THE PANIC ROOM â slick and destroy, groom and zoom, from concrete to steel. When you say âbarbershopâ these days, chances are, the first image that springs to mind looks something like this â burly brown blokes sweltering in three-piece suits, greased hair and fades badly concealed in pageboy caps, beer bellies hidden behind leather-strapped barely-used aprons, smiles as smug as they are uptight, with dispositions as twitchy as their whiskers. The Panic Room strives neither to be cool like the rest of the barbershop pack, nor to be top of mind. We just aim to occupy that part of it thatâs parked between âworking-class practicalitiesâ and âchildhood memories of carefree weekday afternoonsâ. Beginning to look like a dejected Coachella refugee? Need to maintain basic handsome sensibilities? Get your hair cut here. Speak to a stranger. Leave with more than just a slick âdo. What started as a mobile barbering unit that called several void decks home is now a tight family of hustling sonofaguns who are constantly perfecting our trade. Little has changed. Sure, thereâs finally a roof over our heads, but the foundation built in those years âon the streetsâ has remained as strong as ever. We believe in hair. We believe in the details. And we sure as hell believe in making you look and feel good. Weâve spread that same love and attention to detail across all handsome-making products and services, from shaving soaps, beard oils and moustache waxes to beard trims, haircuts and whatever-the-hell-else you want us to do to you on our barber chairs. When you walk in to our shop, donât be surprised by the bustle. We love what we do and weâre not shy about it. It shows in the music we play, the deft waves of our hands, the hello/goodbyes and even the smokes weâd share with you after the âcut. After all, at The Panic Room, we stand by the ethos that while a great crown of hair might shepherd an entire nation, the right attitude will bounce each mutha-effers to greatness.
