about the added mechanical complexity of such a system and the hassle of finding a place to plug it in (our apartment suffers from a quaint-but-irritating paucity of electrical outlets) so the possible failure points of the self-cleaning system seemed to outweigh the convenience.
Already, in considering these options, I had exceeded the anticipated complexity of my purchase, but my travails were far from over—and I hadn’t even left the house. I did leave shortly thereafter, with Buster the Wonder Bike. Good old Buster.
My first stop was Long’s. They had very little. What they did have was behind a counter, between the condoms and chewing tobacco. After giving this some thought, I began to resent what this positioning implied about me as a man. Depilatory devices and prophylactics seemed as though they should be more or less unrelated, and the fact that the object of my quest was situated between two symbols of vice grated on me somehow. I left, irked.
Gritting my teeth, I headed to Wal-Mart. The thought of holiday-season crowds at the notoriously busy Honolulu Wal-Mart did not sit well with me, but I had resolve. I was in it, by god, to win it.
Finding my way through the seething throng (itself a kind of living, screaming advertisement for contraception) to the relevant aisle, I found myself confronted by a towering endcap of electric razors. Images of rugged (but smooth-shaven!) models beset me. I picked up a random box, examined it. I found myself unable to take seriously any of the claims of the packaging copy. How could each razor deliver a closer shave than all the others? Preposterous. And why the dark colors, the bold, solemn typograpy, the careful use of vector art to convey, I suppose, pure performance? The design of the packaging was, without exception, a cynical attempt to appeal to some kind of presupposed notion of masculinity—a notion with which I did not hold, no sir.
I was disgusted. I left. My face itched.
I proceeded from Wal-Mart to Don Quixote (neé Daiei), where the situation grew still grimmer. Don Quixote is the Honolulu branch of a huge Japanese retailer, and its interior is what might result from the horrifying union of an overgrown supermarket and an unsightly, aging swap meet.
I entered, and was immediately lost in a series of twisty retail passages, all alike. I eventually found the razors, and was confronted with the same unsatisfying selection. Desperate, nearly broken, I groped for the cheapest one I could find ($20) and escaped to freedom.
I came away from the experience with a new realization: I resent being marketed to. No, that’s not quite right; I resent being marketed to poorly, and in lieu of good marketing and branding, no marketing is vastly preferable to the dark colors, urgent typography, and legions of rugged-yet-smooth-shaven men that I was supposed to identify with. I have heard rumblings that traditional advertising is beginning to sound its death rattle, and I can only hope this is true. TV advertising is hilariously irrelevant to me, as is most other marketing. The message a company delivers about its own product is fundamentally untrustworthy—marketing firms need to rethink their approach when I parse everything they say as a lie.
I would grow a beard as a form of consumer protest, but my irritation knows a limit. And that limit, she has a name.
December 4th, 2006 at 1:45 pm
This is a very timely publish for my life. So, I would like to begin with a Thank you for something well written. That which for a while now, I have not been accustomed to. I myself, not being not so skilled in writing please forgive.
I am going to have to deal with some of the same issues this holiday season, as he whose stubble does offend has requested a new electric razor. So my research began online and led me to this article.
As I read the article I of course I felt reflective of the issue. Thus, my thanks given. I decided to reply because the reason I am purchasing a new razor to replace is his current self-cleaning razor. As the current razor was beginning to and now has stopped working. I am now inclined to make such purchase.
I purchased had the self-cleaning razor last Christmas for him. Today is when he asked for a new one. I was hesitant as his is only one year old. Then today as he was getting ready for work I heard the razor from the living room on the opposite end of the house. We work different hours lately so I hadn’t heard it for 6 months, or so. The volume of it had gone up to about 4 times what it was new. It shocked me it was so loud. I went to investigate as I am the more mechanically incline of the two of us. He told me that it had been getting worse and worse. I had noticed that his daily stubbly was always longer, but I thought that it just needed blades, that no store caries anymore.
Admittedly the newer self-cleaning razors might not do this, but I cannot be sure so I will not buy another. When I opened the razor cover the blades, the cover sides, the base of it 75% of the inside was covered with what the ”cleaning” solution had turned the hair into, some kind of paste. I continued to clean it with an appropriate brush. I thought it might be better once cleaned. It was not. I re-rinsed it trying still and it fell apart.
Upon inspection of the pieces it appeared that the solution had worn down the inside parts also that holds the pivoting razor head on and the part that holds the additional piece from which the razor head pivots. So in total the razor when it fell apart was in 4 pieces, not including the base, wires, or any other part that was not originally attached to the main razor unit.
Horrified I tried to put it back together. It was too broken. It is such a good thing that the author of the article decided not to go to with a self-cleaning razor. Assuming that the issue one newer models would remain.
I think I will just buy new razor blades for his old razor. He used the last razor for 7 years. If that is the standard or even median life, with 2 blade replacements, one year is truthfully a waste of what was more than $100 purchase.
December 6th, 2006 at 12:38 pm
This dislike, no, I need a stronger word than that…disgust isn’t exactly right, but I digress. I hate all advertising!!! The primary reason I listen to KUNM-FM, despite their commie-pinko orientation, is because there’s virtually no advertising. Although it is beginning to creep in (e.g. “Volvo service with a conscience”). Huh?! If I owned a Volvo (highly unlikely, if you know me) I would be more concerned with the competence of a repairperson (hmm, first time I’ve ever used that word) than their conscience. Well, maybe “conscience” implies honesty. All right then.
Of course my own strategy for the razor issue is to grow a beard for six months of the year, but apparently that’s not an option. BTW, Friday is the beard’s midpoint.
February 1st, 2007 at 9:27 pm
OMG YOU HAVE DON QUIXOTE THERE?! Auuggghhh that store is awesome.