| by
Dennis Hensley
“A while
back, I was on a date and they started massaging it,”
my friend Glen tells me. “It felt good at the time but
even then I knew I was in trouble. The next day, total rash.”
Glen is talking about his head, his big head, which is bald
and beautiful. “So don’t let anyone rub it right
after you shave,” he stresses. “This is very important.”
After decades
of joking that my hair knows the words to one song—short
and un-sassy, thanks to receding hairline and bangs that break
off at about an inch—I’ve decided to pull a Kojak
and go bald. With summer coming and my mid-life crisis in
full swing, it’s time to bring out the Vin within.
“Dating-wise,
my stock went through the roof,” says Michael, a bald
ad copywriter I meet at a club the night before my haircut
appointment. “Strangers will ask you to touch it,”
he promises. “I always tell them make a wish.”
My wish, as
I settle into the chair at Shorty’s Barber Shop in L.A.
the next day, is that I don’t bleed to death. See, I’ve
always been an electric razor guy—my mom bought me an
old school Norelco before I even had hair to shave--so I’ve
never taken a traditional razor blade to my face, let alone,
my tender, naked scalp. What if I behead myself?
My stylist,
John Anthony at Shorty’s Barber Shop in L.A., assures
me that won’t happen before firing up his clippers and
buzzing me as closely as they’ll allow. When he finishes,
I get the first look at myself as a nearly bald person. Not
too bad, I think, although the paleness of my skin makes me
look a bit like Powder’s stunt double. “You have
a little bit of dry scalp,” John says, pointing to some
red marks on my crown.
“We’ve
all been talking about that for years,” remarks my friend
Tony, who I’ve brought along to capture my shearing
on film ala Demi Moore in G.I. Jane.
Then out come
the hot towels. You know how good it feels to put a hot towel
on your face at the end of a long airplane flight? Imagine
that on your whole head. “The heat opens the cuticle
and relaxes the hair,” John explains before slathering
my head in shaving cream. When John pulls out his trusty old
school straight razor, the blade catches the light like something
out of Friday the 13th. “You never want to go against
the grain when shaving,” he cautions. “Go from
the crown out. That way you don’t get any cuts.”
The way John says cuts is a little bit chilling.
Then the shaving
proper begins and what I love most about it is the sound,
a sweet, wet scraping. “You have a very good scalp,”
John says during the first of several hot towel breaks. “No
moles or obstructions to shave around. It’s a perfect
canvas.”
I’d
blush but John might mistake it more dry skin. “I bet
you say that to all the guys who are getting their head shaved
and writing about it for a magazine,” I say.
Jon finishes
with the straight razor then goes over my scalp one last time
with a Bic razor with the lubricating strip. For the final
step, he applies some American Crew Essential Shave Oil, a
clove-scented product several of my friends swear by, to my
head. Before sending me on my bald way, John tells me that
not everyone can get a straight razor shave without irritation—African-Americans
are particularly prone to break-outs—and that I’ll
know in a day or two if it’s for me or not.
“Showering
will be weird for you now,” Tony says while I settle
up John ($28 for the cut, plus a $12 tip.) “Sleeping
on a pillow will be weird.”
“Pleasuring
myself will be exactly the same,” I mutter.
Over the next
few days, my new chrome dome gets a good number of compliments.
Of course, what are my friends gonna say, ‘You look
horrible’? Though one friend suggested I hit the tanning
salon to even out the color, I’m hoping gradual exposure
to the elements will even things out. Though the difference
between hair and no hair isn’t that drastic on me—it’s
not like I was blessed with Jon Bon Jovi’s mane--I catch
myself altering the way I dress and carry myself to go with
this edge I never knew I had.
Three days
after my visit to Shorty’s, it’s time for me to
shave myself for the first time. So armed with a Gillette
Mach 3 Turbo, some TK shaving cream and dream, I step into
the shower and do the deed. I take my time with the blade,
checking my progress in the fogless mirror I picked up for
the occasion, and finish the job without drawing blood, which
is considerably better than I thought I’d do.
Before my
next shave, I pay a visit to Todd Greene at the HeadBlade
headquarters in Venice, CA. If I’m going to pull a Howie
Mandell and stay shaved long term, I want to explore my options.
One of the most intriguing is Greene’s newfangled, award-winning
HeadBlade razor. “It goes on your middle finger,”
Todd says, demonstrating with the sporty $15 HeadBlade Classic,
which looks a bit like a Hot Wheels toy car. “Then you
put it on your head and you drive it like a lawn mower, taking
long smooth strokes from the front to the back. It’s
more intuitive than regular shaving because you rely on touch
rather than sight.”
Todd confirms
that the number of men shaving their heads—and people’s
attitudes toward them—have changed drastically in the
decade. “As recently as five years ago, I’d meet
guys who’d say, ‘I’d love to shave my head
but I can’t because I’m a judge or I’m a
lawyer’,” Todd explains. “Now, it’s
a fashionable part of our culture and it’s here to stay.”
The next day,
I try out my own Headblade, using the company’s HeadSlick
shave cream to lather up. Todd was right about the movement
feeling more natural than with a traditional razor. And you
can switch to your less dominant hand and still feel in control.
After toweling off and applying the glossy HeadLube moisturizing
lotion (it also comes in a Matte finish), I check myself in
the mirror and see I missed a couple of spots, so I clean
them up with my old Norelco electric. All in all, it was a
worthy first attempt and I’ll definitely go HeadBlading
again.
Though it’s
too early to say whether I’ll keep the bald look long
term, it’s definitely been a great way to shake things
up in my life. There’s empowering something about taking
on the world with no pesky hair to come between you and whatever
comes your way.
As I apply
my HeadShade sunscreen in preparation for an afternoon hike,
I think of something Todd said a few days before at the HeadBlade
office. “What’s beautiful about the shaved head
is it’s an act of choice,” he rhapsodized. “When
I started losing my hair in my twenties, I thought, ‘Do
I want to spend the next twenty years worrying about losing
my hair or just lose it in a day and spend the rest of my
time not worrying about it’?”
For now, I’m
choosing to not worry about it. Feel free to touch me.
HOW
TO:
Before shaving
with any kind of razor, use clippers at their closest setting
to remove the bulk of your hair.
Apply moisture
and heat to your scalp in the shower or with a hot towel.
If you choose to shave in the shower, pick up a fogless mirror
at your local drugstore.
Apply some
kind of shaving cream—traditional foamy variety or something
like American Crew Shave Oil.
Whether you
use a traditional blade or a HeadBlade, shave with the grain,
from your crown out. Once you’ve done that, if you want
an extra close shave, shave cautiously against the grain.
Rinse.
Dry off and
apply moisturizer to your scalp.
Don’t
forget the sunscreen. Your naked scalp may not have seen the
sun since you were an infant. Expose it to the elements gradually.
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