I Guess I Shave My Face Now

I wrote a blog post last year about facial de-fuzzing and the perils of taking the plunge. I’m going to recap here, because that post was on my website and we all hate having to click about all over the shop to catch up on things and then I’m going to give you an update.

For the recap we need to go back in time to January 2023, a month that saw me still-jubilant about the book deal I’d signed the month before (pre-order here!) but also slightly nervous about how the hell I was going to actually write the bloody thing and still do enough work to pay the bills. I couldn’t for the life of me work out how to carve four hours a day out of my already ridiculous work schedule and so I did what I always do when faced with an insurmountable lack-of-time problem: found something pointless to procrastinate about.

The pointless thing that month was the fuzzy hair on my face, which had always been there but had suddenly presented itself as a project. Something that needed tackling. I had shown my Mum my newly acquired Finishing Touch Hair Remover and she had been horrified.

‘You can’t shave your face!” she cried. “Why can’t you just use nail scissors like everyone else?’

I asked for a show of hands from readers to find out if anyone – anyone at all – used nail scissors to stay on top of their facial hair. In general it wasn’t a popular hair removal method. Unsurprisingly. She couldn’t have picked a more impractical tool, could she? At the time I compared it to going into battle brandishing a chainsaw – there would be more chance of maiming yourself than winning the fight.

‘I just hold the scissors like this,” she said, her head back and her chin thrown high, ‘and snip as close to the root of the hair as I can.’

‘You can’t even see where you’re snipping,’ I said, ‘you’ll end up cutting off something important!’

Mum’s snipping method was (still is) flawed in many ways: firstly the risk of injury was high, even with the use of a mirror. Perhaps especially with the use of a mirror, because we all know how even the simplest of tasks becomes impossible once you’re relying on your reflection to guide you.

Then there was the fact that she wasn’t even getting to the root of the problem, just cutting off the visible part of it. A bit like weeding by pulling off the top bits. Does my Mum go around the garden strimming over the dandelions? No she does not. She goes about on her knees, pulling the whole thing out.

And finally (though I can probably think of many more problems with the scissor method), how bloody long must it take to de-hair an average chin and moustache area? Days! I’d be tempted to open out the scissor blades and slide them along my skin for speed’s sake, old-fashioned cut-throat razor style.

‘God I don’t do my entire face!’ said my Mum. ‘You just do the longest hairs, you daft thing. The ones that are a few centimetres long or very, very dark.’

And this is why we have different removal methods: differing attitudes towards facial hair. Mum: happy with the usual facial fuzz. The stuff that we’ve all had, probably from a young age, but that 4K HD TV and hi-res phone cameras have gradually made us hyper-aware of. She only irks at the longest, blackest of hairs – the rest is just considered normal, like having eyes, or legs.

‘And you wouldn’t shave those off.’

My problem was, I had deduced, that I looked at my face in detail nearly every single day. As part of my job. And I did disclose at the time that I wasn’t a particularly hairy person and that my colouring was quite fair, but because I test makeup and skincare I spend a lot of time staring at zoomed-in photos and videos of myself. And when it’s not photos and videos it’s the bloody Simple Human magnifying mirror, aka The Portal of Doom, checking whether or not a new foundation that I’m testing has crept into fine lines or migrated into the oilier patches. And so not only do I see the longest and blackest of hairs (though mine tend to be white, like Father Christmas) I also see the plush thackets of peach fuzz, so dense they’re like velvet.

And I had left the peach fuzz for a while because it did seem like overkill to start taking that off; I plucked at the longer hairs with my tweezers (definitely my recommendation over nail scissors) and I ignored the fuzz. But then I started plucking the slightly longer bits of fuzz as well as the hairs, especially in the side tache area, and before I knew it I was plucking all of the peach fuzz out with my tweezers. It was taking ages and was actually quite painful after a while….

…hence the Finishing Touch shaver. Which sounds scarier than it is; my Mum’s reaction to it would suggest it had some sort of blade. But no; it’s basically a slightly larger version of one of those nose hair trimmers (separate issue altogether) where the cutting bit is smooth and flat and chops off the hairs apparently by magic. It’s closer to a fabric de-bobbler than it is anything Gilette-y - I think my mum had visions of me doing a full shave routine, using one of those badger brushes to lather my face up, leaning in towards the mirror like Desperate Dan. White vest, gun belt slung over the towel rail, ten gallon hat resting on the shelf above the sink.

And though her worries were partially unfounded, I do have to say that - a year and a half on - she was right to be concerned. Because I am now, officially, “a person who shaves her face”.

There is no going back.

What started as enthusiastic plucking of the longer hairs and “side tache” then became full-on fuzz removal with the Finishing Touch device. And if you’ve used one of these hair removal devices, sliding it silkily over your skin and hearing it crackle its way over the stubble, you’ll know exactly why the de-fuzzing area grew and grew to the point where I now do my entire top lip.

Oh, the glorious smoothness of it. The way that foundation sits upon my skin without catching on the hairs. Benefits marred only by the fact that every few weeks I have to come to terms with the idea that I am officially “a person who has stubble on her top lip”.

I could grow it out, of course I could. I could potentially go back to the peach fuzz, just tweezering out the thick, coarse hairs that poke out as sharply as the little copper wires at the end of an electricity flex. I could turn back time and just take extra care when blending foundation around my mouth. But it’s sort of addictive, this facial hair removal thing. I rather enjoy gliding the compact joy machine over my jawline (yes, I’ve started on that too) - it even lights up everything in its path, like one of those little deep sea explorer submarines. Or a fancy hoover. And I love the sound of the hairs being splintered off left right and centre. It’s incredibly satisfying.

So yes, I now shave my face. What of it.

I also spend at least ten minutes every other day or so stalking my reflection in the magnifying mirror, tweezers poised, ready to pounce. I must look like a woman possessed. Even writing this now makes me want to pause my writing, pull out the mirror and go on a little hair-hunting expedition.

…

Sorry, where was I? I’m back.

Yes, so I’ve started with all of this mass-tweezing and facial lawn-mowing and now there is no way that I can stop. I constantly stroke my chin and upper lip, feeling for stubble and/or stray Alpha Hairs, looking for all the world like a wise old sage about to make a pertinent statement.

I did read an article the other day (Sarah Jossel in The Times) about actually shaving your face. With a razor. It is a “thing” and apparently a good one at that, leaving skin exfoliated and silken. It’s a step too far for me. At the moment anyway. With my silly gadget I can at least pretend that I have a shred of youthful, feminine sauciness remaining. I feel as though that might go down the plughole the moment I lather up with the badger brush and stretch my upper lip taut…

Faces and hair removal. Let us discuss.

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The Flawless Touch gadget is online here (ad-affiliate link) and costs £31. I have to say, it feels very light and cheaply-made, for the price, but it is holding up well. There’s a version with batteries (this is rechargeable) and it is half the price. If you think you won’t use it much then maybe that’s the better option… If you have other suggestions then let me know!