As seen in the New York Times


Shorn Under a Good Sign

By MIKE ALBO

IF you pay attention as you rush through the streets, you will find constant inspiration in the hilariously ambitious, unintentionally poetic signage on the awnings and doors of small, scrappy businesses. Many of our city’s best signs come from nail or beauty salons. Diva Nails, Salon Mingle, Skillz, Confetti of Nail. Chinatown, near the Manhattan Bridge, has one of my favorites: Amy Artistic Hair, written in dingy pink. Simple, sweet, weird. I love it.

There seems to be at least one crazy-named nail and beauty salon on every block of Manhattan. They are always full of serious-looking women leafing through Allure, getting some minor maintenance work. Every now and then you see a man sitting in one of the padded lounge chairs trying to get a little touch-up to his hands or feet, feeling awkward because he’s getting a pedicure at some place called Lady Fingers.

A new grooming salon for men in Midtown has just opened with the dashing, approachable name of Spiff, written in silvery stainless steel letters. Along with shaves ($35 to $45) and haircuts ($45), guys can get mani-pedis ($58), highlights ($35 and up) or ear/nose/eyebrow waxing ($20 and up) — procedures they have always wanted but have had few places of their own to get them done until now.

The salon is well situated on Third Avenue, where a cross section of 9-to-5 guys work: swaggering bankers, obnoxious new-media types, stressy lawyers and fashiony fops from Condé Nast’s East Side offices.

The Spiff space used to be a bank, and the facade is lined with large windows. The interior is minimal and painted in a blue and putty-gray motif that resembles a JetBlue boarding gate. That pleasant blippy dance music you hear on reality makeover shows plays at low volume.

There is a long desk in front, where people can wait and check their laptops using the free Wi-Fi. There is a shoeshine area is next to it, and in back, there are eight barber chairs, two pedicure chairs and two adjoining treatment rooms for waxing.

Along the wall is a mirror with plasma screens embedded in it, so if you are an obnoxious new-media type, you can watch “Mad Money,” check your e-mail and get a shave while selling your Web site to Rupert Murdoch.

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