The Chair
You sit in a 1948 Koken barber chair, restored by hand in our basement. Cape on. Towel tucked at the collar. The conversation starts.
The Hot Towel Shave — Est. 1952
There is no good reason to shave with a straight razor in 2026. That's why we still do it.
~ The Ritual ~
Every Classic Hot Towel Shave is built around twelve steps. The order has not changed since 1952. The barber will narrate as they go.
You sit in a 1948 Koken barber chair, restored by hand in our basement. Cape on. Towel tucked at the collar. The conversation starts.
A towel steamed to 115°F and wrung out by the barber's hand. Wrapped around your jaw, your neck, and the back of your head. Three minutes. Pores open. Beard softens. You exhale for the first time today.
Two drops of our house-blended pre-shave oil — sweet almond, jojoba, a whisper of bay rum. Worked into the beard with the heel of the barber's palm. Forms the protective layer beneath the lather.
Proraso menthol soap, hand-whipped in a porcelain mug with a badger-hair brush. Applied in circles, against the grain. The lather builds for ninety seconds. This is not optional.
The straight razor — a Dovo, hand-stropped that morning on the leather hanging beside the chair — moves with the grain. Long, slow strokes from sideburn to jawline. The closest shave begins here. You don't move.
Lather is wiped clean. Another towel, hotter than the first. Two minutes. The face is reset. The barber re-strops.
A second, lighter coat of soap. This time the brush moves only in the direction of the next pass.
Now against the grain — the pass that gets you the shave the marketing copy talks about. This is the pass our barbers train on for two years before they're allowed to perform it on a paying customer. No mistakes.
Cool water rinse. The barber inspects with the back of their hand, finds the stragglers — chin, the corner of the lip, the hollow below the ear — and finishes them off with the razor and pinpoint precision.
A rub of potassium alum to close the pores and stop any micro-cuts. It will sting for a second. That sting is the test. If it stings, you got a real shave.
The last towel, this one cold and rolled tight. Wrapped around the face. The skin firms. The pores seal. You feel ten years younger.
Hand-poured Pinaud Clubman from a bottle that's been on the back-bar for thirty years. A small whisky if it's after 4 pm, or coffee if it's before. You stand up. You look in the mirror. You smile.
~ The Menu ~
Every service includes the full ritual. The longer ones include more of it.
The full twelve-step ritual described above. The shave the shop was founded on. Eddie King's original 1952 menu price was $1.25. We've had to adjust.
The Classic, plus a beard mask treatment, full face massage, scalp massage, and a follow-up cold towel. Booked for grooms the morning of the wedding, executives the morning of the big meeting, and men celebrating their 60th birthday.
Beard shaped and lined with the straight razor. Includes hot towel prep, beard oil application, and pencil-detail work around the cheek and neck. No full shave — for those keeping the beard.
Two chairs, side by side, both barbers working in sync. The boy gets his first hot towel; the father gets the full shave. A polaroid for the wall at the end. Booked by appointment only.
A Saturday-morning lesson in the home wet shave — soap, brush, razor selection, stropping. You leave with a starter kit and the ability to do half of this at home. Wives, mothers, and partners book this as a gift constantly.
~ Tools of the Trade ~
What we use, where it came from, and why we haven't replaced it.
Dovo Solingen, 5/8 round point, carbon steel. Stropped on the leather hanging at every chair. Honed monthly on a Naniwa 10,000-grit waterstone by Bobby in the back room.
Vie-Long horsehair, vintage Edwin Jagger badger, or a Semogue boar for the regulars who like it stiff. The brush you use is the brush we keep with your file — yours alone.
Proraso green menthol for most. Geo. F. Trumper Spanish Leather for the gentlemen with sensitive skin. Cella shaving cream from Sicily for the connoisseurs. Three options, no more.
Heavy turkish cotton, laundered with white vinegar and unscented Dr. Bronner's. Steamed in a 1962 Marvy towel cabinet that has been replaced exactly zero times.
Latigo leather and linen, hung beside every chair. Stropping is not theater. It aligns the edge of the blade. You will hear it. That sound is the ritual.
Three 1948 Koken hydraulic chairs. Two 1953 Belmonts. One 1962 Takara — the lightest, used by Eddie's grandson Theo because he's left-handed and the others are pre-tilted right.
In 1952 Eddie King opened the shop with a single Koken chair and a Dovo razor he'd brought back from his time in the Navy. Forty-two cents a shave. He'd give a hot towel to anyone who walked in off the corner, paying or not.
His son Bobby took over in 1981. His grandson Theo started apprenticing the summer he turned sixteen and has been at the chair beside his grandfather for the last eleven years. Three generations. One razor strop, still hanging from the original mount beside the front window.
You can absolutely get a faster shave somewhere else, for less money. We know. We're not interested in being faster. We're interested in being good — in the way that gentlemen used to mean the word "good," which had something to do with care, and something to do with time, and almost nothing to do with hurrying.
— Theo King, third generation, 2026
Walk-ins for cuts. Shaves by appointment — three barbers, two-week waitlist, worth it.
Book a shave Call (718) 555-0143