NOTE: I originally posted this story on my blog. You can see the accompanying images on Shaving Face Blog, the link to which is in my profile.

Inspired by all the AI Technology news this week coming from OpenAI, which unveiled GPT-4o, and from the May 14th Google I/O Event, I played around with Midjourney, and I discovered that there's now a way to create a consistent character as you generate images. It's not perfect, but it is still a very cool innovation as far as visual storytelling goes. Now you can create a single AI-generated character, one that looks like a real person, and place them in whatever settings or situations you can imagine.

While the technology keeps improving, and I've now tried out DALL-E and the Meta AI with Llama 3 feature on Instagram (posts to come about both), I continue to be disappointed with the shaving photos that AI produces. Artificial Intelligence just doesn't seem to get that real men put shaving cream (for the most part) where their beards are and not all over their bodies and faces. And when it does render the foam where I want it, it's usually patchy and looks like the men are just washing their faces rather than shaving. I've lucked into a few successes but only after brute force iteration after iteration. It's been really frustrating.

So, I decided to try Photoshopping a few of my AI images to make them better fit my tastes, and some of the results have been pretty good, I think (see images below).

I had also decided to shake things up with the type of posts I write for this site. I'm a writer by trade and disposition, and I've been feeling lately I need more creative writing in my life.

This post is a product of all these things. I generated some new photos with a fairly consistent character I ended up naming "Dr. Anthony Baker-Fap." I had tried to get Midjourney to place the guy in a forest dressed in flannel like the actor in Shaving Outdoors with a Hunting Knife is Tough, RhinoTough, but I ended up with my man shirtless in a jungle. I'm fine with shirtless he-men, so I ran with it, and wrote this little story about a pompous professor's encounter with a freelance photographer named G.S. Ransom, who might share a certain kink with me and the regular visitors to this site.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

A Regrettable Lapse in Judgement Explained by Dr. Anthony Baker-Fap

At first eminent botanist Dr. Anthony Baker-Fap was thrilled when the editors of Annals of Phytological Research asked him to pose for photos to accompany a cover story on him and his work studying tropical plants and their pharmacological applications. He had assumed, naturally enough, that he would be wearing clothes. Dr. Baker-Fap explains, from his perspective, how this photoshoot went wildly awry in the following email to an editor at the journal.

"Hothouse Hottie" Dr. Baker-Fap has twice been voted "Sexiest Professor" by the students at Pomeritz College, where he teaches botany.

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From: abakerfap@pomeritz.edu
To: laura.smith@phytologymag.com
Subject: My Side of the Story
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Dear Laura,

First, let me say that I appreciate your offer to let me write a two-part article on the medicinal plants of Tropical America. If this is your attempt to mollify me, well, it's working. Up to a point.

I won't be suing your magazine, at least.

And while you'd better believe I will hold you to your promise regarding those articles, I won't be able to forgive you for what you've done to me and my reputation so easily. You say the final decision about publishing the photos was out of your hands, but then you're vague about who exactly made the decision.

It's hard for me to believe that you couldn't have stopped the whole thing and saved me from disgrace and ridicule--saved me from the biggest mistake of my professional life!

I begged you not to use those photos! And you, or these shadowy figures at your magazine you allude to, not only used them, but splashed one of the most salacious right on the cover!

You say "tasteful" and "sexy" as if I should be overjoyed to appear so exposed and humiliated on the cover--the cover--of Annals of Phytological Research, only the most respected (formerly respected, in my opinion) scientific journal on the subject of botany--a venerable journal that everyone I admire in this field reads. And if there had been any chance that my colleagues might not have recognized me with half my face inexplicably buried in shaving cream (a bizarre stylistic choice your photographer, the real villain of this story, never explained to me), you "helpfully" identified me on the cover to make sure I'd have no anonymity.

Maybe I haven't explained my side of this sordid tale adequately. Yes, I am a consenting adult who willingly took his clothes off for a photographer, and yes, I allowed myself to be slathered with shaving cream and posed as if I were some sort of ludicrous sex object, but in my defense I wasn't thinking clearly, and I stupidly relied on the professionalism and ethical conduct of "Gee" or Mr. Ransom or whatever he calls himself.

Obviously a monumental mistake, one I shall forever regret making.

Look, in broad strokes--the broadest of strokes--I agree with Mr. Ransom's account. He's correct that I was the one who suggested meeting at the East Greenhouse on campus at 7am on a Sunday. I knew the school would be quiet at that hour and we wouldn't be disturbed.

But when I selected that particular time and place, I had no intention--none whatsoever--of taking off my clothes. To imply otherwise as Ransom has is patently false and he knows it! I merely wanted to avoid interruption, so he could efficiently complete his work.

So why did I participate? Why did I let it happen?

I have asked myself those questions every day since.

A wiser man would have fled the scene with his dignity intact as soon as Mr. Ransom began his effusive praise of my physique.

But I was not wise. Indeed, I was quite the opposite.

Laura, I'm a human being and one who is unused to that kind of attention. Having a professional photographer explain in almost clinical detail why you are beautiful. Well, I'm not ashamed to admit, it was nice to hear. I work hard to stay in shape, and I enjoyed having that effort appreciated and validated.

So when he asked me to unbutton my shirt, I trusted him and his professional instincts. And when he suggested, laughing, as if it were a joke, that I shed the shirt altogether, I laughed too, and off the shirt came.

He positioned me, posed me, moved plants around to create the right setting, and all the while his young assistant, Lucy, followed his instructions regarding the lighting to create the effect he was looking for. It all felt very legitimate, artistic even.

Mind you, I assumed that these were some sort of preliminary photos, just to warm me up or maybe fill out his private portfolio and they would otherwise never see the light of day. The real photos, of me among my plants, examining them, and looking like a a teacher--a scientist damnit--not some silly centerfold, were still to come.

Now, he didn't say anything about art and private portfolios, that's just what I inferred, incorrectly, I now know. It never occurred to me that Annals of Phytological Research would be interested in making a laughing stock of a distinguished professor and researcher such as myself.

There was more posing, more extravagant praise from Ransom, more enticement as I flexed and showed off and made a fool of myself.

And when he suggested I slide my pants down an inch or two, I complied. Unfortunately the trousers I had chosen that day were of a light material, and as soon as I loosened my belt, they slipped down to the ground under the weight of the belt buckle.

This is when he made that comment about my posterior (okay, no use mincing words at this point, my "sexy ass"), but rather than being alarmed by his crudeness, I was, well, flattered. And since I was partially concealed by the lush foliage of a robust Colocasia esculenta, and I still had my boxers on, I didn't feel as exposed as I should have.

Lucy had made herself scarce, which further enhanced the illusion of privacy. And whatever inhibitions I should have had standing there in my underwear inside a glass building melted away in the--I'm not overstating this--heat of Mr. Ransom's appreciative gaze.

To use an old-fashioned-sounding phrase, he "turned my head."

That's when he produced a can of shaving cream from one of his bags and began spraying me down like he was a graffiti artist, and I was some inner-city warehouse wall being tagged.

I endured this and what followed with detached bemusement. Like I said, Ransom seemed to know what he was doing, and when he used his hands to distribute the shaving cream wherever he wanted, I let him.

I recall wondering why he was burying my face beneath a thick layer of foam, but I imagined he thought my salt-and-pepper beard was insufficient in some way. I wasn't about to second-guess an artist, which was what he seemed to be at that moment.

Did I think this whole thing was strange and even inappropriate considering the task at hand, i.e., photos for your magazine? Yes, of course, but these were distant thoughts, and I was, well... "Intoxicated" really is the best word to describe it.

When he was done, I caught sight of my reflection in a nearby pane of glass, and I didn't recognize myself. I had been transformed! I realize this is going to sound ridiculously conceited and self-aggrandizing, but I looked like a work of art. Like a Greek statue. He must have emptied that can, but when he was done, I saw not me, but virile, powerful Zeus, king of the gods!

At that point Mr. Ransom had me in the palm of his hands, literally and psychologically. When he tugged my shorts down an inch, to create the illusion of nudity--an act that I'm glad he admits to, by the way--I was too far gone.

What came next was my "what the hell" moment. Without being asked, I pulled my shorts off and heedlessly tossed them behind a splendid Ficus religiosa nearby.

It was only in doing this that I discovered the full effect that all this silliness had had upon me. Basking in Ransom's attention--posing and flexing for him--I hadn't been entirely conscious of my state, of... Well, I'll spare you the details.

I'm sure that sounds far-fetched, but it's the honest truth.

To his credit, Mr. Ransom's gawking at me was brief, and after what seemed like minutes but was probably only seconds, he slid a potted Ficus elastica in front of me to conceal the physical manifestation of my excitement. He rushed through several more photos from a few different angles, but the spell he had cast on me was finally beginning to lift.

The sound of a tripod scraping on concrete brought me to my senses all at once. The assistant, Lucy, had returned. Mortified, I dashed around like a mad man looking for my underwear, unsuccessfully, before I gave up and and awkwardly shoved myself back into my trousers, remembering only then that I was covered in shaving cream.

Ransom helped me rinse off with the hose next to the potting sink, and still soaking wet, I put on my shirt, which now was muddy. Lucy handed me a towel from an equipment bag, but I knew I needed a change of clothes and some time to pull myself together before we took the rest of the photos.

I said as much to Mr. Ransom.

Imagine my surprise, no utter shock, when he said he didn't need any more photos!

"What about the ones for the magazine?" I asked.

"I have all the photos I need."

"What!? You're joking! You've got to be joking!"

That criminal then had the temerity to smile at me, a triumphant and cruel smile--a smile that made me want to punch him right in his smug, taunting, self-satisfied face.

I didn't, of course.

So Ransom said I became "belligerent"?

If anything, that's putting it mildly! I was confused at first, but once I understood that he was serious about submitting those photos to you, I was horrified and enraged.

Yes, I had signed a waiver. Yes I had willingly, more or less, participated in that absurd arty nonsense, but it didn't occur to me that these pictures would actually be used in Annals of Phytological Research! Why would it have? When has your magazine ever published nudes or near nudes before?! Doing so was incomprehensible. It seemed like a sick joke.

What does my bare ass covered in shaving cream have to do with plant science anyway?!

Of course I wasn't at my best as I followed Ransom and Lucy back to his car, carrying on as I was. I'm not surprised he said he felt threatened. I could think of nothing but getting my hands on that camera memory card! Lucy tried to calm me down by saying she would talk to him, but I could tell she was only trying to diffuse the situation.

I might have snapped entirely and God only knows what would have happened had I not comforted myself with the certainty that those photos would never be published. Not in your magazine or any place that would matter to me or affect my reputation. Of course, you would find those photos as ridiculous for the Annals of Phytological Research as I did.

In fact, Laura, I pictured you being more upset with him than I was then, which allowed me to calm down somewhat as I stood there--cold, wet, sans underwear, and smelling of cheap shaving cream--watching Ransom's car disappear through the school's front gates, along with my self-respect.

Well, I guess we both know how wrong I was, don't we?

No need to go on. The damage has been done. The latest issue of Annals starring yours truly, a once-esteemed professor and research scientist, has been published and distributed.

You should have heard the laughter in the last department meeting. The chair assured me it was all good-natured ribbing, but I it certainly didn't feel that way.

Those images have been circulated far outside the biology department of my little college. At this stage it's safe to say that hardly a soul--be it student, teacher, administrator, groundskeeper, food services worker, or maintenance staff--has not seen those photos. We've received four calls from concerned parents, so if I hadn't already been granted tenure, my position at the college might even be on the line.

Students have pointedly left the incriminating pictures behind after class. I've found them pinned to the corkboard outside my office and even stapled to a utility pole near the biological sciences building. Students I've never seen before from other disciplines have asked me to autograph their copies. They usually shrink away when they see the look I give them.

It matters little to me whether the humor at my expense is harmless fun or cruel mockery. All I've ever wanted was to be taken seriously in my profession, and now, thanks to this attention-seeking stunt on your magazine's part, I will forever be associated with softcore botanical porn, a genre I never dreamed of pioneering.

Laura, now you know how I really feel. Beyond suing your magazine, which as I said, I won't do, I can only try to soldier on and hope that my colleagues eventually forget about this incident, which has been nothing short of a nightmare for me.

Yes, I'll write those articles. I feel I need a different kind "exposure" at this point as I try to rebuild the reputation that your magazine and that despicable photographer so callously sacrificed for short-term gain.

I hope it was worth it.

Sincerely,
Dr. Anthony Baker-Fap, Ph.D.

P.S. I suppose I should thank you for including one of the college's marketing photos in your profile of me and my work. At least it confirms to your readers that I do wear clothes sometimes.