What to do with Vintage Razors?

My paternal grandfather used a straight razor his whole life. He had a strop hanging in his bathroom closet.
It dawned on me last night that when I was younger, I had a barber who always shaved the back of my neck and sideburns with a straight razor. I guess that's how he was taught. I recall feeling rather uncomfortable when I saw that thing coming at me!
 
Peregrin said:
My paternal grandfather used a straight razor his whole life. He had a strop hanging in his bathroom closet.
It dawned on me last night that when I was younger, I had a barber who always shaved the back of my neck and sideburns with a straight razor. I guess that's how he was taught. I recall feeling rather uncomfortable when I saw that thing coming at me!
Click to expand...
I share your apprehension!!! o_O
 
Peregrin said:
It dawned on me last night that when I was younger, I had a barber who always shaved the back of my neck and sideburns with a straight razor. I guess that's how he was taught. I recall feeling rather uncomfortable when I saw that thing coming at me!
Click to expand...
Back about 1970 I was getting a haircut in the base barber shop and happened to draw a rather elderly looking barber (probably younger than I am now but I was 26 and he looked really old.) Every barber used a straight razor on the neck back then, at least in my experience. Only problem was, as he approached my neck I saw his hand with the razor was trembling all over the place like Tim Conway doing his little old man character. I was about to say "Never mind!" but the moment the razor touched my neck the trembling stopped and the shave was smooth as silk. I guess he just had to have a reference point.
 
Back in 1993 I was attending an archeological “field school” in Southern Mexico to cap off a bachelors degree. Every weekend we would crawl out of the jungle and descend upon Merida in the Yucatán peninsula. After showers, laundry and such, we would go out clubbing all night, or as much as we could in what was then a pretty sleepy little town. Deciding I needed a haircut, I wandered the streets admiring all the architecture and well preserved cars from the 1920s-1950s, still in daily use. I found a barber shop and despite limited Spanish at the time made my needs known. Everything was going swimmingly until the completion of the haircut, when the large, kindly matronly older woman cutting my hair proceeded to give me the VIP treatment. After shaving the back of my neck with a well worn but sharp straight razor, she shoved her hand into a glass cylinder full of a clear liquid (straight, unadulterated rubbing alcohol,) and slapped it across the back of my freshly shaven neck. I gave a loud whoop as I rose a couple feet out of the barber chair. The barber shop erupted in laughter at my reaction. Ignoring the humiliation and embarrassment, I shoved a wad of cash at her through very watery eyes, neck ablaze and beet red. It wasn’t until after I hurried back to the hotel to shower to try to reduce the pain that I realized that I was still wearing the barbers apron…
 
Peregrin said:
My paternal grandfather used a straight razor his whole life. He had a strop hanging in his bathroom closet.
It dawned on me last night that when I was younger, I had a barber who always shaved the back of my neck and sideburns with a straight razor. I guess that's how he was taught. I recall feeling rather uncomfortable when I saw that thing coming at me!
Click to expand...
Barber Brian in Leeds Market still uses a straight razor for the same purpose Gary. He also has a small collection 👍

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When he's not cutting hair, Brian likes to travel, and has been to some surprisingly exotic locations. "Where are you going for your holidays this year sir?" is quite a common barber's question here, but Brian is genuinely interested, and always encouraging his customers to be more adventurous. One time, a customer told him he was going to Rome. “Rome?” Brian says, “Why Rome?”

”I’ve always wanted to go", says the customer. “I love Italian food, I’m fascinated by Roman history and architecture, and I’m a Catholic, so I want to go to St Peter’s Square, and see the Pope.”

“I think you’ll be disappointed.” Brian tells him. “I went last year, and the food was rubbish, the architecture’s worse than Leeds, and if you get to see the Pope, you’ll just see a little bloke off in the distance.”

“That doesn’t sound very good, but it’s all booked now,” the bloke said. He paid Brian, and went.

Next month, he was back for another haircut. “Aren’t you that bloke who was going to Rome?” Brian asked.

“Yeah,” said the feller. “I had a fantastic time! The food was absolutely delicious, I saw the Coliseum, the Pantheon, and the Roman Forum.”

“What about the Pope?” Brian asked, "I bet you didn't see him."

“Well, when we got there, the square was packed, just like you said, and we could barely see him, but then he pointed his staff right at me, and stepped forward. The crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses, as he walked towards us. And then, as he got within six feet of me, he suddenly said, “Where the Hell did you get your hair cut?!”
 
“Well, when we got there, the square was packed, just like you said, and we could barely see him, but then he pointed his staff right at me, and stepped forward. The crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses, as he walked towards us. And then, as he got within six feet of me, he suddenly said, “Where the Hell did you get your hair cut?!”
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Jack Black Jack Black
Priceless, Jack!
 
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