The Men's Club

A NEW TWIST ON THE TRADITIONAL SALON

If the Beatles killed the barbershop in the U.K., then 1975's Shampoo put an end to those enclaves of bay-rum machismo in Los Angeles. Prior to that, Hollywood had had a thriving tonsorial culture. Larry Gelbart got his start when his father, a Beverly Hills barber, pitched his son to patron Danny Thomas. And the late Harry Drucker clipped Frank Sinatra and President Ronald Reagan.

As with Rat Pack swagger, the vintage barbershop is having its comeback in the form of the Shave of Beverly Hills. At this storefront on South Beverly Drive, talent agents, producers, and other unisex-salon refugees sit in antique barber chairs and get straight-razor shaves. Comely female manicurists relieve the stresses from hours of thumbing the BlackBerry. Flat-screen TVs play ESPN. Cocktails are served. For celebrities, there's the Icon Room, with a private entrance off the back alley— which comes in handy, particularly if you're in for a back wax, listed discreetly on the bill of services as "Sweater Removal."

The Shave is the brainchild of two former film-distribution executives, 36-year-old Adam Dishell and Bill Sanders, 40. The duo decided to open their gentlemen's emporium after a revelatory moment under a hot towel at a New Orleans barbershop. "Bill dragged me to Aidan Gill's, and it changed my life. Prior to that, I wore what I'd call an organized scruff," says Dishell. Adds Sanders of the epiphany, "Shaving with a Bic and a can of foam is like eating at McDonald's."

The entrepreneurs figured there was a silent majority of like-minded Hollywood he-men who would support a clubhouse where a shave and a haircut cost $90, and a $4,000 annual membership fee guarantees clients unlimited grooming services, shoeshines, and a place to kibitz between meetings.

JOHN BRODIE