I was not taught how to shave. By the time stubble contacted my very late-developing body, I was in the army, far from parent and close to corporals who would as soon cut your head off as teach you the ups and downs of shaving. I learnt fast, of course; and well, too, as any nick or sign of blood at morning inspection led to pack-drill.
I suppose not many boys are taught how to shave. Most, seeing their familiar bum fluff invaded by the spiky troops of stubble, notch this up as another puberty marker, a process kept very much to themselves. “Isn’t it about time you started to shave?” will earn the parent the information that a YouTube demonstration is on his phone, thank you. Not to worry: since the invention of the safety razor the worst he can do to himself are a few nicks here and there: he wouldn’t even know a cut-throat if he saw one.
I imagine it’s the same with girls and their make-up. Though they won’t hear a parent say “Isn’t about time you started wearing make-up?” most will see its application as much of a rule as that which requires boys to appear clean-shaven. Interestingly, while schoolboys are compelled to alter their natural appearance, schoolgirls are compelled not to.
For both though, it requires time at the mirror. This can pose a problem at an adolescent age when mirrors become objects of immense fear or adoration. Though beauty being in the eye of the beholder is a comforting thought, the harsh reality is that when the object in the beholder’s mirror is his or her self, the mind, not the eye, beholds and judges what it sees. This may develop into a love-hate relationship with the image, depending on the mood of the moment. Seeing the mirror as a means to an end and not an end in itself is the best way to avoid this. Shaving and the application of make-up can open a door into this perspective.
Make-up takes up far more time than shaving: many more choices are available, not only in the cosmetic tray but also where on the face they can best be applied. Shaving is one-dimensional, its success in clearing away the unwanted stubble assessed by a simple stroke of a hand over parts of the face. Not so simple for the girl: her eye must read the face in front of her and assess that all the applications cohere and are not overdone or imbalanced. Some think that this longer time spent at the mirror is an exercise in vanity; indeed they may question the need to make up the face at all and even reference Hamlet’s harsh words to Ophelia: “God hath given you one face, but you make yourselves another.”
That Hamlet is seldom played by a bearded actor is a fact they probably have not considered. Fashioning facial hair is a man’s form of make-up; left to itself, a man’s face would be permanently hirsute. There would be good reason to favour this: the time, trouble, and futility of removing the hair which will, tomorrow, come up as surely as the sun, makes the practice of shaving seem foolish. But ever since they emerged smooth-skinned from the womb, men have shaved. Thirty thousand years ago, shells were sharpened to accomplish the act; religions have invested in it, too, finding holiness in either embracing or removing all facial hair. And while not exactly seen as profane, an unshaven appearance may draw connotations of laziness, carelessness and even a lack of respect for others. Shaving is important: a bearded man will take care of his property by carefully trimming and maintaining its cut in the fashion of the day.
The application, or lack thereof, of make-up bears possibly more connotations than its male equivalent: mistakes with make-up do not pass unnoticed. A woman who sets out to enhance the features of her face is not forgiven in the way the plaster on a man’s chin is overlooked, or even seen as amusing. Faced with a cornucopia of cosmetic items which have been developed to enhance the features now appearing in the mirror, judicious choices and an impartial eye are needed. The clearer the focus, the better the result. Part of the process lies in developing an indifferent view upon the subject: the face in the mirror. Just as a man will come to know which folds of skin require a more careful approach and where he must tighten or relax the facial muscles when the blade moves down the slopes, a woman needs, for example, to know the tones of her skin when applying colour to it. Gaining an objective understanding of the face is key in bringing out the best in it.
The maxim, “Know thyself” has passed down the ages. “Know thy face” sounds rather a B-grade version of such, even a perversion. But the man or woman who know his or her face, seeing it for what it is and applying whatever arts are best suited to its form may, in the practice of this impartial knowledge, advance a little further down the road to knowing him or herself.
