Sunday, July 31, 2011


Given Sam Franklin’s enthusiasm, I had to give him a few more shots, so expect him to post on occasion. Recently, Sam told me he’s been reading tumblrs that critique the way people dress. He says he’s gotten a lot of inspiration from them and he would like to do a bit of critiquing of his own. According to Sam, his comments are, “witty and biting and really smart and sound smart too”. That’s good to know. We all need a bit of enlightenment. Once again, I present Sam Franklin.


this guy looks like a turd and everything about his outfit looks like poop he looks like a poop on a stick hahahalol


this guy looks like poop and thats because if you took all of his colors and mixed them up it would make brown which is poop haha


look at this guys what a dweeb hes wearing a tie bar that looks like poop and hes wearing a waistcoat which makes him look like hes trying really hard but actually makes him look like poop ahahahahalollol then he doesnt look like hes actually from london which makes him even more of a poop which is gross because poop is gross and then his all black makes him look like black bean diareaa which is groos and nasty and yucky and hes dressed terribly

Well, there you have it. It’s the infinite wisdom of Sam Franklin. Though he stole all of these images from tumblr and didn't cite them. I really don't feel like looking them up for him. My apologies if he stole your image.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Birkenstock Montana

Birkenstock Montanas seem to be a bit difficult to find. Ebay and abroad are probably the best places to find them. Birkenstock USA currently doesn't stock them. They're something I've been on the lookout for due to their exclusivity. We're all egotistical fools and we might as well feed the beast.

The Montana has a hiking vibe that fewer are looking for these days. Look alike Alabama is an option but it isn't the same. That dull lacing system just doesn't do it for me. You wouldn't feed your child store brand Cheezits, would you?


Anyway, sort of a divergence here: I had a pair of knockoff Birkenstock clogs that I wore around my hometown. People perceived them as feminine and I took shit for them. When I wore them at boarding school, a good portion of guys wore them (and got in trouble for wearing them to class). While this occurance isn't unique by any means it's one that you have to keep in mind when meeting with unworldly folk. Your dub-monks just might be fruit boots to them. Unfortunate? Yes. A truth of life? Unfortunately. Just remember: if people have a problem with the way you present yourself "fuck off" seems to have worked well in the past.

-exception here would be to have clothing standards for work.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


Jumping, in retrospect, wasn’t the fastest way to die. He should’ve thought about that one. But like most things in life, he didn’t think about it before he did it. No use crying over spilt milk but this spilt milk hurt like a bitch. Some lady from a porch screams, “Oh my God! I think he fell!” Jumped more like. Though he supposed you could liken it to falling. Falling away from everything. Falling away from something that could never really reciprocate his feelings. His desire raging in his veins.

His wife had been crying for hours. Or bleary. More bleary than crying. Crying was a bit of an overstatement. It doesn’t thunderstorm for hours. It thunders for a while and then just rains and rains. So short bits of crying within a larger period of bleariness. He had just gotten his first pair of cordovans off ebay and his wife had walked in on him rubbing it in between his loins. His relationship with his wife deteriorated as his closet grew. Fewer nights spent with his wife and more nights searching for self-affirmation; an epiphany of happiness that he would achieve when he realized himself and how to perfectly present himself to others. Now his wife was moving about the apartment and began to pack a bag to visit her parents for the night. She wouldn’t understand how his love for her was boring and describable. It was the kind of love that wouldn’t keep either of them happy. His love for tailored menswear was truly indescribable. Words couldn’t describe the enjoyment he found tying a four-in-hand.

Later he realized he was wrong about that. The realization started after he critiqued some guys dress on tumblr. He said something like, “Shorts are totally inappropriate for any man to wear. They look far too casual with a blazer and make this guy look like he’s fat. He’s terribly dressed, really.” He had worn a pair of shorts that day. He had to artificially induce sleep that night, asphyxiating himself with a shantung tie and his hand holding his tubing. His wife had moved back in with her parents at that point. The next morning he went to his closet and realized that despite having 20 different spread collars to choose from, he wasn’t good enough for any of them. His love for menswear was describable. It was his hate for himself emerging. He tried to cover it with linen pants and unstructured sportcoats but when he did, he realized that he was still a shit. Overreacting to this realization he found himself at the top of a building.

The EMT arrived at the scene. He hoped they wouldn’t try CPR at any point. Broken rips wouldn’t make for a good silhouette. His thinking was oddly clear. As if you had to fall through the clouds to see anything. He still held menswear with regard. And he wished that he could apologize to just about everyone. When was the last time he had seen his mom? And then, his soul rose, like his erection for menswear, and drifted up and away from his body; leaving behind his Neapolitan clothed body to sadder endings.

Monday, July 18, 2011


Thursday, July 14, 2011

Trendwatch: Face Care

It's been awhile since we've had a trend watch. Summer's here and your face is probably burning.

Guys have not only begun to worry about the quality of shoes that they put on their feet but also what they put on their face as they venture into discovering the quality products for face care. Each guy has different preferences when it comes to this sort of thing so I’ll just run through the basics. Some people like to quote Pat Bateman from Ellis’s work, “American Psycho”, when they talk about men’s face care but they just like to show how intelligent they are by quoting a fairly popular piece of literature. I’m not sure how much they actually know about taking care of their faces.

Cleaner: Most everyone uses face cleaner at this point and each have their preferences. Astringent and benzol peroxide are some favorites. Just remember, don’t go overboard and dry your face out.


Moisturizer: Moisturizers are great because you put them on in the morning and you’ll feel like a million bucks for the rest of the day. Your face won’t feel dried out, flaky, and splotchy. Moisturizer makes sure that your face is healthy and won’t age as quickly as it would otherwise.


Lip stick: All sorts of heritage brands are releasing various kinds of men's lipsticks. Make sure that you apply generously so that your lip contrast is noticeable.


Use these three products and you’ll be quite the rugged man all summer. You’ll have a well maintained hide for the fall weather and have potential street style shots.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

guest blogger: sam franklin


hi im sam franklin and ill be blogging for john because hes really busy with work right now and cant do this for a bit and he wanted to make sure that you guys had some stuff to read so im here to write for you

in keeping with his style I thought id write you guys a story I made up

frankie was sitting in the coffee shop drankin espressos being really cool in his based lobbs (lolololololololololloloollklloolokolol) and isaia and just being like really cool and then michael bastin walked in and everybody was like ‘who is this guys he doesnt look like anyone that I no’ but frankie was like ‘holy poop its bastin’ as he tried to contain his excitement he hoped that bastin wouldnt notice him cause he was totally not jawnzed out or anything because like he coulda done so much better and bastinninny went and got a coffee from the girl serving coffee who was a total skank and frankie hated her guts bastin should totally talk to him instead of that whore cause he had lots of interesting ideas and she just knew how to make coffee she probably didnt even know that you need yogurt to make a smoothie she just splooged the whipped cream on top when bastin got his coffee he turned around and saw frankie and he walked over and frankie was like holy shit hes walking over to me and bastin was like ‘hey you got great style you should totally work for me’ and frankie was like omg no way I have a ton of good ideas that no one nos about and bastin was like we should go to my studio to discuss them so no one else hears them we dont want urban outfitters finding out about them and copying them so they went back to the studio and frankie showed him all of his ideas one was like a blazer made out of goretex so that you could be jawnzed in the rain in stuff and there was a bunch of other cooll stuff that I cant think of right now like some shoes that are cool and it was really awesome and then I was going to write in a problem that frankie and bastin would have to solve oh wait there was a guy from uo that they killed but and then they rolled him in a carpet and drove out to the docks and threw him out but I couldnt think of a good one so I think id be better at just writing product reviews because I just know my stuff better than other people and I have a really nice point and shoot that might be as good as like dlsr but probably not but then franklin and bastin released their collection called ‘frankie and bastin’ and it was really awesome and everyone wrote product reviews about it and then bastin and frankie were like the best friends for every and they shared bracelets that said bffs so everyone knew and everyone though frankie was really cool omg bastin is hawt <3<3<3<3 harry potter

Wednesday, July 6, 2011


Occasionally, mostly from me, I think there tends to be a worry about market oversaturation. This is really just a post to convince myself of something. I would like to think that market oversaturation isn’t very desirable. Oversaturation tends to matriculate down to cheaper brands, which just copy off of the brands that were originally producing for that style. Enter August 15th. There’s nothing new here. Neither is the price point. How does this brand attract consumers? Beats me, I wasn’t able to turn up much besides that they’re carried by Unionmade. I would like to imagine these people to be a bunch of assholes who are looking to make a quick buck off the heritage revival by selling them the same stuff they’ve been sold for the past 3 years and some crappy flash website. That’s probably not the case. They're probably a bunch of people who love quality clothes. I tend to be a cynic, in case you haven’t noticed.





Why should we embrace new brands since we’ve already found brands that make quality clothes? Because the new brands keep the older brands honest. They encourage the quality of garments to be held to the highest standard and the price point to be more competitive. If it turns out that 8.15 makes a better $200 chambray than the next brand, then the people buying a shirt that expensive will prefer the 8.15 shirt. If another brand makes a shirt of the same quality as 8.15 for a lower price point, then people will buy that other brand’s shirt. There's nothing new here. Oversaturation is better for you and me than undersaturation. Some brands will fall under the steam roller of capitalism, but hey, workwear loves America and industry. You don't make things that people don't want and become successful here. Don’t cry over a business risk that didn’t pan out. Banks still seem to be willing to front just about anything. Maybe you should start a wooden swan business? That seems due for a revival. My grandmother gave my family one but I haven’t seen too many floating around these days.

Sunday, July 3, 2011


The two police officers sat in their unmarked Crown Victoria and drank their over-sugarized coffees that they had gotten from the station 20 minutes ago. They meant business. Which is funny because meaning business is completely different from doing business. They both wore Starter jackets. The one sitting in the driver’s seat, Frank Thomson, was decked out in his Raiders jacket. The one sitting in the passenger’s seat, Bobby Thompson, was wearing a Spurs jacket. They were the type of cops who scared the crap of neighborhood kids who ran through stop signs with their bicycles. Any one who committed more serious crimes would ask, “who?” when you mentioned their names. They were staked out because Thomson had heard about someone selling ‘joints’ in the apartment complex they were parked outside of. The car smelled of BK Stackers and cigarettes. Those were just the main smells. There was some old coffee with dust mixed in there. It choked both of them and perhaps was making them more delusional than they usually were. These two were to the type to get excited about going to the shooting range and getting to go out in a squad car. Though in all fairness, car rides are a lot of fun. “Man, it has been awhile. Are you sure this guy lives here?” Thompson asks as he turns to Thomson. Thomson looks at Thompson, frowns, turns back to the complex, and replies, “Yes. The tipoff definitely said it was here. This is where he said he got his ‘joints’ from.” Thomson pauses for a second for dramatic effect and to think about the reception they’d get for cleaning up the streets. The applause would be enough for him. Both of them might get a medal. He scratched his chin and started again, “And this is where we make our name.” There was a long pause. “Are ‘joints’ weed?” asked Thompson.

He was walking back from the coffee shop where he had parked his macbook toting buttocks for the afternoon. The girl he had been talking to was a cutie. A cutie with a booty. She also happened to be an amateur philosopher. Or so he thought. That was the impression she appeared to be trying to give him. He liked her. She inflated his ego, complimented him on his clean fingernails, and she liked the same kind of smoothies as he did. She had said something to him today that he had really liked. It was something along the lines of, “y’know what’s sad? The fact that no one, not in the entire world, will have the same experiences, thoughts, feelings, and consciousness that you do. You will be completely alone in your thoughts and your mental film of your life.” After she had finished she bit her bottom lip nervously like she saw the movie stars do. He liked the idea. No one would ever be him. He was the most unique person he knew and he was glad to keep it that way. He often tried to show off his uniqueness by never mentioning family or his history to others that he met. He thought it made him seem like he had always been like he currently was; forever 25, selling dirt cheap used sportcoats for a profit. To others it would seem as though he was some minor immortal, as if he had been born of the city, and he was doing what he loved for longer than others due to that immortality that he oozed. He was still grinning as he entered his apartment to pick up the ‘joints’ that he kept in his duffle bag. He had found a bunch of Italian sportcoats at his secret thrift store and he was reselling them for a profit. He picked up the duffle bag and began to walk it out to his car.

“There he goes,” Thomson almost jumps through the roof of his car as he sees the sportcoated man exit his apartment. “Are you sure that we can do this?” asks Thompson starting to get a little scared. It was too late though. Thomson had already grabbed his bat and was stalking over. Thompson scrambled out of the car after him.

Two goofy looking guys approached him as he threw his duffle into his trunk. They looked silly, carrying bats and wearing Starter jackets. He almost laughed. Though with the first swing, he had no breath to laugh with. They knocked him down and almost put him out but he hung onto consciousness as he worried if these guys would steal his car. The taller one stood over him with a bat as the shorter rummaged through his duffle. “Thomson,” the rummager whined, “there aren’t any ‘joints’ in here! These are all just sportcoats!” The taller one turned and ripped though the contents of the bag. “No weed?! But he said his duffle was always full of joints! Fuck! We’re gonna’ have to make ourselves scarce!” The taller one wheeled about in rage. The shorter one looked as though he was about to cry, “I don’t think that this was lega-

When he came to, his forehead was bleeding. Evening had started yet no one had bothered to find out was wrong with the man. Not their problem. He pulled himself up onto the curb and held his head. His lip was dripping blood onto his Brioni and onto the pavement. He wished someone would help him. Maybe that philosophy girl would take pity on him if he showed up to her apartment. He would tell her all about what had happened, she would understand exactly what had gone down and believe him, feel his pain, and share in his confusion in why he had been brutally beaten down. He wished his mother were there. She made really good cookies.