One of the most rewarding things about aging for me as a fair-and-fine-haired dirty blonde who went through feminizing puberty is …. HAVING WHISKERS TO PLUCK. Out of my chin. And now my upper lip.
Fortunately(????) I don’t have a lot of them (which is part of what makes them so special), so it’s very juicy and satisfying to stroke a stiff whisker with my fingertip and finally decide it’s ripe enough to get the tweezers, go to the magnifying mirror … and sloooooowwwwlly pull the resisting wire of hair out.
I swear sometimes they actually SQUEAK when they come out!
The satisfaction is very similar to the rush of pleasurable reward-hormones you get squeezing a perfect blackhead & pulling it out as an entire in-tact greasy plug.
Do I want to have more of these whiskers? YES; it would be awesome to be gifted a new aggressive, fast-growing, stiff black chin-whisker for every birthday. My fiftieth is coming up, but alas … it’s not the kind of thing you can put on your Amazon wishlist.