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 self-evident 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, which clearly rules her domain, the philosophical question arises: if she has her hairdryer, where is his dryer, the side dryer? For where her hairdryer is directed at the external, at the physical and visible, at the surface of her appearance, the hair 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.