Black like your soul

The box BzzAgent sent me for a review is black and sleek, but the contents are plastic, which my eco-concerned wife considers a fatal flaw. I doubt there is another option that Urban Skin Rx would use, so I can forgive them for killing the planet a little more.

My usual shaving routine is to work a Chagrin Valley shave soap with my brush until it is a good lather. Then, I shave with a Leaf Shave three-blade razor (sometimes using my one-blade Twig for detailing or missed spots) and finish with a Chagrin Valley shaving salve. I swear that I didn't use to be the sort of guy who cared about shaving this much -- I just used an electric razor and called it good enough -- but my dear wife bought me the Leaf Shave, and it would have been beyond rude not to have made this a part of my identity. (Leaf Shave and Chagrin Valley are not paying for a mention here, but I am not opposed to some swag if they are feeling generous.)

Taking the cylinder from the box, I decided on the spot that I would use this for one week, after which I would quietly take this to my local free store to be rehomed.

Day One:

I shave as usual and then put a squirt and a half -- the bottle does not want to release the substance at first -- on my hand. I swirl it around my fingers, finding its scent mild. Then I daub it on my face and experience a two on the Schmidt Pain Index, equivalent to fire ants chewing on my face -- it could be worse. It is an effervescent pain, a sharp agony that would wake one up instantly. I do not doubt that this contains three kinds of acid.

We have all seen the part in Home Alone where Kevin applies aftershave and then reenacts Edvard Munch's "The Scream." Until you have used this solution, you cannot understand, having discovered the pain of mere alcohol be well exceeded.

My face does feel smooth, though. Smooth and, for an hour and a half more, itchy. Also, it has additional friction. Not stickiness, exactly, but a thin layer of dried fluid holding the ridges of my fingerprints there just a fraction of a second too long.

I am not looking forward to tomorrow.

Day Two:

I had not slept well, so I was almost looking forward to the shocking pain that would clear some of the fuzziness from my mind before I had to go to work.

I thought I was prepared.

It was harmless as I rubbed it on my finger, its peppermint odor more apparent in the moments before I subjected myself to this again. I knew that this innocuousness was a lie to trick me into complacency.

I tapped it around -- rubbing is where I went wrong yesterday. I want the least finger-to-face contact possible.

The best I can say for this -- and I am not being facetious here -- is that it was akin to acupuncture with wasabi-dipped needles. They went in, and there were four seconds of agony. Then, as is the case with the bright green horseradish paste that we pretend is wasabi in America, it abated at once.

My face feels stickier than smooth, likely because I did not rub it in, but I do not hate myself enough to encourage it to touch more of my face. Whenever I make a broader expression, I feel tiny prickles anywhere my razor may have microscopically abraded.

There is a sunscreen warning on the box; for a week after ceasing to use this, you are far more susceptible to the sun's rays. I have, to my knowledge, yet to turn into a vampire, but I have been wearing my mask most of the time.

I guess that I will not feel more generous on Day Seven, but I will see this through because I find my discomfort funny.

Day Three:

I'm expecting you today! You cannot kill me in a way that matters!

It is still painful. Anticipating, knowing, what is about to befall me eases the discomfort only fractionally. I do not see why anyone would voluntarily do this every morning, except they have a masochistic streak or Stockholm Syndrome for shaving lotion.

But let me, if I may, distance myself from a litany of how ouchy my cheeks are. I do not see any positive results. Razor bumps have never plagued me, especially once I got the hang of using my Leaf Shave razor. I don't know what the packaging means about "dark spots," so I assume I am not subject to these. If anything, this makes my face a little worse than no aftershave and noticeably worse than using my typical shave salve. How I miss it.

I am attempting to be as fair as possible. I swapped out my blades for new ones to better assure a smooth after shave experience, but with no success.

Day Four:

I can do this. It's just some lotion. Some lotion full of various acids! I look at the box again. It has lactic acid in it, which my muscles make when I have fatigued them. I have been exhausted for the last few days. Have I absorbed too much lactic acid through micro-abrasions on my face? Coupled with the sunscreen warning, should I be concerned that this company is slowly turning me into a vampire? I've seen Midnight Mass. I know how deceptive they can be!

I increase the difficulty this time, as my father calls me in the middle of my shave to tell me how proud he is of me and how I ought to get a million dollars for my writing (no, really, he did). I have half my face covered in shave soap, so I assume it is better to finish while hearing parental praise quietly.

Now comes the tricky part. I dry my face and eye the black cylinder. It seems insidious this morning, as though it is meant to contain something eldritch, something better left in the dark realms of the underworld.

Could I apply this ooze to my face without him noticing? I asked him some question that would involve an extended answer on his part and got to daubing.

Why haven't I become used to this even a little? I cannot think of anything that stings quite as this does. If there were some miraculous outcome -- skin like a dewy baby, complexion like alabaster, even a smoother shave the next day -- that would be one thing. Instead, my skin feels tacky and gently sunburned for a few hours.

Three more days to go!

Day Five:

The aphorism is "no pain, no gain." Daily Razor Bump may want to change this to "know pain, no gain," as I have seen no positive results yet. If anything, my skin feels drier. The package suggested that, if one has sensitive skin (and to this point, I had not thought that I had), one ought to use it a day after shaving. I shave daily, so that does not seem like actionable advice.

I can admit that today hurt less. I don't think it is so much that I have mentally grown accustomed to the irritation to which I have been subjecting myself as that it has toughened my skin. I do not want toughened skin on my face. I shave with thin blades and not an ax.

I have no more or fewer razor bumps than I had going in, but my skin continues to feel mildly burned.

Come at me, Day Six!

Day Six:

You've beaten me, Urban Skin Rx. I used to look forward to my morning shave as a time of respite and reflection as I prepared for the day to come (I listen to murder podcasts). I emerged from the bathroom, refreshed and salved with something that smelled edible.

Not so with Urban Skin Rx. This is to harden one for city life, but I do not care to be given the texture of asphalt. Each shave is worse than the last, leaving me feeling more burned. My shaves are less close because my skin is more irritated. I should not want to feel that I need to plunge my face in a puddle of refrigerated moisturizer after less than a week of use.

Directly into the donation bin you go! May you find someone who wants their face to feel lightly sanded!