Scruffless

So I recently did something I haven’t done in years. It’s something I’ve kinda been thinking of toying with. Now that I can’t dye my hair funny colors, I guess that gives me a void in the “I feel like doing something different” department. It’s something I’m not particularly comfortable with, but once you start you can’t go back, so you have to fully commit. All I needed was the right occasion. And it finally presented it self. After doing a phone interview, I scored a second interview. Since it’s been a while since I’ve been this high on the horse, I thought now was the time to do it. Now was the time to change my appearance, and see if I got anywhere.

Yes, friends, I shaved.

I can’t tell you the last time I did it. I don’t shave for functions, funerals or weddings. Hell, I didn’t even shave for my wedding. Those of you lucky souls who know me, know my look. The “scruff” has always been a part of that. To properly set this dramatic development, some explanation is in order. At the very core, it’s this. I am ugly. Not fugly, mind you, just ugly. I am the kind of ugly that after you’ve had a few beers, I might, might, appear reasonably semi non-heinous. I figured out early on, I needed to hide my face. So, boom, long hair. But that only worked so much. So I decided to grow some scruff. More than a 5 o’clock shadow, not committing to the nerdliness of a full beard, somewhere in between. I did it for looks as well as convenience. I mean, what guy actually wants to shave every day? No one I know. Plus, I’m a bleeder. I seriously bleed just about every day on the “job”. But the thought of having a razor sharp blade that close to my neck and face early in the morning can lead to no good. So I opted to not even deal with it. Scruff was my way of hiding my ugly, another layer to hide behind.

In some circles, I am sure it tagged me as an 80’s holdover. Like I have all the Miami Vice episodes on tape. (Which I don’t by the way.) But it’s my look; I like it. I haven’t done any of this stuff to stand out or draw attention. I did it to hide more. Sometimes, I don’t like looking this way, but I am comfortable with it. So it’s everyone else’s problem to live with it.

Over the years, I added touches, like dying my hair, and experimenting with goatees, and longer chin scruff. A few years back, in addition to the scruff, I grew a soulpatch. The wife seemed to like it, and it’s pretty low-maintenance, so that has stuck, too.

Nature has gotten her revenge with my formally long and curly locks. All the dying and Stif Stuffing has taken its toll. Plus I tie it back now just about every day, which just yanks more and more of it out. I really think it’s something with bald men growing massive goatees. I guess it’s the thing to do. But check it out next time you see a bald guy; I bet he has a rockin’ goatee.

Anyway, when I got word about this interview, I toyed with the idea of shaving. I certainly wouldn’t take the soulpatch off, it takes to long to grow back. Plus, I’m like Homer Simpson when he shaves; the muzzle just grows right back in an hour. So I saw all of this as a sign that now was the time to experiment. Well, all of this, plus my trimmer shit the bed, so I was kinda screwed. No problem, I can man up. The fateful morning came. I looked in the mirror, at all my scruff, with no idea what cruel, cruel fate lays ahead for them. Filled the sink with warm water, got a new razor and lathered up. No going back, I can do this. One last inhale, then take the blade from the jaw upward.

Two things immediately struck me. One, how loud this is. It was really like taking a credit card over the scruff. I can’t describe the sound in any other way. I didn’t remember shaving being so loud. And the second thing that hit me was

YYYEEOOOOWWWWWW! Holy fuck, this fucking hurts! The air rushing to my previously covered flesh stung and hurt like a …a…big…stingy hurty thing. What the fuck? I immediately saw bare flesh where I literally never saw any. I was a bit worried as I had been working in the sun that week, that this would just add to any raccoon eyes effect, but gladly my pale skin held no such surprises. OK, first swipe is good. No river of blood. No scarring. Breath in and out, let’s do it again. (Insert credit card sound here) YYEEOOOWWWCCHHH. Imagine an R2-D2 scream here. What the fuck? Why does this shit hurt so much? How can guys do this every day? How come not every dude looks like ZZ Top? This sucks. The rush of air stings newly shoven (and, yes, BTW, I think I just invented that word ‘shoven’, past tense of shave) skin. OK, this is not fun.

The process repeats itself. The water in the sink continually grows bloodier and hairer. It takes some finagling, but I preserve the soulpatch. Fuck, yea, still rock n roll. After a shower, my face is still a tingle, and not in a good way. Luckily, there is no massive bleeding to content with, so that’s dodging a bullet. But my face still feels weird. Maybe there is some sort of chemical reaction to my skin and natural light. It’s not very distracting, but it is a bit odd feeling. It’s like I’m a Mexican wrestler, and I have just lost my mask. There is one less layer between me and the world.

It feels odd, like I am a bit naked. I check, and no, thankfully, I am not naked, so it’s just the shaving thing. The best way I can describe it is it stings. Constantly. I guess there is some sort of chemical reaction with the sun. I miss the whiskers. I miss the sensation of having stubble over my lips. I discover my tongue has a weird habit of ranging my upper lip, searching for leftover food. Yea, I know that’s totally disgusting, but I said it. I miss that occasional tongue swipe and getting an extra bit of lunch a few hours after the fact. OK, I’ll stop.

I don’t really resent it. I feel it’s more like a ‘doing something different’ thing. Yes, I do feel a bit uncomfortable, a bit odd. But it’s not like I am constantly running my hands up and down my jaw going “wow”. I know this will all grow back in a day.

Interview comes and goes. It’s not the point of this post, and as you can figure, I didn’t get the job. So it left me with a naked face. My next worry was what my friends would say. I am probably more “image” than anyone I know. People just attribute certain things with me being me. I really don’t think I could suddenly shave my head, and not catch a ration of shit from my friends. I would expect that, and they would be right in doing so. I don’t know of anyone in my circle of friends that if they suddenly changed their look would catch as much heat as me. And that’s not a knock, I think it’s because just about everyone else I know is firmly entrenched in their life’s path. Me, well I guess I am more shallow than that. Again, it’s just my perception. So I worry a bit as I face them (no pun intended) for the weekend.

2 things happen that surprise me. 1) my scruff doesn’t quite have the Homer Simpson-like resiliency I thought it would. I really thought the next day my 5 o’clock shadow would be well past 11:30. I thought it would grow back so fast I could hear it. But it didn’t/doesn’t. (OK, I don’t know what the proper tense would be. Fuck off.) This lack of development is a bit of a bummer. Now that leaves me to face my friends.

Supportive as they are, they say…nothing. Which I guess is the best thing they could say. It means one of two things. 1) They never even noticed. Or 2) They don’t really care. OK, maybe a sub point of 1 is they didn’t wanna say anything. Whatev, I am fine with it. In the end, it takes a few days to get my scruff up to snuff. The whole experience didn’t really bother me and wasn’t as traumatic as expected. It was a bit more painful that I expected, though. I wouldn’t be totally averse to doing it again in the future. The scruff does make me feel a lot more comfortable though. Like Popeye says, “I yam who I yam.”

DVD Extras
Additional Commentary
This was written in 2 pieces. The actual interview happened about 6-7 weeks ago. I wrote about half of it, then went through the whole Vacation Post stuff, so this took a backseat for a while. I am not a big fan of basically writing 1 thing in 2 pieces so far apart. I won’t tell you where the first part ended, hopefully you can’t figure it out. I haven’t de-scruffed myself since then.