Holy shit, someone just came up with the best dude invention ever. Granted, you might argue that Miss Wingman is wrong, since it involves some pain on your part to facilitate more happiness on ours (suck it up, fellas), but I disagree. This. Is. Amazing.

So what is this miracle product?

Oh, just sandpaper…for your face. FTW? Stop being a pussy, bro, and listen up. A company called The Soft Goat (I won’t even ask) just solved the skin-chafing problem caused by your razor stubble after you get up close and personal with that girl you’ve been talking to lately. You know, where she comes away from that kissing session looking like her skin just went through a cheese grater? Right. Not a good look for us.

The blotchiness-prevention trick comes in the form of a hypoallergenic foam pad layered with abrasive paper. But don’t worry, the designers spent years honing the coarseness to find just the right balance between effectively stubble-softening, and won’t rip open your skin.

By rubbing the “sandpaper” over your stubble, the prickly edges get rounded down, much like what happens when two pieces of sandpaper are rubbed together. But don’t use it on just shaved skin or attempt it on a full beard, it’s not designed to handle that – and neither are you. 

The Soft Goat

The Soft Goat

So, why sandpaper and not something less…medieval sounding? Traditional products like beard oils or conditioning agents are made to soften the longer hairs of your beard, but don’t work on stubble. Additionally, lotions and creams are no match for your 5 o’clock shadow, however it’s been groomed. Just keep the lotion in your nightstand where it belongs, boys.

Kidding. Definitely don’t do that.

The scruff and goatee softener comes in a box of three and retails for $11.99 – a small price to pay for the gratitude she’ll feel when she can makeout with you without looking like she just ate shellfish and broke into hives. Consider this payback for all of the “Beauty is pain” rituals we put ourselves through for your benefit, gentlemen. And hey, if you (don’t) scratch our backs, we might be more inclined to scratch yours.DAPPER WINGMAN

Facebook Twitter


Just like there are cat people and there are dog people (dogs all the way – who wants the pet equivalent of a moody chick?), there are also two distinct species of girl. Those who like sports, and those who suck…I mean, who do not.

I’m sure this will cause members of my own tribe to throw me the side eye, but I’m sorry, it has to be said. And with playoff football upon us and the THANKF***INGGOD return of hockey (finally), the distinction between these two breeds of female has never been more evident.

But how does this affect you, my male readership? It’s simple. One kind you should date, and the other kind…well, you’ve been warned.

Photo Courtesy: WivesWhoHateSports.com      (ugh, yes, that’s a real website)

Now before the lady lynch mob comes after me for making a statement like that, let me explain. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t ever date women who don’t like sports (some of my favorite women don’t know the difference between a wide receiver and a point guard, in fact). I’m just saying that if you do, be prepared to have to justify your own love of the game, and perpetually exist on a different planet than her. Even more than you already do, that is.

Whatever your game of choice, your passion for the sport and, by extension your team, will cause you to do irrational things during the season – we know this. You sit in sweatpants on your couch for an entire Sunday screaming obscenities at the refs. You talk to the members of your fantasy league more than the members of your family. You do superstitious rituals like growing playoff beards (I support it) and wearing the same socks three days in a row. Such is the manly love of sport. It’s hardly an anomaly.

Women can share this passion for the game, too. And many of us do. I make it a point to not watch any Yankees/Giants/Rangers/Knicks game with anyone I’m dating until the romance is so far along that he’s too ensnared in the web of my awesomeness to untangle himself. Revealing my level of NY sports crazy is best strategically left until it’s too late to turn back.

But the fact remains that there are still women out there who wouldn’t know Chris Paul from Ron Paul, and who think RG3 is a model of Audi, not a quarterback. And they’re mixed in with the rest of us. Why do they hate sports? No clue. Maybe they think it’s a waste of time. Or barbaric. Or maybe they just lack the “fun gene,” your guess is as good as mine. No sense asking why, just identify and dodge at all costs.

So how can you pick them out at the bar? Well for starters, they probably won’t even be at the bar. At least not during the games. And if they are, it’s only to scope out the cute guys, trust me.

The male population skyrockets at our local watering hole during the NFL season, MLB playoffs or during the pinnacle of sports kick ass-ery, March Madness. Women know this, so they bust out their tightest jeans and boob-flattering tops to catch your attention while “casually walking by” during half time. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, boys.

But beware of the women who show obvious signs of not caring about the game being played on the screen behind them. I’ve said it before, the easiest way to pick them out is by blocking the TV with your body and then asking them what the score is, how much time is left in the game, or which team is in what color uniform. Those that are only there on the hunt won’t know the answer.

Incidentally, they’re also the same girls who will talk your ear off during a game you’ve been dying to watch, or will try to get you to go to brunch/shopping/etc when your team’s playing. And don’t even get me started on girls who wear pink sports apparel. That sh*t is an abomination.

I’m not saying that women who’s interests lie in other areas, like the arts, or fashion, or… (the hell if I know, what else is there?) aren’t good people. I’m just saying that they make for more complicated girlfriends. Unless, that is, they’re willing to just turn a blind eye to your fanaticism and accept that you’ll be a ghost during the post season. And probably the regular season. And during your fantasy draft, too.

But too often, these sports-indifferent females’ reaction seems to be an eye roll or a complaint, rather than resigning themselves to the Laws of Dude Nature.

There are exceptions to every rule of course, but if you want to avoid dating culture shock, stick with girls who can name ESPN announcers. Or at least know something about anything athletic. Even if it’s about golf. Eh…I take that back. Tennis, maybe.

And if she happens to be reeeeeally sports savvy? Consider yourself lucky, unless she can school you on the court. It takes a confident man to not feel threatened by a girl like this. (It helps that she’s hot, though).

So there it is – gauntlet thrown. I can’t help it if there’s a chasm between women who appreciate sports and women who’d rather be, like, knitting or reading or something. Sure, the latter might still sneak through if she’s a real smoke show, but in the end it could be like dating your grandma. And there’s nothing sexy about your grandma. For most of us, at least.

Don’t be afraid to wave your competitive flag proudly, boys, and remember: girls who know the score are more fun to score with in the end. Good luck, and game on  –MW.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

Facebook Twitter


Let’s face it – the only thing more fun than watching your favorite sports team play is watching them in the playoffs. Hopefully they dominate, but even if they don’t, the facial hair your favorite players often sport is entertainment enough.

But, it’s come to Miss Wingman’s attention that many women don’t know about the time-honored tradition of the playoff beard (what?!), and that – not surprisingly – they hate your facial hair, boys. So I’m here to sort out the good, the bad and the Dear-God-That’s-Ugly of your late season grooming.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been a hockey fan above all else (and the Rangers are actively giving me a heart attack right now), or maybe it’s because I want to see if NBA golden boy Blake Griffin really can’t grow a mustache to match his ginger-colored beard. Either way, when players forego the clippers (pun intended) and let their stubble go full-Rick Ross, I can’t help but beam with pride. But apparently I’m one of the only females who feels this way. Sigh…

First let’s address why women hate beards or facial hair of any kind: They’re itchy, and stubble tears up our faces. This comes as a surprise to exactly no one. We don’t love having our faces look like a blotchy red checkerboard any more than you guys love ending up with lip gloss all over your mouths. I’ve already explained what your facial hair says about you, but even if you only rock the Sasquatch look once a year, don’t be surprised if she still hates every minute of it.

To the ladies, though, I respectfully make the following suggestion: RELAX. It’s all in good fun, and it won’t last forever. Plus it gives you some ammo next time you wear something he absolutely hates (like capri pants, or UGGs).

For the men out there, my advice to you is this: Keep it anyway. Even if she argues that playoff beards are only for players, not fans, remind her that “fan” comes from the word “fanatic.” And nothing is more die-hard fanatical than looking like the Unabomber to honor your team.

Further, unless you have photos coming up for some monumental occasion in life (your wedding, the birth of your child, etc.) that’ll anger her for years to come when she revisits them, don’t succumb to her beard-hating requests, I beg of you.

This probably won’t endear me to the ladies, but whatever – you can’t win ‘em all. I can’t stand it when women are uptight and nag about silly little things. Let the boys have their fun, please. There are things in life to get upset about (adultery, financial trouble, bad parenting), but playoff beards definitely aren’t one of them.

Plus, the playoffs are a time not only when players dig deep and pull out all the stops in their pursuit of the W, but also when they just get straight-up filthy and ruthless on each other.

Concuss someone so badly their head snaps back? Yup – and probably get away with it, too (I’m talking to you, Neil). Throw a cheap shot elbow that drops a guy like a sack of potatoes? As long as it’s in the name of a celebratory chest pound (“World Peace” my ass, you classless f**k). But this is the type of insanity that comes out of the woodwork when a championship is on the line. It’s just that intense.

So the very least you can do is rock your stubble proudly in the meantime. If she’s not a fan of the Inigo Montoya look, so be it. Challenge her to a duel if you have to (I can’t take credit for that one, but it was too good not to repeat). But for the love of all that is holy on the court or on the ice, don’t cave – even if you look like a caveman.

She might cut you off temporarily or freeze you out, but stay strong. Hold your head up high until your boys get eliminated or hoist a trophy, I salute you. You can rest easy at night knowing that you’re taking one for the team.DAPPER WINGMAN

Facebook Twitter