My Razor, My Hero

Is it just me or is it getting harder to buy razors? There are so many brands, styles, and specialization, I’m sure I have mistakenly used a razor designed for my bikini area on my one-piece-with-flarey-skirt areas. 

Choosing the best razor is bad enough, but then buying replacement blades to fit the razor is just as complicated. I have to take a photo of the old razor pack and take an 8-by-10 blow-up into the store with me so that I can make sure the fine print matches up. Because god forbid we remove our hair in a manner less complex than nuclear physics.

Pantyhose used to be that way. And sanitary napkins. Possibly a bunch of men in suits decided to make purchasing these products so complicated no woman in her right mind would dream of sending her husband in to CVS to get her a pair of hose or “female products.” You’d likely get light-days pantyhose with wings, and sandal-foot Kotex. 

It seems razors are joining that club. I don’t know if it’s an inferiority complex or a huge ego, but razors seem to have taken on a lot.

According to the packaging, my husband’s razors should be able to remotely drop a smart bomb. Mine, however, are named after a vagina and remove my leg hair with the tongues of sexy newborn kittens.

They are the last personal hygiene item to hold fast to the differences in the sexes. And they are flying that flag big-time. According to the razor world, a truly masculine man is clean shaven and smooth. And a truly feminine woman is too. But how they get there is very different. Men’s razors promise to beat your whiskers into submission with high-tech metal weaponry. Women’s razors make you feel like you're in a Marilyn Monroe teddy, wrapping your legs around a fur bedpost.

This is how men and women are going to be divided in the future; mark my words. The Quattro Titanium Schick razor blades are being struck by lightning on the package and they seem to be weathering it just fine. They have a trademarked slogan: Free Your Skin. Of what? It’s just hair, people. Little tiny stubbly hairs. You don’t really need the Navy Seals and a metal alloy just released from the lab by MacGyver to get rid of it. You’d think your skin had been taken hostage by a 5 o’clock shadow and the Schick Quattro was the special op Jean Claude Van Damme hired to save the day. 

My Gillette Venus, on the other hand, lives by the slogan: Reveal the Goddess in You. It goes on to tell me to complement your inner (and outer) beauty with smooth, radiant skin. I get to choose from Venus, Embrace, Breeze and the pathetic Original. (Oh please. I might as well be a neuter.)

Schick for men also offers razors called Sword Tech 4, Xtreme 3 Echo, Tracer FX, and Midnight. “Four precisely synchronized blades with patented blade coating for a smoother you.” And a manly ridged, rubber handle for advanced control. 

If there ever is a Battle of the Sexes, it will be fought with razors. And the side with the easy-grip, advanced control rubber handle will probably win. If anyone can figure out how to buy it.

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