I just ended the second-longest relationship of my life. I shaved.
Honestly, my facial hair, in all its various manifestations, had been one with me since I graduated from high school about 3 years ago. Probably my most reliable and consistent companion, my chinstrap/beard/goatee/door-knocker/Wolverine-look had always been there for me to stroke. Many “girlfriends” had asked me to shave it, claiming that it would scratch them during close contact, but women can never fully understand and appreciate the relationship between a man and his facial hair, so I just laughed them off in a very hearty, bassy tone.
But my shaving wasn’t to raise money for colon cancer. It wasn’t because of my “artistic” disillusionment with our modern world. And it wasn’t to foster world peace – though I’m not really sure how my clean-shaven face would help to dispel years of hatred and genocide anyway, but maybe that’s just because I don’t pull the puppet-strings, or at least not the big ones.
Essentially, it was because I had turned 21 and no longer had to look older than I really was for any number of reasons, such as alcohol acquisitions, courting college females of the grad student variety, confusing relatives about which one of the Barisich brothers was actually the eldest even though we’re separated in age by 5 years (familial fail), or so on and so forth.
Vandy men, I encourage you to join me in my clean-faced cause, but be sure to do so for yourselves and not for some whiny woman. Think about it: now that it’s getting warmer outside, you no longer need to hide behind that grizzly lumberjack beard, so have fun and experiment with the “art of subtraction” and see what follicle art you can create on yourself, or at least on your comatose/drugged roommate. I’m sure he’ll appreciate your masterpiece in the morning, especially if you have the Hitler mustache make a grand resurrection, because one asshole shouldn’t be able to take an entire facial hair styling to the grave with him!
If the smooth face just isn’t your style, consider all of the creativity you can conjure with just a razor and a trimmer: the Fu Manchu, the Friendly Mutton Chops, the Handlebar Mustache, the Super Mario, the Zappa, the Rap Industry Standard, and the famous “Tom Selleck, I think you have a thick, hairy caterpillar on your top lip” Magnum, P.I.-stache. (If you don’t recognize these stylings, be sure to research them online, as well as the plethora of others.)
If you’re searching for a reason to justify your shaving to your lady-friend(s), simply lie to them and say that you’ve thought it over and that you’re acquiescing to their requests. That’ll surely earn you a few “good boyfriend” points that you can cash in later for another sort of shaving, if that’s what you’re into.
If anybody else questions your motives for shaving, tell them that the only reason you let your facial hair grow out in the first place was because you went through some traumatic experience, such as your grandparent’s death, your parent’s divorce, or accidentally running over Earl Grey, your pet hamster. Tell them that your beard had served as the physical manifestation of your mental and emotional anguish and, now that you just picked up Earl Grey II from the pet store, you’re finally getting over your previous loss. I’m sure they’ll never ask again about why you shaved, but will always be sure to compliment you on any style you choose in the future.
So experiment with a new look. It’s college, the time of our lives when we’re supposed to be experimenting with oodles of different things, so don’t neglect the part of your body that most immediately distinguishes you from, projects an immediate message to, and elicits an immediate reaction from the rest of the world: your face. Since we don’t have tits, we must get people to look at us for some other reason.
