Lather me up

Facial hair. I have too much of it. From the top of my cheekbones to the base of my Adam’s apple - it’s solid beard. Whisker to whisker it never lets up, with some follicles sprouting two, three, even four whiskers. I shave in the morning and by evening there’s a shadow any spaghetti western bad guy could light a match off.

I’ve experimented with growing it – mutton chop sideburns, goatees, Bollywood moustaches – with varying comedic results. People say “that looks great” modulated by chuckles as they say it, as though they’re commenting on a fancy dress outfit. I grew a beard once. That didn’t work either. I was told I looked like I was homeless or a terrorist. Or was it a homeless terrorist? The kindest taunt was courtesy of the inimitable Guy Champney “Matty K, you look like the New York based financier for Al Qaeda, the respectable face of terrorism.” And the look I was going for was ‘sea faring philosopher’. With the reality way off the mark from my perception (and a persistent campaign from Cheryl stating that kissing me was like kissing a ball of steel wool), I eventually shaved it off. Fact is (as cruel as it may be), with all of this facial hair at my disposal, growing it simply isn’t an option.

So I revert back to the standard procedure of shave it, let it grow until itchy, then shave again. I can’t shave daily as it kills the skin on my neck. Well that’s my excuse anyway. With a beard like mine shaving is a hassle and it’s painful. Even though I invest in the latest shaving technology (currently Gillette Fusion), the blades grate and tug against those iron filing whiskers and makes for quite an unpleasant experience.

The only time I can be at peace with my beard, is when I’m traveling in the third world – where a proper barber’s shave is always cheap and readily available. This relic of by-gone era is alive and well in the developing world. And with a beard like mine the shaving experience and final result are both heaven sent.

Here in India the barber shop is a hub of social activity, with all the blokes seemingly queuing up for a turn at the seat, but actually just hanging around for a chat. Whenever a foreigner stops by it creates a stir and people get up and out of the way to ensure a clear path to the hallowed chair. For a shaver of the Gillette Mach 3 kind – it’s still slightly nerve wracking to have a shirtless Indian man dressed in only a Lunghi wield a cut-throat razor across my bare and vulnerable neck. I allay these irrational fears and relax into it as he softens the skin with a hot wet towel and lathers me up, using the brush to apply layers of foam at differing consistencies. He poises with the blade like a conductor with his baton before making one large sweep with the blade from my sideburn all the way to the bottom of my neck, cutting through that week old dense forest as though he’s sweeping lint from a linoleum floor. He’s considerate enough to stop what he is doing as he gloms a good look of the two girls walking by his shop, or when India takes another wicket against Pakistan, only resuming once he has regained total concentration. He meticulously sweeps my face clean, wiping the blade after each stroke on to a torn piece of newspaper, then lathers my face again for another round, repeating the process to clear any errant patches. He wipes my face clean, before applying pure alcohol (the sting strangely satisfying), then a dab of old spice after shave, then some multi- vitamin face cream and finally some talc. He finishes off with an Indian head, neck and shoulder massage.

It is impossible to find a closer shave (regardless of what Gillette and Phillips will tell you). Even with my beard I can’t detect any stubble running my finger against the grain. It’s also the only truly masculine way for a bloke to be pampered by another bloke. The tenderness with which they move your head around, massage it and apply the creams and lotions doesn’t jar in the slightest when you’re in a barbers chair surrounded by other guys reading the sports pages and listening to the cricket. And all this for the ridiculous cost of 40 Euro Cents. In India the impossible happens to you everyday, I just never thought it could include me enjoying a shave.