Today on Pandemic Self-Care with Doug… Taming the Beast

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 18/01/2021 (2035 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Excuse me for bragging, but it turns out I have far more in common with Hollywood superstar George Clooney than you might think.

It’s not that people get me confused with the famously silver-haired, bearded dreamboat when I’m standing in the frozen-food aisle at Safeway, although I am not ruling that out.

It’s just that Clooney and I are both willing to publicly admit that we have, on occasion, cut our own hair. I’m not saying I have cut Clooney’s hair, or vice versa.

No, I’m saying that, while in different locations, we have engaged in some serious hair removal in an effort to be as presentable as humanly possible if we are ever allowed to appear in public again.

I became aware of Clooney’s hairstyling prowess recently when he appeared on late-night TV and confessed to host Jimmy Kimmel that, for the past 25 years, he has been cutting his hair with (insert dramatic pause) a Flowbee.

For you youngsters in Generation Z, a Flowbee is an electrically powered vacuum cleaner attachment that became popular during the infomercial boom of the 1980s. Invented by a guy who used an industrial vacuum to suck sawdust out of his hair, it allowed people with the brain power of cinder blocks and the hand-eye co-ordination of Labrador retrievers to give themselves really bad haircuts while sitting in front of the TV.

The way it works is you essentially bunny-hop the Flowbee attachment over your head while it sucks up your hair, munches on it with clippers, then sucks the trimmings into the canister. What could go wrong?

The point is the 59-year-old actor made headlines around the world after appearing on Jimmy Kimmel Live! and demonstrating how easy it is to groom yourself with a vacuum cleaner attachment.

“You turn the vacuum on. You turn the buzzer on. You go to town, like this on your hair,” Clooney explained as he dragged the roaring device over his head.

“You do it that fast?” Kimmel asked as he attacked his locks with another Flowbee.

“Can’t hear ya, I’m Flowbeeing!” Clooney yelled back at the comedian.

I am mentioning this because I have been giving serious consideration to purchasing a Flowbee because I have been unable to visit the (bad word) hair salon for more than nine weeks due to code-red restrictions to stem the tide of the COVID-19 pandemic.

For the record, the one and only time in my life wherein I cut my own hair occurred back in St. Paul’s High School on the day my basketball team was scheduled to pose for team photos.

At the time, my hairstyle resembled a woodland creature that had climbed on top of my head and suffered a heart attack, making it difficult for me to see out from behind my long and fuzzy locks.

So, being an idiot, I grabbed a pair of my mom’s scissors and hacked away enough hair so that I would be able to look at the camera for our team photos.

“OHMYGAWD!” is what my coach roared at the time. “WHO DID THAT TO YOUR HEAD? “

So my initial foray into home-based personal grooming did not go as well as I had hoped. Which is why, during the current lockdown, I started thinking the following thought: “If it’s good enough for George Clooney, then maybe a Flowbee would be the way to go for me.”

The problem is that after Clooney’s endorsement, it has become almost impossible to find a reasonably priced Flowbee online. It turns out they have been flying off shelves faster than hand sanitizer, if you can imagine that.

In truth, my main problem is not the fact the hair on top of my head is now longer and curlier than the hair protruding from my ears and nostrils, although a friend on a recent Zoom call felt compelled to snort: “Hahaha! You look like the leader of some backwoods hillbilly religious cult!”

The real problem for me is the fact I have a beard that would be described as scraggly at the best of times, but has become increasingly deranged with every day we remain in lockdown.

Which is why I visited the drug store down the street from my house in search of some manner of manly electrical grooming appliance.

Unfortunately, when I wandered into the aisle where they keep the blow dryers and hair trimmers, the shelves were sealed with yellow caution tape to prevent the hirsute from buying non-essential items.

Fortunately, when I inspected the nearby racks where they keep all the regular razors and blades, I stumbled on something called the Gillette 3-in-1 Styler, which is a battery-powered razor that lets you trim, shave and edge your facial hair.

Considering I was starting to look like The Beast in a high-school production of Beauty and The Beast, I coughed up $31, took it home, and made my wife read the instructions.

As she looked on, I attached a little plastic guard and cautiously ran the battery-powered device over my chin, thereby transforming myself from a 300-pound columnist with unsightly whiskers into a 300-pound columnist with designer stubble.

“How do I look, honey?” I demanded.

“Not bad, dear,” my wife replied with a whisper of a smile. “But you’ll never be George Clooney.”

Which is what happens when you don’t go with the Flow.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca