I was wandering around after work (read: walking home), musing on suitable subjects about which to blog and avoiding students on bicycles and cars intent on killing something, anything, at crossings and junctions, when I was distracted by the thought that I had never shaved every day ever. New job, new skin care regime I had reasonably assumed before starting - along with new Gap jumpers, Gap corduroys, Gap shirts (and you know what? I strongly dislike Gap. Go figure) and an errant H&M pullover - and had stuck to it for the full week without so much as thinking about not shaving. But now I was.
.
I'm not sure why shaving has become such a standard requirement for suitably dressed men past the age of university slackerdom. I regularly enjoyed 3 weeks worth of fluff up until the age of 32, even once the lovingly groomed ponytail had been ceased to be a feature of my daily routine, having been hacked orf during a moment of drunken clarity one drizzly Tuesday afternoon, around about 1998In fact, even on a management pay grade, I was often seen sporting a blue-grey wash across the bottom half of my face, itchy and baby-face-scratchingly abrasive though it was. I admit it fit with the corporate ethos back then, but even now my peers and colleagues are less Wall Street than Sesame Street. So why do I bother?
Why indeed. I would welcome pseudo-anthropological studies of the development of man's grooming instincts, or even suggestions about fetching face topiary designs. But in my heart of hearts, I suspect the answer is more about vanity than anything.
Link love to
http://fortheloveofbeards.blogspot.com/, but come on. He does look a little bit of a twat.
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