My Father's Fashion Tips

Tom Junod, circa 1996 (thanks, Corey): First it was Lubriderm, what my father rubbed briskly between his palms and extended in glistening offering. "How about a bit of the Lube?" he'd say when I walked into his bathroom. I was, like, 8 years old, or something, so I had no choice but to put my face in his shiny hands. Then, for a long time, it was Nivea. "How would you like a little…Nivea?" he'd ask, with his brown hands singing. Now it was baby oil. Now he was 77, and I was 38, and we were sharing a room in a hotel near the ocean. He was sitting in bed, and I was sitting on the floor. He poured the oil into his hands and whisked them together, with a sigh of friction, and applied the oil to his face. Then he said, "Here—rub a little baby oil into your kisser. If you want to stay young, you have to keep well lubricated."

"Baby oil? What happened to Nivea?"

"Too greasy. Baby oil soaks right in. It's the best thing for a man's face."

"Isn't baby oil just as greasy?"

My father raised a thick eyebrow. "Listen to me," he said. "Learn my secrets."

He held out the bottle. I held out my palm. "Good, good," he said. "Rub it right in—right in…"