01/21/10
There is much documentation about the hardships of the typical teenager. For many years, Hollywood has generally depicted the coming-of-age teenager story as one of chaos and distress, first date woes and woebegone, and the advanced art of Gossip Darwinism. But let me argue that, for certain, the typical coming-of-age tale of a teenage boy swimmer is far more dramatic, horrifying, and ultimately triumphant.
This past weekend at the SoCal Grand Prix, a friend of mine pointed out something that has been overlooked amongst the suit drama: men must shave their legs again. Now that FINA regulated suit-length to sizes jammer-or-less, skin is once again in.
The long-lost art of male shaved-legs camaraderie is back.
For veteran male swimmers, shaving one’s body is as routine as carbo-loading: it’s a necessary component of big meet preparation. “Just part of the process,” I thought to myself. We do so to remove hair, skin, and moles (re: speed bumps) to become faster in the water. But after I relayed to my friend some old shaving anecdotes from my childhood, namely involving Enya, a video camera, and three dudes crammed in a bathroom tub gently shaving each other’s backs, suddenly I realized The Man Shave is about much, much more than simply removing hair.
It’s a ritualistic coming-of-age in the sport of swimming. And thanks to FINA, The Man Shave is once again a new obstacle for teenage boys everywhere.
The past few years, full-body suits have made it regretfully possible for teenage boys to avoid the once-ritualistic leg shave. A swimmer would merely slide into a LZR and never endure the sometimes uncomfortable liability of resembling a chlorinated Mr. Clean.
But shaving down is the definition of commitment. To one’s sport, to one’s teammates, to one’s body. The past few years, it saddened me that this tradition was forgotten, that throngs of 15 and 16 year-old men no longer bonded with the complicated and confusing task their female counterparts took but a fraction of time (and energy) to do. I remember a group of us – 13 and 14 year olds -- standing around a 17 year-old seasoned shaving warrior who taught us the ways of the leg shave. He passed down knowledge like an elder chief to young tribesmen. It was a ritual, a coming-of-age event in every teenage swimmer-boy’s life.
Then came the full-body suit, the ritual stopped, the bonding diminished, and the Man Shave was relatively discontinued.
But no longer. The Man Shave returns to Swimmerhood as our sport’s finest hour.
Still, though, panic remains. “You mean I have to shave my legs?” is always the first question that leaves a 14 year-olds mouth upon arrival at his first big swim meet. “Shave them like a….a…. girl?” Yes, little Johnny. Shave them down. “Not like a girl,” I tell them. “Shave those legs like a man.”
See, for teenage boys, the most terrifying thing about shaving one’s legs isn’t the act itself. It’s the fear that follows. Shaving one’s legs as a teenage boy is similar to rocking out to Bon Jovi: everything’s fine as long as no one knows. However, for reasons both unexplainable yet completely understood, whenever 10 teenage boys gather to shave their legs, people know.
Growing up in a rural, football-friendly high school, the first time a razor touched my upper thigh, I was sure a school-wide morning beat-down was inevitable. I’d be outcast and stoned, a moral degenerate forever typecast as “The Dude Who Shaves His Legs.” Girls wouldn’t talk to me. Guys wouldn’t respect me. And teachers would fail me.
But this never happened.
Instead of running from the fear and hiding in the corners of the cafeteria far from the Teenagehood Paparazzi, we teenage swimmer-boys confronted the fear head-on. We were loud and proud about our hairless extremities, and ironically, we (somewhat) gained respect (not really). We entered a high school talent show merely hours after our pre-meet leg shave, “The Best Legs Competition.” We displayed our shaved legs (and backs, arms, feet, and head) to anyone that inquired, and we surprisingly we discovered the benefits that come with unbridled confidence in one’s body.
We even got more dates.
A few months ago, I attempted to translate the feeling of dipping a fresh-shaven head into a pool of water the first time:
“You can’t tell where your head stops and the water begins.”
“That doesn’t sound comfortable.”
“You feel slimy and fast and fish-like.”
“Again, weird.”
Some people just don’t understand the essence of The Man Shave, which is to eliminate all barriers between your human skin and the element of water. To feel and embrace the element as closely as possible. To be one with the water. But that’s okay. The Man Shave is something only a select few will ever experience, and fortunately for our sport, it has returned.
For future teenage leg-shavers out there, you have nothing to fear. Slow and steady. Clip first. And don’t shave anything not covered by the suit. The Return of the Male Shave is something to be embraced. I’m happy it’s back. It’s a coming-of-age story that needs to be retold for years to come.
“But why Enya?” my friend asked.
Some people just don’t understand.
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