He paused for a moment before conceding the point.

 

“You’re right,” he said. “What about a barbershop?”

 

The idea lingered in my mind.

 

After all, I already had one—sort of.

​

Five years earlier, at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was in my third year as a professional barber. The transition had come somewhat unexpectedly. After twenty-six years as a teacher, I had met a master barber who offered to train me, and on a bit of a whim I decided to give the craft a try.

 

I began building a clientele in a dreary barbershop on an even drearier street, marketing myself as The Hague’s first and only after-hours barber. Eventually an opportunity arose to move into a far more elegant setting—an upscale salon in one of the city’s most exclusive neighborhoods. The owners invited me to rent a portion of the space under unusually favorable conditions. They even purchased a top-of-the-line barber chair and had a bespoke barber station designed and hand-built in Rotterdam.

 

It had been a very good five years.

 

The Night Barber developed a loyal following, and my modest schedule of three evenings a week was consistently filled with regular customers. I often joked that barbering had become my retirement hobby after leaving teaching.

 

“I don’t play golf or tennis,” I would say.

 

At Dominique’s suggestion I contacted the owner of the vacant space, who happened to work in the real-estate office next door. A few days later I met Thomas and saw the property, which was undergoing a major renovation.

 

It didn’t take long to decide.

 

Within a few weeks I had signed the lease and began preparing to move The Night Barber into its new home at the beginning of May.

 

Then something unexpected happened.

 

A gelato and coffee epiphany.

 

It was the first Saturday in May when I returned home after checking on the progress of the renovation. The floor tiles had just been laid in a beautiful herringbone pattern, and the space was beginning to take shape. After a light lunch I felt like having something sweet.

 

There was still a bit of coffee left in the moka pot from breakfast, and I remembered that I had one small cup of Montgomery’s Classic Vanilla vegan ice cream in the freezer. Having lived in Spain for more than a decade—and being particularly fond of the classic blanco y negro, espresso poured over a scoop of vanilla ice cream—I decided to improvise my own version.

 

There wasn’t quite enough coffee left in the cafetera, so I added a splash of Oatly’s Vanilla Barista oat drink and finished it with a drizzle of pure maple syrup.

 

The result was extraordinary.

 

In that moment the business idea I had dismissed weeks earlier—gelato and coffee—suddenly made perfect sense. Only this wasn’t exactly gelato, and it wasn’t really iced coffee either.

 

It was something else.

 

And suddenly that curious service window on the Anna Paulownaplein seemed to have a purpose.

 

I sat down at my computer and the small spark of an idea that had begun to form around it.

 

I loved it. Another crazy scheme.

 

Over the next few hours I sketched out the beginnings of a concept: a small, almost secret window attached to my new barber studio that would serve a single drink—handmade, vegan, and presented in a mason jar.

 

It needed a name—but not quite a name.

 

Eventually I settled on something more like a wink than a brand.

 

IYKYK.

 

If you know, you know.

 

The plan was to keep the whole thing deliberately low-key: no signage, no menu boards, no big launch, just a discreet QR code on the window and the quiet power of word of mouth.

 

Some things are better discovered than advertised.

 

And if you happen to find yourself on the Anna Paulownaplein one day, and the window of a barbershop opens…you’ll understand why.

 

IYKYK.