Under the Knife

“He is excited and also frightened,” Nandu said to me. We had stopped at a small market town in the western Himalayas so he could buy the provisions for a homecoming feast and so that I could get a shave. Nandu, a guy I’d befriended at the wedding of my Delhi taxi driver, was translating the words of the community’s lone barber as he eyed my unfamiliar, sandy-brown hair and dense beard. We were headed to Nandu’s village where he planned to lavish the recent purchase of six bottles of Officer’s Choice whiskey, an armful of condensed-milk candies, and one small, brown goat on a grateful extended family. All that was expected of me was that I look presentable. 

A straight razor shave is a common thing in many parts of the world. As little as fifty years ago, barbers in the U.S. offered shaves amid a cloud of talc and a gout of Barbasol. Those were less hurried times. Now we fulfill the small rituals of cleanliness in private, the gritty scything of a well-handled blade replaced with the modest tapping of a cartridge razor against the bathroom sink. Like the splendor of the Himalaya’s ice-crowned peaks, I thought the straight-razor shave was something I had left behind in India. 

Consider the differences between a requirement and a luxury. Shaving can be something rushed, struggled through as the haze of sleep is battered away by coffee and a shower. Shaving can also be something deliberate, a pause in our harried lives where time is spent lavishly. And when one considers allowing a stranger (with whom you may not share a common language) to press a fresh razor blade against your throat, give them all the time they need.  

Barbers who are deft with a straight razor are uncommon, but Troy Mercer is no common groomer. Mercer Supply, the smart shop at the new 1010 Nic retail complex where Mercer practices his craft, feels something like a modernist hunting lodge. Waxed-canvas shaving kits with brass hardware and pots of bay-oil scented unguent are stacked on shelves of reclaimed long-leaf pine. Tumblers of rye whiskey were poured at 5:30 on the afternoon I visited. With his polished, cap-toed boots and insouciant stubble, it is hard to tell if Mercer’s aesthetics guided the design of Mercer Supply or if it simply reflects his equable demeanor. 

Some places give shaves with a modern, multi-bladed razor. Or, so I’ve been told. The quick utility of that sort of shave is something best done alone, in my estimation. A proper shave begins with the delicate unwrapping of a new blade and the tinny click it makes when slid into the tang of the folding razor. From that point on, appreciate the process. Purposefully lavishing time on a normally forgettable activity can feel decadent.  

A straight-razor shave, like any new experience, should be exciting and also a little frightening. The familiar slap and scrape of the razor contrasts with the strangeness of someone pressing a blade to your neck. Run straight at the place where those two conflicting sentiments meet. It would be impossible to say if getting a shave will launch you on a journey to distant mountainous lands, but you will look sharp when you get there. 

Details. Details. Details. 

November is Movember, during which men are encouraged to grow their facial hair to raise awareness for prostate cancer. When the month is over, and assuming you haven’t grown (groan) overly fond of the fuzz, you can get it removed at Mercer Supply. 

1010 Nicholson Drive 
Baton Rouge, La.
(225) 421-1613 • mercersupply.co