His dryer.

Every bathroom, no matter how simple or luxurious, seems to be inextricably linked to the presence of a hairdryer, that faithful device that, under her control, fulfils the task of styling, taming and drying her hair, so that she can face the day with care and self-confidence. This everyday ritual, in which the hairdryer in her hand seems to become an almost natural extension of her own control over her chaotic hairstyle, is a fixed part of her morning routine, as if the device were designed especially for her and her alone, an intimate ally in the daily battle against frizzy locks and damp hair.

But in that same bathroom, next to the trusty hairdryer that clearly rules her domain, the philosophical question arises: if she has her hairdryer, where is his dryer, the being dryer? For where her hairdryer is directed at the external, at the physical and visible, at the surface of her appearance, the being dryer should be directed at something deeper, something that cannot be seen in the mirror but which he — just as she her hair — must care for, namely his being. It is almost self-evident that, where she has entrusted the care of her hair to her faithful hairdryer, he needs a balanced counterpart, a dryer that can control his existential torments.

The body dryer, unlike the hairdryer, has no form or physical existence. It does not hang in the bathroom cabinet, it does not lie next to the comb or the brush, but it exists in the space of the intangible, the abstract. The body dryer is the device he needs in those moments of introspection, when the weight of his existence, his choices, and the complexity of life becomes too much to simply ignore. While she turns on her hairdryer to dry and organize her hair, he is searching for something to organize his inner world, something to blow dry the chaos of his thoughts, doubts, and existential questions, so that he, like her with her perfectly styled locks, can face the world with confidence.

And while the hairdryer, with its warm, focused air currents, transforms and smooths her hair, the body dryer soothes and calms the confusion of his being. It is as if this invisible dryer resets his senses, helps him understand his place in the world, protects him from the pitfalls of anxiety and doubt. The hairdryer gives her a tangible result: smooth, perfectly shaped hair that prepares her for the day. But the body dryer, invisible as it is, gives him something deeper — a moment of peace, of clarity, of realizing that all is well, if only temporarily, with his being.

The opposition between the hair dryer and the body dryer, between her and him, highlights not only the division of roles between the physical and the metaphysical, but also how the needs of both differ and yet must be met. She needs her hair dryer to help her present herself to the world, while he needs his body dryer to prepare himself for the world from within, to reorganize, refresh, and reassemble the fragments of his existence.

Thus she has her hair dryer, and he his body dryer — two seemingly incomparable appliances, each with its own essential function. Where she regains control over her appearance through the warm airflow of the hair dryer, he finds his inner peace and self-awareness in the elusive workings of the body dryer, which, despite never being physically present, proves indispensable in the daily ritual of their existence.