I fell into this strange fascination with shaving about eight years ago, enticed not by the need for a closer shave, but for a cleaner tub. Ever since I was a teen I had been shaving in the shower with a can of Edge gel as my preferred lubrication. A disposable plastic razor suited my thin beard just fine. Truth be told, I liked the cool green goo. It smelled OK and it got the job done. But I hated the can it came in. The metal rusted and left a deep orange ring on the shelf in the tub. I put up with this for some thirty years until at last it dawned on me that I might be able to find a shave soap packed in a plastic jar. (Bouki's a little slow on the draw.) It was in luck. This was just about the time Barrister & Mann was making its first splash in the larger markets, and it didn't take long to find a tub of Cheshire. A cheap brush soon followed, and after that an Edwin Jagger DE89. And so my slow descent into shave insanity began.
Like many shavers new to the world of high-end soaps and razors, at first I was tempted to try for a BBS every day. Six-pass shaves were not unheard of. Four-pass shaves were the norm. All the pre- and post-shave products littered the countertop in the bathroom. And for a couple years, I must admit, things went swimmingly. I had slick cheeks for twelve hours every day. My wife purred when she touched my chin. I felt spiffy. I shared my enthusiasm with family and friends, and I even won converts.
But after about five years of this hard-core high-luxe shaving, my hide started breaking down. Welts and rashes and blisters welled up, marring my bony face and shaking my confidence. Something clearly had to be done. I cut back to three passes and began an earnest search for a perfect soap and a perfect razor, tools that would let me carry on my old profligate ways. After trying hundreds of soaps, and scads of blades, and dozens of razors, I decided a BBS was just too much to ask for. It certainly wasn't something to shoot for every day. I somewhat sheepishly concluded that a DFS was just dandy. If I felt clean for eight hours, I was a happy camper.
Time passed. Again it's getting hard to keep irritation at bay. I now find myself settling for two-pass, or even one-pass shaves. I'm happy to feel smooth for a mere four hours. I'm a little ashamed to call these poor attempts at pogonotomy 'damned fine shaves.' They're comfortable, that's true. And they spare me most irritation. But to call these scrapings fine shaving would just be telling a stretcher.
So what do we call a shave that's easy and painless, but falls far short of a DFS? Slouchers? Slump shaves? Shadow shaves? Pincushions? And more importantly, what would the acronym for them be?
Help me out here.
Like many shavers new to the world of high-end soaps and razors, at first I was tempted to try for a BBS every day. Six-pass shaves were not unheard of. Four-pass shaves were the norm. All the pre- and post-shave products littered the countertop in the bathroom. And for a couple years, I must admit, things went swimmingly. I had slick cheeks for twelve hours every day. My wife purred when she touched my chin. I felt spiffy. I shared my enthusiasm with family and friends, and I even won converts.
But after about five years of this hard-core high-luxe shaving, my hide started breaking down. Welts and rashes and blisters welled up, marring my bony face and shaking my confidence. Something clearly had to be done. I cut back to three passes and began an earnest search for a perfect soap and a perfect razor, tools that would let me carry on my old profligate ways. After trying hundreds of soaps, and scads of blades, and dozens of razors, I decided a BBS was just too much to ask for. It certainly wasn't something to shoot for every day. I somewhat sheepishly concluded that a DFS was just dandy. If I felt clean for eight hours, I was a happy camper.
Time passed. Again it's getting hard to keep irritation at bay. I now find myself settling for two-pass, or even one-pass shaves. I'm happy to feel smooth for a mere four hours. I'm a little ashamed to call these poor attempts at pogonotomy 'damned fine shaves.' They're comfortable, that's true. And they spare me most irritation. But to call these scrapings fine shaving would just be telling a stretcher.
So what do we call a shave that's easy and painless, but falls far short of a DFS? Slouchers? Slump shaves? Shadow shaves? Pincushions? And more importantly, what would the acronym for them be?
Help me out here.