A small republic of regulars.

Three rooms in Tbilisi. Wood, brass, chess-tile floor and a wall full of photographs. A haircut here is a ritual, not a transaction — and the bar downstairs sounds like the records your father wished he owned.

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№ 01 — The Story

It is not a barbershop.
It is a room with a history.

CamoraSince2015

Camora started with one chair on Rustaveli, ten years ago this winter. A small room, a wooden door, and a handful of barbers who treated every cut like a private conversation. We were never a business plan — we were a place to go on a Saturday afternoon and find out what your friends were arguing about.

Today it is two barbershops and one bar underneath them. Same wooden chairs. Same chess-tile floor. Same wall full of photographs, slightly more crowded.

"You sit down. You hear an old record. Somebody pours you something. The barber takes a long look at you before the first cut. That is the whole method."

We open early, we close late, and on a good night the line between the chair upstairs and the stool downstairs disappears entirely. That is Camora — a small republic of regulars: tattooed, well-dressed, occasionally loud, always at home.

A small republic of regulars.

It is not a barbershop.
It is a room with a history.

Three rooms. One soul.

Upcoming nights.

A wall of photographs.

A small republic of regulars.

It is not a barbershop.It is a room with a history.

Three rooms. One soul.

Upcoming nights.

A wall of photographs.

One letter a month. No spam.

It is not a barbershop.
It is a room with a history.