The
Pilgrimage to Austin
I walked
into the shop with a mental list of must-have accessories, and walked
out with an entirely different set of essentials. What changed my
mind? A whirlwind tour of the art of shaving by Charles Roberts.
Not only is Charles a wet-shaving enthusiast in a world of electric
razors, and an importer of fine shaving goods from Europe, but he
is also the developer of a systematic approach to shaving that aims
at attaining the holy grail of grooming: the perfect shave. His
own face, smooth as glass, is a testament to the technique's effectiveness,
as are the chins and cheeks of the students he calls his "shavers."
Charles combines the energy of an infomercial host, the passion
of an evangelist and the literate elitism of a man whose niche serves
the needs of the cognoscenti. His is the kind of personality
that launches movements, so when he told me that wet shaving, unlikely
as it seems, is going to emerge as the next big thing, I had a hard
time doubting it.
"You have a beard," Charles said right away. I admitted
it. He told me that most beards do not look good, but because of
my strong jaw-line mine was an exception. Still, he assured me,
once I started shaving with his system, the beard would not last
more than 30 days. It was as if, by keeping the beard, I was denying
myself the pleasure of a full shave. That's how seriously Charles and his shavers
take the art.
Before my trip to Austin, I had read Charles' essay
on wet shaving, but my head was still full of what must be the usual
misconceptions. My most cherished myth was that the essential implement
of shaving is the razor. There is an undeniable mystique that surrounds
the razor, and a man who, like myself, was raised on the electric
cannot help feeling that he has somehow been denied access to the
sanctus sanctorum of masculinity. Browsing the catalogs
online, my eyes were drawn to the rows of razors--the Mach 3, the
Sensor, the double-edged and of course, the gloriously threatening
straight razor.
As
Charles welcomed me into the store, my gaze shot immediately to
the razors under the counter and in the cabinet over his shoulder.
I had already decided on getting a Muehle-Pinsel shaving set in
tortoiseshell. The set includes a razor, brush, stand and bowl,
and costs $160. I would spend the rest of my cash on creams, soaps,
aftershaves and anything else that caught my fancy. I expected to
spend about $250 in all.
But
Charles immediately burst my bubble when he insisted that the razor
didn't matter at all. "You can shave with a shard of glass,"
he said, "as long as you get this and this right."
"This" and "this" were hot water and a badger
hair brush.
Now,
if the romance of shaving were to pick an emblem, it would certainly
be the straight razor; after all, it's hard to imagine a cult forming
around the silhouette of a shaving brush. Yet the more Charles spoke,
the more I realized that picking the right brush was the most important
task before me that day. The quality of the badger hair used in
the brush determines how much water you can load into the bristles,
transfer to the shaving cream and ultimately deliver to your face.
Buying a bargain brush would mean less retention and more work.
In
the end, I followed Charles' recommendation: Simpsons Duke 3 in
Best Badger. Best Badger is the middle grade, a step above Pure
Badger and below Super Badger (or Silver Tip). This brush would
easily do the job of shaving my neck (if I kept my beard) or my
entire face (if I did not).
Since
I was buying the Simpsons brush, priced at $145, there was no point
in sticking with the Muehle-Pinsel set. All of the Simpsons brushes
have ivory-colored handles, so I was aesthetically bound to find
an ivory-handled razor. Charles steered me toward a heavier implement
in all-gold or all-chrome, believing that the extra weight, which
puts the balance of the razor in the hand, would make for better
control. Handling them, I agreed that the weight felt right, but
my desire for the matching set led me to settle on a Warwick-handled
razor in ivory with a Mach 3 head and chrome stem. This cost $100.
Thus, I was equipped with a razor and brush for a total of $245--that
was $85 more than I'd intended to spend on the set (and I didn't
get a stand or a bowl!), and just $5 shy of what I'd expected to
spend in total. And I didn't care one bit. Examining the two options
in person, there really was no comparison. The Trumper razor and
the Simpsons brush were far superior.
When
it came to shaving cream, Charles recommended a tube of Trumper's
Extract of Limes. As soon as I asked why, he sprayed a sample of
the Limes scent onto a card of paper and let me smell. It was fantastic.
Just to be sure, I sampled a few other scents, but the classic Extract
of Limes appealed most. In addition to the tube of cream, I bought
the Extract of Limes Skin Food and Aftershave, too. These additions
brought my total up to $355. And the question I was asking myself
afterwards wasn't how to explain the total to my wife, but how to
drive the distance from Austin to Houston more quickly so I could
shave without further delay.
The
hours that passed from the moment I left the shop to the time I
was stationed in front of a sink of steaming water back home seemed
endless and unbearable. But now the time had come for the first
wet shave of my life....
|
