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| King for a Day | ||
| Austin’s El Rey Club is the vanguard for luxury spas designed for men. | ||
| BY SKIP KALTENHEUSER | ||
The uninitiated may feel, as I did going in, a little sheepish, a little self-conscious, a little embarrassed about what some men consider a frivolous pursuit. When all was said and done, would I feel I squandered time that could have been better spent attending to more serious matters? In the end, management probably wondered if they’d need to call a SWAT team to get me out. I was thoroughly acclimated to the style to which I’d like to become accustomed, but probably won’t. Misgivings about indulgent pampering? Nuts to misgivings. The barbershop ritual is a timeless one—guys sitting around talking about politics or the Saturday Night Fights, or listening to the radio broadcast an afternoon game. It’s even better when you’re young and Mom leaves you there amid the men in suits, in air scented by the occasional cigar, a spritz of this or that, and a powder, with magazines you don’t see at home. It was just the thing to take the edge off a clarinet lesson. It’s a world apart from the unisex assembly line where many of us now get the six-minute lawn mower treatment, occasionally glancing in the mirror at the reflections of the opposite sex trying to relax in mixed company with their hair shown to worst advantage, like a scene in There’s Something About Mary. That contrasting mood is what prompted Clint Campbell, 52, to create El Rey. One of the first 75 employees of Dell computer, Campbell served as CFO, becoming one of the “Dellionaires” and eventually a venture capitalist. His wife, Robin, also a happy Dell refugee, put her energies into a store, Cupidz Clozet, which has provided a good deal of support for Austin nonprofits. According to the International Spa Association, the fastest-growing spa segment is men, approaching a third of spa users. The average age is 35 to 54. Sixty-three percent of traditional spa operators offer packages for men, but only a handful cater exclusively to males, and few if any have amenities approaching El Rey’s.
Work is, after all, an unavoidable element of this palace of relaxation, particularly given the usual suspects who populate it: technology moguls, investment bankers, politicos, lobbyists (the capitol building is a stone’s throw away). There is networking, to be sure, but it’s low-key. Campbell says the club doesn’t even publish a roster of its members. One can have quiet meetings in the lounge, and one-on-one conversations in treatment rooms. Other spas allow a man to share treatments with a significant other, to help him acclimate to the spa experience. That’s the antithesis of the El Rey—if one desires company during a treatment, a few private treatment rooms (there are 10 treatment rooms in all, and five private barber rooms with antique barber chairs) have an extra chair—and the chair is for conversation with another guy, often on business matters. Some rooms have two chairs that allow both men to get treatments while conversing. Occasionally a father will share the experience with his son. But often the other chair is empty and the goal is to escape, with whatever music style you choose playing on the high-tech sound system. There are plasma TVs programmed to member favorites, and nodding off during a treatment is neither unheard of nor considered rude. The male bartender, valet, and locker room staff, and the women providing the facials, straight-edge shaves, haircuts, manicures, pedicures, massages, hot mud on the spine, and other salon/spa services are all good conversationalists, with interesting pursuits and hobbies outside of work. They are professionals, and their enjoyment of their work and their rapport with clients enhances the pleasure of being pampered.
But what really lingers in my memory is the pedicure/foot massage and manicure/hand massage that included encasing my feet and hands in hot paraffin. My feet were in terrible shape. Two months later they still look great. My right hand had taken a real beating from bad ergonomics and using a computer mouse, but the constant pain completely disappeared and the hand never felt so good. Retreat to the locker room, margarita in hand, and contemplate how joyfully it has been designed as a boy’s club, with nostalgic touches like the 1930 Boris O’Klein etchings of naughty Parisian dogs that hang over black, floor length, ice-filled urinals. The showers and steam room are the best I’ve used. Opened in November 2005, the club recently began offering one-day membership packages that start at $300. To quell any rumors of pole-dancing behind the scenes, women can accompany members to the lounge for drinks on Friday nights. Membership floats between 150 and 200, and members’ monthly expenditures average between $400 and $500. The monthly fee is $150, half that for junior members ages 21 to 26, with a monthly minimum expenditure of $150. Revenues doubled in 2007, to $1,000,000. The spa recognizes the potential to hook frequent business travelers on the advantages of membership and a steady routine of pampering. The option of a quiet corporate entertainment alternative figures big in Campbell’s thinking—friendly card games are rumored, and after closing you might catch a whiff of a Caribbean cigar. Patrons can have errands run, bring in a local tailor to be fitted for a suit, have their shoes shined, or their car detailed. “Basically, you can sit on your can and relax while having the satisfaction of accomplishing many of life’s necessities,” says Campbell, who is exploring similar facilities in other markets. Sitting in the El Rey lounge, looking out through the blinds onto the busy Austin streets, one feels ensconced in an urban oasis in the midst of the desert of modern life. If any of my ships out battling giant squids on the horizon ever come in, this is one of the few indulgences that would tempt me on a regular basis, with hot paraffin treatments and deep tissue massage topping the list.
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It’s good to be the king, or at least to feel like one. I spent most of an indulgent weekend in the mother—make that the father—of all barber shops, El Rey (The King) Club, a gentleman’s spa in Austin, Texas, that offers far more than your standard shave-and-a-haircut.
Inside El Rey, heavy iron gates and wood doors lead to a hallway that feels like a centuries-old Mediter-ranean alley. On display in the lounge is an enlarged photograph of a dapper looking gent, whiskey in hand, in a classy looking Galveston joint called the Mermaid Bar, circa 1947. He’s Campbell’s dad, embodying the atmosphere El Rey strives for, and he fits in well with the beautiful, artfully attended bar serving knockout margaritas. The leather furniture and dark woods dispel all trace of the deli that once occupied the space. Members can order up dry sauce barbecue and Mexican cuisine from local restaurants, sometimes brought in for a quick buffet. The walls are adorned with flat-screen TVs, muted so that despite their proliferation, the place never sounds like a sports bar, and patrons can easily lose themselves in a book or, horrors, work.
Broadway’s 1989 Sweeney Todd still plays in my head whenever I see a straight-edge—never mind the paralyzing memory of the razor scene in Salvador Dali’s and Luis Buñuel’s Andalusian Dog. I was a little anxious as the blade, wielded by a lively gal who races motorcycles for recreation, did that tricky upstroke below the lower lip and then danced beneath my nose. But my angular, hard-to-shave mug emerged smoother than it’s ever been. After a quick, between-treatment Cosmopolitan, I lost consciousness during the facial, but awoke with my face intact and feeling great.
