“Nicky the Barber,” as he prefers to be called, leans in close, razor in hand. He instructs me to sit still. I can tell he’s a perfectionist, frustrated by any stubble he’s not able to conquer, any mop top he’s unable to tame. He’s fighting against years of neglect, and it’s too early to tell if he’s winning the battle.
From the built-in speakers all around, Thelonious Monk’s jazz drifts and soothes. Sleek flat-screens, on mute, hang in most directions, showing sports highlights, the latest reports from the market or, in the case of the television turned to CNN, celebrity news. Sitting on a shelf to the side of the bar, an empty bottle of Dom Perignon has two scribbled messages across its label: “To the journey and our continued friendship along the way. –Kumi” and “To my brother from another mother. –Sean.”
Kumi Walker and Sean Heywood, both MBA ’06, entered the Graduate School of Business with an idea to start an upscale barbershop that served as a social setting for men: a way to enjoy a glass of wine or beer, watch some sports, network with one another, and get a classic, attentive haircut. The result is MR., a barbershop in San Francisco’s Financial District that bills its offerings as “premium grooming for more discerning guys.”
Barbershops have long been gathering spots for men, although they’ve often been segregated by race, and that red-white-and-blue pole is more nostalgic relic than street-corner standby. Walker and Heywood aim to create a modern version, spanning ethnicities, bringing young urbanites together. Starbucks changed the way consumers thought about coffee. Walker and Heywood hope MR. will change the way we think about haircuts.
“Regardless of your race, political affiliation, career interests, all men love great environments, they appreciate phenomenal hospitality, and they all get haircuts once every six weeks,” Heywood says. “So if MR. extracted the best service and aesthetic characteristics of environments these professionals already loved and were already accustomed to paying huge premiums to experience—boutique hotels, restaurants and lounges—then we could eventually become that brick-and-mortar platform that aggregated all of these professionals throughout the country and then internationally.”
MR.’s customers certainly appear to fit the desired demographic. In the evenings, toward the end of the work week, the shop takes on the face of a busy bar. Crowds of well-dressed young men and women pack the couches and standing area at the front of the lounge, drinks in hand. Chatter and laughter drown out the steady techno beats that have replaced Thelonious Monk.
Just before noon on a Friday, though, MR. has a calmer feel: that of a stretching man waking up from one night on the town and slowly grooming himself for the next. Nicky the Barber pulls out a comb and slicks back his hair. A “master barber” (he earned the title by passing an exam), he’s been cutting hair for about 13 years in cities all over the country. He was the first barber MR. hired.
After one of his colleagues gives me a shampoo and scalp massage, I’m in Nicky’s hands. His scissors take their time in finding every hair, even the ones starting to connect my eyebrows. He combs as he cuts, then tips my chair back and places a steaming hot towel on my face.For a monthly membership fee ranging from $65 to $250, a man can join the MR. club as a Player, Hitter or Mogul. The Player membership comes with a monthly haircut, an additional visit for a behind-the-ears cleanup or quick shave, the shampoo massage and a drink from the bar. It’s MR.’s most popular membership. The Hitter includes the same, as well as a product portfolio each month and invitations to MR.-sponsored events. The Mogul adds on 12 guest passes for friends and “Mr. Bouncer” privileges: you can have your haircut whenever you want, even if the barbers are already booked.
The Player membership “is a relatively good deal,” says James Herbert, ’04, MBA ’06, one of Walker and Kumi’s former classmates who now works a couple of blocks away at Morgan Stanley. “I’m someone who, for my profession, needs to look neat.” He doesn’t mind MR.’s other features, either. During last year’s NBA playoffs, Herbert brought his laptop to the club and worked while watching the games.
Walker and Heywood, both 29, are pleased with the shop’s results so far. Three months after MR.’s March opening, barbershop revenues began to trump those from the lounge. And growth has led them to increase their number of employees from eight to 16.
The young owners met at freshman orientation at Brown University. Later, they both found themselves working on Wall Street. By the time they enrolled at the Business School, they were committed to creating a modern-day barbershop, and they sought out professors and classmates for feedback.
The San Francisco venue has hosted private parties, a book signing and a wine tasting. Its doors are open from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m., Monday through Saturday. Walker and Heywood hope to expand MR. to other cities, and plan to implement a system that can send automatic e-mails to a member’s friends when the member makes a reservation for a haircut, so they can come in at the same time.
Another customer is getting his hair cut in the chair next to me, but I’m too fixated on the straight-edge razor to make conversation. Nicky removes the steaming towel and I can feel a breeze against every pore. He takes the razor and slowly works both sides of my face, a soft sound of brushed sandpaper as he goes. As he finishes, I lift my hand and feel my perfectly smooth chin. After another hot towel and some Bay Rum aftershave, I’m on my feet.
I glance in the mirror and decide I like the cut. I’m not sure I qualify as a Player yet, but too relaxed to leave, I make my way to the bar, get a drink, and settle onto one of MR.’s couches to watch some television.
BRIAN EULE, ’01, a Bay Area writer, is at work on a book about the medical profession.
