Grooming is the clearest example of the razor-and-blades model, and the clearest place to opt out of it.
Grooming is the clearest example of the razor-and-blades model, and the clearest place to opt out of it.
The exit is a change of interface: a double-edge safety razor moves you from a proprietary cartridge to a blade format made by dozens of factories, and a straight razor removes the consumable blade entirely in exchange for a stone and a strop. Both handles outlive their owners; the difference is only how much of the maintenance you want to hold in your own hands.
The rest of the drawer follows the same grammar. A shaving brush with a drilled socket takes a new knot and is fully rebuilt; forged scissors and manual clippers are built around a screwed pivot and a sharpenable edge, served by a sharpening trade that exists in every city; a one-piece sawn comb has no molding seam to snap and sands back to smooth. Every object on this page can be inspected in the hand before you buy — the score table below tells you exactly what to look for.
One machined handle, a standard blade sold by dozens of makers for pennies.
Sharpenable indefinitely; the only consumable is a strop dressing.
Rehandleable and re-knottable — the knot is the wear part and it is sold separately.
Sharpenable steel blades, oiled rather than replaced.
No molding seam to snap, sandable teeth, repairable with fine paper.
Every item type above, scored 0–100 on the six properties a shopper can check by hand. These score the type, never a product: no brand is named, no price is quoted, and the Guarantee pillar stays provisional until you have a specific maker in front of you. Open a row for the pillar-by-pillar reasoning.
Tell us which product from this piece you have lived with, and how it held up.
Courtesy Score v1.1, 0–100, from six weighted pillars a shopper can check by hand. It is not a product rating and not a brand endorsement — read how we score.
Three questions settle almost every purchase in this category, and all three can be answered before you pay.
A gasket, a sole, a belt, a blade, a battery. If the maker stocks it, the object has a future; if it does not, the maker has set the expiration date.
Stitching, screws, welts, and bolts can all be undone and redone. Glue, ultrasonic welds, and fused linings cannot.
Single-material objects — cast iron, solid wood, steel, wool, full-grain leather — wear evenly and repair cleanly. Laminates delaminate.
These three questions are the short form of the six-pillar Courtesy Score rubric — the weights, the caps, and the worked examples are published in full at how we score.
Reviews are written when the object is new, before the failure modes arrive, and most review coverage never reaches the categories on this index at all. So use the review you are already watching — or the person at the counter — to answer the six things a first impression cannot:
What is it made of, and is that one thing — or layers bonded together? Did they show a seam, a laminate edge, a fused lining?
Did they open it? With ordinary tools, or by prying against clips and glue? Is there a free repair guide anywhere?
Which part wears out first, is it sold today, and for how many years after the model is discontinued?
Does it work with no account, no app, and no server — and can the battery, if there is one, come out?
Who fixes this besides the maker — a cobbler, a watchmaker, a bike shop, a repair café — and can they get parts without permission?
What is promised in writing, and does the maker sell parts to people whose warranty has run out?
The only durability evidence better than any score is your own: what you bought, when, what wore first, and what a year of ownership actually cost. The CourtesyCart app is building the Owner's Log to keep that record against your real purchase dates — cost per year from receipts, not from marketing. It arrives with the app itself.
The longevity evidence behind this index comes from owner communities and open repair data rather than from any maker's marketing. Start with these: