I’ve always been a plastic-razor man. I buy them in bulk. If I
shave and it feels like nails are being pulled out of my chin, I
toss the razor and start on a new one.
I’ve always been a plastic-razor man. I buy them in bulk. If I shave and it feels like nails are being pulled out of my chin, I toss the razor and start on a new one.
So when my editor “suggested” I undertake a highly scientific comparison study using a technologically advanced shaver that costs more than 10 donuts, I was concerned. I am fearful of technology. What if I made a wrong turn and cut off my chin? What if the going was so smooth that I couldn’t stop and ended up shaving off all arm and leg hair, sort of a personal deforestation?
But after the initial panic, I reminded myself that I am a highly trained professional who seeks truth for the benefit of mankind.
So, I bought a razor that looks like a space vehicle in a science-fiction movie. It has five blades. It has another blade on the flip side so I can get tight under my nose. That’s six blades. The possibility for mayhem seemed very real.
The shaver is called “Fusion” and is made by Gillette. It was on sale for $11.99 at a local supermarket, and it comes with a replacement cartridge. My usual razors are Gillette disposables and cost $5.15 for a package of five.
The plan was simple: I would go four days without shaving. Then I would shave half my face with the six-blade technological marvel and the other half with the plastic job. Then I would be examined to see if fellow researchers could discern which side was shaved with what razor.
I told my girlfriend this type of research is sensitive. I would need her to monitor my progress. She would need to maintain a close watch to be certain that all whiskers were growing in a scientifically acceptable manner. She would have to measure the effects of extended growth in the lip area.
She said this type of research can be dangerous and would involve me buying her dinner when it was completed.
The growing commenced. After four days, I was gray and grizzled. This would not be the usual three-minute shave. I would actually have to pay attention.
I got really drunk and went at it. I lost half an ear and one nostril. Just kidding. The operation went smoothly; the transition from manual plastic to space-machine plastic was flawless.
The razors handled differently. The space model has a swivel head that hugs the chin and jawbone. It is the Mercedes Benz of shaving. It glides. The disposable drives like my truck – you have to work at it. The cutting of whiskers felt the same. I got through multi-tool shaving without any cuts, bruises or medical care.
Which shaver gave the closest shave? I couldn’t tell right away. I decided it was crucial to wait and be tested by objective observers. My testers happened to be two female co-workers. Call me sexist, call me whatever you want, but none of the men in the office wanted anything to do with this type of hands-on research.
The verdict was conclusive: Both objective observers said the side of my face shaved with the spaceship was much smoother. I agreed.
All of this exhaustive research leads to a more personal question: Because I got a closer shave with the spaceship, do I plan to switch shavers? The answer is, I doubt it. Because although the spaceship shave was terrific, a package of cartridges for the razor cost $24. That’s too much for a man of my regular-type means. But if it isn’t too much for you – and it’s cool if it isn’t – this “Fusion” thing gives you a close, smooth shave.
In the end, I told my girlfriend her input was invaluable. I told her I knew the research had been tough on her, and that follow-up inquiries might be required. She said, fine, but then dessert might also be required. I tell you, science is heck.
