The Royal Treatment by Brian

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The author wishes to thank CrewcutNYC, BuzzCT, and others for their recommendation and directions to the Royal Barbershop in New York City. As a St. Louis guy away on business, their input was invaluable and the experience exceeded every expectation. Thank you, respected fellow recruits.


I'm from St. Louis. Last week I was on Long Island and in Manhattan for four days of business that left me with some free time to explore. Along with the typical sights, I was also set on getting into one of the legendary barbershops I've always heard about on the web.

I've read the reviews for the Royal Barbershop both on The Haircut Site and other sites. Always on the lookout for new barbershop experiences and specially the ultimate head shave, I knew a trip to NYC would present some options, including the legendary Royal. Follow-ups to my posts on this board lead me to choose the Royal.

New to New York City, I took the train in from Long Island after I finished up appointments on Wednesday. CrewcutNYC gave me incredibly thorough directions and I quickly found the line I needed to 8th Street. This particular night I only wanted to check the Royal out, grab a couple beers, see the neighborhood and watch the people. The following day I'd be in Manhattan for business and I could go back to the Royal for a shave then -- IF it looked like THE place to go, and IF it lived up to my high expectations and standards.

Walking down St. Marks Place (the street the Royal is on), I'm all eyes in search of the legendary shop I've read about for so long. I practically miss the narrow store front and deep shop that is the Royal. I am absolutely mesmerized. Here it is almost 7:00 in the evening ...the street is bustling, and the barbershop is packed with about six guys waiting and another six getting "skinned" to various degrees of severity.

It is a cool night, the door is open and the humming and whirring of Osters and lather machines drift onto the street. "Holy sh*t," I think to myself. I stand motionless watching the action inside. A couple other guys do the same. The sights, the clipper action is impressive, if not hypnotizing.

A young guy in a barber jacket walks over to me and asks in broken English if I want to come in for a haircut. It has been a week and a half since my last cut/shave and I've got more hair than I've had in years. The barber asks me to come in the shop.

"Ahhh, ummm, do you think you can shave this off for me?" I ask rubbing my male pattern baldness and stubble. "Sure, Sure ...come in, sit down," he says as we walk in.

He takes me to the only empty chair past the waiting guys up front. The name on the mirror is Stanislaus, but he tells me his name is Mike. He's about 21 years old, boyish and clean cut yet very sure of himself and hardly tentative about shaving my noggin. He's obviously intent on making me a comfortable, satisfied customer. I'm thinking I should have waited for a more experienced barber, but I can tell Mike knows his stuff only a couple minutes into the process of taping my neck and caping me up.

I see his maroon Osters on the hook in front of the chair and I'm actually hoping to start off with a quick encounter with the #00000 to begin my return to skin. But the process begins with what I think is cold cream followed by a rub down of warm machine lather and a few minutes under a hot towel. We talk about the then-current Subway World Series.

I'm in freaking heaven as I scope out a collection of Osters, a rack designed to hold a myriad of blades, and other guys asking for the closest possible cuts ...high and tights, fades, face shaves and even another dude such as myself getting the ballsiest of cuts, a headshave.

The towel comes off, more hot lather is applied and Mike changes the blades on his razor as though he has done it a thousand times before. He dips the instrument in a sterilizer. With short and incredibly precise strokes, he begins to reduce me to skin as I watch in the mirror. My heart is pounding and I don't know why because this isn't the first time for me, just the first time in headshave and barbershop nirvana. He tells me he learned the trade in Russia.

When he is not talking to me, he is laughing and talking with his counterparts in Russian. I am in love with this man's articulate touch and precision. He is a master and at such a young age. Barber's in St. Louis will never be viewed the same, barbershops in St. Louis will never measure up to the testosterone that is flowing in this place.

All the lather is removed with the blade, and he rubs his hand over my scalp in search of rough spots. He applies more cold cream and lather and proceeds to go over my entire scalp AGAINST the grain. (I've had my head shaved in St. Louis but have never had it repeated against the grain. I have always had to go home and Mach III myself for the perfect hairless head).

He angles the blade just right, his eyes like lasers, his concentration noticeably intense as he moves the blade up and against the grain. The scraping sound is as pronounced as when he began the process with the grain of my hair growth.

He wipes me down with Witch Hazel, loosens my collar some more and shaves my lower neck. He then asks if I want "a shine." I'm thinking he asked me if I like the shave.

"Yeah, man. That's great. Best shave I've ever had!"

"No," he replies, "you want me make it shine?"

"Ahhh ... OK. Yeah, sure."

Inside, I'm thinking "F*ckin A, brother, have your way, I'm yours, do whatever you want! I'm flying to New York every weekend for this. Screw the half-ass jobs you get in St. Louis. They never offer to make it shine. How the hell do you make it shine?"

With that he applies more cream, another towel and then uses a warm blow dryer. I now understand the meaning of "chrome dome." My scalp has never looked so freakin perfect, shiny, healthy and well, beautifully bald!

He tells me I owe him $10 but I give him a twenty and tell him to keep it. I feel like I underpaid just the same. It was great. On the sidewalk, I tighten my tie in a street vendors mirror, flex my pecs and biceps and honestly admire myself and my beautiful head. I rub it.

It's slick from the 'waxing,' but there is not even a hint of stubble to be found. Empowered, I feel as though others around me appreciate the glow as well. I must be radiating confidence!



THE NEXT DAY ...



That morning, as I dry off in the shower, the hotel towel encounters only a slight friction from the stubble that was undetectable the night before.

In Manhattan by 7:00AM, I move through a series of what turn out to be incredibly productive meetings with people I have only spoken to on the phone in the past. They seem to receive my shaved look well -- or maybe I'm just carrying it with even more confidence given my experience the night before.

Women seem unusually receptive and I feel other men look at me and think "I wish I had the nuts to do that." Of course, it is probably all in my head, but what the heck, I feel good!

I finish up my meetings in midtown around 3:30 PM. Rather than head for Penn Station and the train back to Long Island and the World Series in my hotel room, I instead take the N/R train to 8th Street. This time it is daylight, the city looks different, I think I'll check out the action in around St. Mark's Place.
I walk back to the Royal, and see Mike standing on the sidewalk in his barber jacket. He spots me coming toward him, brightens up with a smile, and holds out his hand for a handshake.

I tell him, "Hey man, I can't go home tomorrow without getting another shave. Mike, you're a freakin pro." He beams.

We walk in the shop together and just as the night before, the place is "abuzz" (no pun really intended) with activity. I sit in a different chair this time, loosen my shirt and tie.

Mike rubs my shoulders and says something in his broken english about hoping the Yankees win it all that coming night. I'm a diehard baseball fan, I respond by mumbling something in response but inside I'm thinking "freakin' A, brother. Whatever you want. And don't forget the shine!"

As I paid him, he gave me his card and says something about telling my friends to come see him for haircuts or shaves. At first I thought it was too bad that most of my friendslive in St. Louis, and can't take advantage of this incredibly skilled barber.

Then I recalled the even larger and much more appreciative circle of buddies on the Buzzboard! Wasn't it Wyatt that said every man should shave his head once? If you have the 'nads to do it, go see Mike! There are those of us who do it everyday, every other day, once a week, etc. If so, treat yourself, your psyche, and your sense of masculinity.Get the "Royal Treatment" -- GO SEE MIKE.

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