I'm sitting here, feeling a little bereft as I type this. I recently sold my very first brush on the B/S/T. I purchased it in December 2008 from eBay: a no-name silvertip badger with a hand-turned African Blackwood handle.
It was my companion as I discovered the joys and pains of wetshaving. After baptizing it in the blood of my first unsuccessful shave, I gradually learned to lather with it. I discovered its nuances and learned how much water it liked with soaps versus creams, etc. I lovingly dried it and polished its dark wood handle to a high luster after each shave. It held a position of high esteem in my fledgling shave den.
Tonight, as I was packing it up for its journey to a new wetshaver tomorrow, I was struck... hard... with a bittersweet reluctance to let it go. Before I wrapped it in bubble wrap, I had to run my fingers through the knot one last time. I had to brush it against my cheek. I stuck my nose in the middle of the knot, and I imagined I could smell all of the soap and cream it ever lathered, perhaps even with a coppery tinge of the blood of my failed shaves.
I'm going to miss it dearly. While chasing down the newest, most expensive, or most collectible shaving gear is great for some, I've discovered it's not for me. I've learned - too late - that what I value is a bond with my tools.
It was my companion as I discovered the joys and pains of wetshaving. After baptizing it in the blood of my first unsuccessful shave, I gradually learned to lather with it. I discovered its nuances and learned how much water it liked with soaps versus creams, etc. I lovingly dried it and polished its dark wood handle to a high luster after each shave. It held a position of high esteem in my fledgling shave den.
Tonight, as I was packing it up for its journey to a new wetshaver tomorrow, I was struck... hard... with a bittersweet reluctance to let it go. Before I wrapped it in bubble wrap, I had to run my fingers through the knot one last time. I had to brush it against my cheek. I stuck my nose in the middle of the knot, and I imagined I could smell all of the soap and cream it ever lathered, perhaps even with a coppery tinge of the blood of my failed shaves.
I'm going to miss it dearly. While chasing down the newest, most expensive, or most collectible shaving gear is great for some, I've discovered it's not for me. I've learned - too late - that what I value is a bond with my tools.
