Chapter 1: The Shower Chronicles

As the new year unfolds, I wish everyone peace, joy, and an abundance of cleanliness.

By Jeff Cann

I finally took a shower!

Imagine confetti cannons exploding, balloons cascading from above, strobe lights flickering, and a crowd roaring in applause.

During a recent chat:

Nephew: I shower twice daily—once in the morning and again after my workout.

Me: Americans sure wash up frequently.

Once upon a time, I was an American. Every day began with a shower and a shave. After chores, gardening, or any hands-on tasks, I often rinsed off again. And of course, I would always clean up post-run. I couldn’t fathom climbing into bed with sticky, sweaty, or grimy skin.

Then came the shutdown. Remember the pandemic? I caught a glimpse of Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery yesterday. In one of the early scenes, people gather sporting masks. Three years ago, that would have conjured images of a costume party. Now, it evokes the reality of surgical masks. I can even pinpoint when in the pandemic the scene occurs based on the decorative cloth masks that were all the rage when medical-grade masks were still reserved for healthcare workers.

(Quick aside, mild spoiler alert): Glass Onion was entertaining and worth the watch, though it had its flaws. The subplot involving a character compromising themselves for personal gain left me feeling uneasy.

During the shutdown, like many, I ceased my showering routine. When you rarely step outside your home, what’s the need to wash away? Gradually, I began to skip a day. With short hair and dry skin, it became challenging to tell if I had bathed. The telltale sign? My beard. I only shave post-shower. A two-day stubble signifies a skipped shower. When the world reopened, I stuck to showering every other day. I pondered if my boss would comment on my scruff, but she never did. As a true librarian, she neither censors nor corrects. Perhaps she simply didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

Occasionally, I’d skip a second day too.

Another conversation unfolded:

Person: I read your blog. You exercise daily. Don’t you need to shower afterwards?

Me: I don’t tend to get body odor.

At a New Year’s dinner with my father-in-law, the discussion went like this:

Eli: I haven’t showered yet this year.

Sophie: Me neither.

Me: Same here. In fact, it’s been days.

How many days?

Four.

Oh, for goodness' sake. Really?

I found myself repeating, "Man, I really need a shower," multiple times on New Year’s Day, yet I never followed through. This lack of motivation had me questioning my drive—was it just laziness or something deeper like depression? I don’t believe I’m depressed.

Today, the irritation from my five-day stubble became unbearable, compelling me to finally step into the shower. I soaped and shampooed twice and then carefully shaved my flourishing beard with a new razor blade that I found in my Christmas stocking. I capped off my grooming with a nose strip—an adhesive cloth designed for the nose. Once dried, I ripped it off like a band-aid, revealing the contents from my pores. Examining the strip closely, I was astonished by the result—it resembled a tiny forest with numerous vertical oil clumps resembling trees.

I’m designating January 2 as my personal New Year’s Day. I feel rejuvenated and prepared to tackle the world.

May your new year be filled with peace, joy, and endless cleanliness.

Chapter 2: The iShower Experience

The first video showcases a woman enthusiastically explaining the iShower, an innovative shower experience designed to enhance your daily routine.

The second video features the iShower at the Mt. Kenya Innovation Week, highlighting its unique features and benefits in a lively presentation.

Read more from The Good Men Project on Medium:

Why Do Women “Never Feel a Connection” With Me?

The worst part of it, though, is this: I don’t have it in me to try anymore.

25 Lessons From an Unhealthy Relationship

The journey to who we are is full of signs.

Dating After Divorce is Bloody Hell

Matthew Williams shares that dating after divorce is bloody hell.

About Jeff Cann

Jeff Cann resides, works, and writes in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. His essays and narratives have appeared in various publications, exploring themes of mental health, running, and culture. His books, Fragments: a Memoir and Bad Ass — My Quest to Become a Back Woods Trail Runner (and other obsessive goals), are available on Amazon. Jeff is married with two children. For more essays and stories, visit www.jefftcann.com.