Sharpening
A dull scissor does not stop cutting. It starts pushing — bending the hair instead of parting it, making your hand do the work the blade should be doing. By the afternoon you feel it in your wrist.
Most sharpening makes it worse. A few seconds against a grinding wheel flattens the convex edge the Japanese maker spent hours building. Do that three or four times and the scissor is finished.
We work the other way.
I do not sharpen them myself. They go to the man I trust with my own — thirty-five years at the stones and many thousands of pairs through his hands. He has no interest in being on a website, which tells you most of what you need to know about him.
Your scissors come apart completely. Every part is sharpened and polished by hand on Japanese waterstones. Worn bearings are replaced. Then it goes back together, set to the tension it had the day it left Japan.
You get your scissor back. Not a shorter version of it.
Return postage is included. Send two pairs or more in the same parcel and we cover the postage both ways.
