Throghout the nation, when every young man reaches his official manhood recognition day (none in some circles as the eighteenth birthday) he recieves two things. Number one: A razor from the Gillete Company, a subsidory of the Proctor and Gamble monolith. Number two: A draft card. If I'm in the business world, I jump on the former's philosophy.
I've used a Mach 3 razor for seven plus years now. Why? Because I got one free on the day when I was able to legally obtain lottery tickets and cigarettes. I'm not sure of much else, other than that I've flirted with other brands, fives blades, electric, battery, and going months without shaving (always a better sounding idea than in practice).
However, I, like every man, realized at some point that I am forking over a lot of money on razor blades that I'm not sure is a sound investment. Meanwhile, the Gillete (or P & G) is trying to get me to upgrades so I can slab a couple extra plades on my razor and a couple extra points on their dividend returns. In order to combat this affront, I don't switch razor blades. No, I just use the same one longer. Which doesn't say a whole lot about me, nor the compelling nature of advertisements aimed at the man who desires a close shave.
Anyways, I think George Orwell was on to something when the primary scarce commodity in his groundbreaking 1984 was razorblades. Let's be honest, in my world, they are already a scarce commodity. Also, the coincidence that you get your razor and selective service card around the same time seems eerily ironic. I guess you're always going to be serving the man, one way or the other (or else hairy, but seriously, who wants that?).
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