The door of a room inside Salon Bellagio swings open, and I’m greeted by a Russian woman and the intoxicating aroma of manly shaving products. At first whiff, my 26-hour beard practically stands at attention. I rub my bristly chin, breathe in the smorgasbord of clean scents, and have a look around the handsome little one-chair barbershop done up in vintage Victorian style, featuring cherry-wood crown molding and cabinetry, marble flooring, and shelves stacked with more products to do with the male face than I knew existed.

“Have you been shaved by a barber before?” she asks, guiding me onto the leather chair.

“No. Never.”

The leg rest flies upward. The headrest goes out. The whole apparatus tilts back. In an instant, I’m in dental-chair position, with a hot, wet towel steaming my face, shutting off my vision, and turning down reality.

“Is that too hot?”

“Uh-uh,” I mumble through a small, steamy hole.

There's a pause in the action, as the pore-opening process commences and the Grande Dame of Bellagio's new barbershop, Luba Babeshkin, readies the tools of her trade for what's to come. And, I have no idea what that is.

“So, this is your first time …” Luba says softly, removing the towel.