Russian-Mafia

I like Dollar Shave Club – in theory. Razor blades are expensive as s*#t, so much so that if I was slightly more of a cheap-ass and a tad less anal-retentive I would give it all up and grow a lumberjack beard.  So a cost-effective way to scrape my face daily is definitely appealing. And having them delivered to me so I don’t have to wait in line at a CVS behind an old lady arguing that her coupon for five cents off Werther Candies is still valid even though it’s been expired for a week is definitely a boon. Hell, even their viral video is HY-sterical (FYI, that is the proper way to type “hysterical” when something is truly funny). So in theory, everything about the Dollar Shave Club should be a big two thumbs up.

And yet, I still can’t pull the trigger.

I want to put my faith in Dollar Shave Club. I don’t want to hate – in fact, I want to participate. But something is holding me back. It’s not the “dollar” part. You can actually buy their base-level razors for a dollar a month (or you can decide to make it rain and pay six or nine dollars a month for one of their higher-end models), so there is definitely no bait and switch going on here. And even without road testing-their razors you can tell just by their photos that they look like they can do the job. At the very least, they will shave you better than an electric razor (which only work on guys with very little facial hair, aka, not me) or a Bic razor (which are honestly the worst razors on Earth, should be recognized as instruments of torture, and banned by all civilized societies). So my problem with Dollar Shave Club lies elsewhere.

My problem lies in the “club” part.

I don’t like that Dollar Shave Club calls itself a club. Even if there is no membership fee you still have to register and registering for the pleasure of their razors bothers me. I’m not sure if I want to be part of a club dedicated to the fine art of shaving. Call me paranoid, call me ridiculous, call me an idiot for even being concerned with this at all – all are valid. It still doesn’t change the fact that joining an online club and being a member of an online club seems weird and off-putting.

Something about the name “Dollar Shave Club” sounds skeevy. Like it’s a front for something else. Seriously, if you drove by a giant warehouse and saw a sign in the front that read “Dollar Shave Club,” you would totally think the place was a front for the Russian mob. I get the same feeling now even though they have a pretty cool-looking website. It feels like I’m joining a club that doesn’t really offer convenient, affordable, personal hygiene products and instead secretly smuggles illegal animals into the country – illegal animals filled with cocaine.

And it’s not like I’m not a joiner. I was in the drama club in high school. I was in a fraternity in college. I am a card-carrying member of Triple A. I’m not some loner living off the grid (I can barely function on the grid so I don’t know how the hell I could ever live off it). For all intents and purposes, Dollar Shave Club is tailor-made for me. But becoming a member just feels wrong.

Groucho Marx once famously wrote, “I don’t want to belong to any club that would accept me as one of its member.” If I am to take that quote to heart and apply it to my life then the problem is obviously me. Joining Dollar Shave Club means I am lumped together with others who are just like me. I guess I don’t want that. I want to stand out and be different. It’s my issues that prevent me from ever being a Dollar Shave Club member.

Though they do offer butt wipes to their club members, which apparently are peppermint-scented. Now that just might make me join.