The Art of the Daily Shave
One of the items that saddens me in the men's grooming that most men have forgotten the traditional joy of "wet shaving". Well having facial hair is on the rise post-Covid anyways, and that is certainly a choice. But, I am talking about men who does shave, and I am saying how did you forgot how your dad or grandad used to shave? One of my fond memory of my dad was his smell of 'barbershop' shave soap that lingered around him every morning. He passed away now more than a decade, and I have turned 50. It is interesting, as I was teaching my daughter to drive a car lately, she commented positively on the smell of my shave soap, after staying now many hours in a confined closed quarter of a car...and that triggered me to write this post.

I have shaved my head since I was 25, and mostly been a daily shaver. Like everyone else I also used to shave my face and head with a Cartridge Razor and Shaving Gel. It was a quick morning thing that I used to do without even thinking about it. It is not that I used to get a lot of razor burns (but I did get some), but shaving, back in those days of my youth, was not something that I thought about or enjoyed. But after my Dad passed away, somehow, perhaps unconsciously I picked up a Tub of The Taylor of Old Bond Street Sandalwood Shaving Soap.

Notice, the date: May 1, 2016. It's more than 10 years back now, and I am glad Amazon remembers. My Dad passed away in 2014, so this was not immediately after at all, but I think there could be a relationship. This is a very old British Soap and was available back in the days in India when we were kids. I don't remember if my dad used to get it from store, but I do remember this smell. This is the smell of Sandalwood I remember my dad by today.
My Journey into Traditional Wet Shaving
As I mentioned; ten-twelve years ago, shaving was a task I actively dreaded—a utilitarian tax levied on my morning routine. Like millions of others, I bounced between the buzzing friction of electric foil razors and the exorbitant plastic cartridges sold in blister packs, pairing them with whatever chemical foam aerosol happened to be on sale (I still have a can of Edge Blue Gel). It was a hurried, uninspired effort to simply presentable. The goal was speed, the outcome was inevitable razor burn, and the entire process felt like a daily chore meant to be rushed through as quickly as me naturally permitted.
Everything changed in 2014-16, I don't exactly remember when other than that old Amazon purchase date, when I put down the multi-blade plastic cartridges and picked up a traditional Double-Edge (DE) safety razor, a natural shaving brush, and a tub of real artisan shaving soap. What started as a curious experiment to fix my irritation quickly evolved into something far deeper.
A decade later, that daily chore has completely transformed into a deliberate, tactile ritual. Building a warm, thick lather from a handcrafted soap, mapping the direction of hair growth, and finding that perfect 30-degree blade angle isn't just about getting a clean shave—it's a ten-minute sanctuary of quiet focus. What used to be a rushed necessity is now a craft, an evolving hobby, and easily one of the most satisfying parts of my day. The upside, I also smell great, and today, there are many more choices of artisan and mass produced shave soaps that smell really good and provide great protection while shaving.
An Anchor in Memory: The Scent of Old Bond Street
Beyond the slick lather and the sharp edge, traditional shaving carries a quiet weight of connection. Before I ever picked up a DE razor myself, my understanding of shaving was shaped by my dad. Whenever I catch the warm, woody aroma of Taylor of Old Bond Street Sandalwood shave soap, he is right there with me. Scent has an incredible way of unlocking memories that time usually fades. Recently I was in London, and I did visit the store, and got myself a Rose ... Here is my dad old Gillette which I restored with a soap that I like a lot.

Restoring his old vintage Gillette double-edge razor brought that connection into my hands. Cleaning off decades of patina, tuning the mechanical movement, and putting a fresh blade into a tool he once used transformed my daily shave from a simple grooming preference into an ongoing tribute. Holding that same piece of brass and nickel every morning isn't just about getting a close shave—it's a tactile bridge to the past, reminding me that the best rituals are the ones passed down through generations.





