vituperation

October 28, 2003

Once again, someone who hasn’t seen me in quite some time surreptitiously asked my business partner today if I was “sick” after running into me in the hallway at work.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: It’s not that they don’t notice you lost weight that they don’t say something to you about it. They think you’re dying.

Until I started lifting weights regularly, I shaved every other day with no problems. After weight training began, it became necessary for me to shave every day lest I look like a bum. I assume it was the influx of testosterone, but it could also be related to the weight loss, since body fat and estrogen levels tend to be tied together.

But you’re not here to read about boring stuff like that.

While I wouldn’t go so far as to say I have sensitive skin (despite occasionally sounding like a sensitive new-age guy), my skin hasn’t taken too well to daily shaving, and I tend to get razor burn and dry skin pretty regularly. Switching my shaving from the beginning of the shower to the end (to let the facial hair soften in the steam, and a big thanks to the Queer Eye guys for that one) helped, but my face still gets pretty irritated. I tried shaving in the direction of the hair growth only, too, but then I still look like a bum. No matter what anyone says, shaving against the grain yields the closest shave. For me, anyway.

After careful consideration, I thought it prudent to go to an upscale department store, where high-end shaving supplies are sold. Maybe, I thought, maybe I should try something other than the biggest and cheapest can of shaving cream they have at the grocery store.

And so I found myself in Dillard’s yesterday, a stranger in a strange land among counter after counter of makeups, lotions, colognes, perfumes, body rubs, deodorants, and shampoos. Choosing the route that makes the least sense, Dillard’s has opted to put their men’s grooming supplies with the women’s, rather than in the special freaking store they have JUST for men.

Why yes, I did try the men’s store first, because that makes sense. Wouldn’t anyone?

I looked around, wide-eyed with wonder. Clinique, Estee Lauder, Calvin Klein, Polo, Giorgio, the names whirled in my head like the scents surrounding me, swirling on the backdrafts created by the super-modelesque women flitting about. Do they even hire average women or women over thirty to work at cosmetic counters? I felt significantly underdressed in my jeans with the hole in the butt and rugby shirt.

“May I help you?”

The clerk was about twenty-five and looked like she’d stepped from the pages of Cosmo, down to the beauty mark just above her upper lip.

“I’m looking for something to help my face when I shave. I get razor burn and dry skin pretty easily. I figured maybe trying something besides grocery store products could help. I looked on your web site and saw some stuff that looked pretty good, but I don’t remember the name.”

I waved a hand around at the counters.

“I didn’t know it would be mixed in with all this other stuff,” I said.

She thought for a moment, then led me to to the Clarins counter.

“I remember Clarins,” I said, “but that wasn’t the one I was interested in. The web page only showed two makers, and the other one looked the best to me. I just don’t remember the name.”

I smiled apologetically.

“Susan,” she called, her voice carrying all the way to the far side of the cosmetics section, where the Clinique items were. Fifteen or twenty perfectly coiffed heads of fifteen or twenty beautiful young women between us and Susan looked up at the sound. “Do you have any men’s cosmetics over there?”

I was mortified.

“It’s for shaving!” I yelled. “For razor burn! It’s not really cosmetics!”

Men’s cosmetics, my ass.

Clinique — not the other brand listed on the web site — had some men’s stuff, which I looked at half-heartedly. What the hell is “scruffing lotion”?

(That was rhetorical. I googled and found out it’s a dead-skin-slougher-offer. Ew.)

The clerk asked if there was anyone I could call to find out the brand name, so I called Robyn and asked her to go to the Dillard’s page and look for me.

Chickety-chickety-chick. Chickchick. Chickety.

I could hear her typing for a moment, then all was silent.

“What the fuck?” she said.

“I don’t think that’s a brand name.”

“Shut up.”

Silence reigned on the phone line. I stared at the ceiling and played the if-I’m-not-looking-at-you-you-can’t-see-me game with the clerk. Finally Robyn spoke and we hung up.

“Lab Series!” I said to the clerk. “That’s what it was.”

“We don’t have that here,” she replied, then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and looked around. “They have that at Parisian.”

“But it’s on the web site,” I said, trying not to whine at the thought of having to go to another model-filled store. “You’re sure it’s not here?”

“Not every store carries what’s on the site. Let me call Parisian and see if they have it.”

Left to my own devices, I wandered around the cosmetics area while she made the call. And that’s when I spotted it, right there with all the Aramis stuff.

A tiny little Lab Series section.

I told the clerk what I’d discovered and she handed me off to the Aramis / Estee Lauder clerk, who was even better looking and more perfectly groomed, if that was possible. I ended up with Lift Off! Power Wash, Tri-gel Extra Shave Formula, and Razor Burn Relief Plus.

I got a damn fine shave this morning, but the jury’s still out on whether or not it was worth fifty-six dollars.