Esquire

I got featured on Esquire.com. That doesn't happen everyday. Thanks guys.

SERIOUSLY GUYS. THEY'RE FOR GIRLS.

The style blogger skipped down the street confidently in his St. James boat neck. He was super proud of it ‘cause of the picture he had saved of James Dean wearing the same thing. The sun peeked from behind a cloud and rushed down, to slob over the blogger’s neck, intent on leaving a June hickey. The blogger embraced the sun’s warmth and picked up his step even faster. He was, to quote, ‘walking on sunshine’. A man with in French-esque garb on a silly motor scooter drove by and shouted, “Vous sale garce, me donner un baiser mouillé!” Confused, the blogger skipped on. Feeling a smoke, he pulled up on a porch outside an apartment, yanked a cigarette to his mouth. A woman opened a window on the second story, looked down, and yelled at the blogger, “Ne restez pas sur mon porche, femme pirate!” Shocked, the blogger walked off the porch and almost collided with a man riding a bicycle with a basket on the front, which happened to be full of baguettes. The man swerved to the right, as the blogger spun in a circle, similar to the Saturday morning cartoons. The cyclist had a thin mustache and wore a beret. “Hors de mon chemin, la femme de la rue!” He shouted at the blogger.
Which was odd, this was Boston. Why was everyone speaking what sounded like French? Questions swirled in the blogger’s mind, taking him away from his self-absorbed confidence. He moved along, oblivious to everything else, absorbed in his confusion. His mulling was broken when the sidewalk opened up to reveal a gaping mouth, which looked to be a hole to China, for all he knew. And the mouth moved it’s concrete lips, with a low Snuffleupagus whine, he spoke to the blogger, “Oh mon dieu, quelle fille chaude! Je pourrais vous manger pour le dîner!!”

Which the sidewalk did, as he grabbed the blogger by the foot, and swallowed him whole.

Photo hoodwinked from The Armoury.

As Pitti images flood your dash, I offer a bit of advice. It’s been awhile since I’ve openly doled out what and what not to do. I try not to be too preachy, though my Mother’s conservative Methodist roots occasionally get the best of me. You’ll be full with images to satiate you for the summer, appeasing your mouse-clicking appetite and hopefully inspire you to attempt to channel a little of the same flair that those specific men have (I’m not particularly fond of Italian dress, but I understand that everyone else is. I figure I should make an attempt to stay on topic). However, I think that there are certain ways that you should look at these images; as rapidly glancing, taking quick notes, and then moving on may have worked on field trips, but it doesn’t work as well now. As sites offer up their images for you to peruse, I suggest that you pick the few that you really like. Sure, why not reblog it? Then, save those images to your computer so you don’t lose them. Maybe you put one as your background when no one is around. You set one in a box to the side as you work on homework, or do other things on the Internet (centipede?). Allow those images to age with you, as long as you think they remain valuable to your observation. Try to pick out new things that you never noticed before. Try to be able to put into words what you like and don’t like about the photo. Whether it’s the colors, texture, pattern clashing, quality of the leather goods, or whatever else you think makes you enjoy the photo. Now that you’ve discovered what you like and don’t like about the photo, determine if you aspire to dress in said manner. If yes, then determine what you think would and wouldn’t work for you. How would one go about adding the flairs in the photo to your personal style? If you can’t answer this, there are the “experts”.

This ended up being an unorganized mess. The main point that you should take away from this is that by spending more than 30 seconds with each photo, you will be able to better execute your own personal style. You won’t be off chasing clouds thinking that by purchasing, you will be able to be “steezy”. By spending time with the photos you will have a greater understanding of your own style and how to make your style progressive. Learning the tricks of any trade takes time. You’ll be able to incorporate them into the way you dress without spending a cent. Granted you have the basics, of course. I enjoy stagnation as much as the next trad but time leaves all things behind.

Dinner

Sitting awkwardly at the dinner table, eating – coincidentally – dinner, the family of three attempted to break the thick bramble of their days that kept them apart. Junior had been on a date earlier that day. So for the moment, that was the topic of interest. Dad ate slowly with intention and did not pick at his food like Mom. Mom picked at her food because she was watching her figure. Why she did, Junior did not know. Dad could care less. Maybe it was to show off to her overweight friends that she retains some of that high school energy. Junior was the only child at that moment. Older Sister was off in some mystical place, probably dropping acid with her free love boyfriend. Or was it girlfriend? Junior did not know or care. “So, where did you take her?” Mom started.
“Well, everyone likes sandwiches, so I took her to Sicily’s and we got paninis,” replied Junior.
“Did you remember to pay?”
“Mom, I did everything you told me.”
“Well, that’s good. You’ll have to bring her home sometime so that we can meet her. I’d like to meet her, wouldn’t you dear?” Mom glanced at Dad. Dad snarfed on his food and shrugged, probably in approval. Work really took its toll on Dad. It made Junior sick that his dad would be paying for college, but he supposed that was how it worked these days. His Dad made good money, but Junior was never sure of their fiscal situation. Why was Dad working so hard, was it because their financial situation wasn’t as good as Junior previously thought? Was it because Dad didn’t know what to do with himself when he wasn’t working? That might be it but Junior couldn’t be sure. “What was she wearing?” Mom always asked banal awkward questions.
“Uhhh, a white dress.” Junior balked. It was actually jhorts and a button down but for some reason he lied. It was something that Junior sometimes couldn't help.
“Oh, well, that’s nice, isn’t it dear?” Mom turned to Dad. Dad nodded approval while munching on some meatloaf.
“Well, then Junior, what did you wear?” Mom turned back to Junior.
“Well,” now this was something that Junior could go on for forever. He had painstakingly planned out everything. Going to the internet to ask questions, putting himself out there, making himself to seem vulnerable, to see if any one could solve his conundrum. He scoured pictures on tumblr and read the past six months of GQ. He laid everything out the night before and changed everything before he went out. Junior just couldn't get it right. He wasn't sure he could replicate the 'cool' that he saw on the Internet. “I wore a dip-dye t-shirt, Incotex trousers, and hiking boots.”
“Now why did you wear that?” Mom smiled, confused as to why those things seemed to appropriate to Junior.
“Well, there’s these guys on the Internet who answer questions, and I well… asked them what I should wear.” Junior replied. Dad snorted and mumbled something through his food and under his breath. Junior shot Dad a glare reflexively, but then remember that you really can’t glare at Dad. Dad really didn’t give a crap about getting glared at.
“I asked a bunch of different guys and they all gave me different answers, so I just mixed all of them.”
“Oh, well I guess that makes a little more sense.” Mom replied, still mostly confused and muddled. Dad looked up and shrugged his shoulders. Dad thought about stepping in and correcting Junior’s mistakes, but then thought better of it. Junior would learn in due time.
They sat in quiet and each thought to themselves. Dad thought about the Age of Empires game that he would be playing later that night and reading the full RSS feed that he hid from his wife and kid. Mom thought about the possibility of dessert. Junior thought about what he would do differently next time he saw her. Probably not mix all the advice of the style bloggers. That may have been a bad call. But he’d probably still follow their advice when they told him what to wear. They were, after all, experts.

Spring Cleaning

When he sent his kids off to college, his wife demanded that they clean out the attic. No longer would it be messy and full of crap they didn’t need. Who knew what they would put in there but they were consumers, he was sure that they would find something. He opened the door to his attic and the smell of sawdust and must flowed out, as the fan in the adjacent room pulled the air towards itself. He creaked up the steps in his socks and when he reached the top he stopped to look around. Dozens of cardboard boxes piled on top of each other and made the project look much more formidable than it previously had. He started with a top box of a pile way in the corner, opened it up, creaked down the steps with it in his arms, and threw it into the back of the car. He did the same for the rest in the pile until he had reached the last one. When he reached the last one, he noticed that it was dusty and hadn’t been opened for some time. It figured. He had realized at his first child’s first birthday that he was not the nostalgic person he had once thought he was. He read the label. “Italian” was scrawled in a sharpie across the front. He opened it and looked inside. It was full of cut-aways and no break trousers that he had stopped wearing long before his first child was born. He shrugged and closed the box back up and took it out to the car.

When he started to take the second pile out to the car, he read the label of the top box. It read, “Americana/timeless”. He didn’t even bother to open it up as he picked it up and took it down the stairs.

Reasonable

Perhaps out of a desire to write about new things, to be first amongst amateur menswear reporters, we forget about simple things like LL Bean and other mid-range brands.

“Nah, brah, even my undershirts are three figures.”
“Was it a custom order for Context?”
“My jacket was inspired by Shackleton’s doomed expedition but I’ve never been out of Maryland.”

No doubt these things are cool, but tend to feel precious because of their price tag, despite their rugged intentions. Now a decent coat on the cheap? That, most people can get behind. Orvis offers the best options when it comes to gear that would fall under what some people call cool and at the same time, something that you can trash. They carry a good amount of Barbour but also offer a line of their own that gets little to no face time. Most of the items are under $250, which in comparison is cheap. Medium is as small as they go, so fashionistas clamoring for a slim cut can bug off to H&M. For inspiration on how not to look like a soccer dad when you wear these, just look at Tommy Ton’s winter photos. I’m sure you’ll find something.

Out of class and into the hall

Pat sat in the lecture hall staring at the off-white, or diseased white, ceiling tiles. The professor, yacking at the class, sallowed in the sickly glow of the florescent lighting. Class was seconds from over and the professor’s pant legs flopped everywhere unnaturally. If the professor had any sense or knowledge he would have had them tapered to 15”. Or at least 16”. 15” perhaps was a tad aggressive for a man of his girth. The man’s imperfection irritated Pat and Pat had the desire to never do a single problem that the professor assigned out of the textbook. Grades did not matter if your social knowledge was better than everyone else’s. Class dismissed and everyone filed out of the lecture hall except for Pat. The professor collected his things and scurried out the door to indulge in his fascination with tying fishing flies. Pat sat alone, lost in his ruminations of tapered legs, as he had the class after this in the same room.

Students slipped into the classroom, unaware that others were there, and began taking out their books. Comfortable in his chair, Pat slouched back and observed his sartorial superiority to the other boys in the class. In their defense, they didn’t have the knack; the know. The professor of this class was in the know. Tailored sportcoats and trousers abounded in his wardrobe. The man walked as though he had never known a tie from Sears. The professor strolled to the front of the class and set down his old leather briefcase, full of papers, which happened to be full of knowledge and full of nobility. Today, the professor had a button missing from the collar of his button down. Normally, this would be non-chalant, as if by accident. Y’know, natural. But something was wrong, something felt off with what the professor was wearing today. Acid rose in Pat’s throat. The lost button wasn’t natural at all. The whole thing was a sham. It was a huge horrible lie and Pat had fallen for it. He got up quickly and moved quickly towards the door of the lecture hall, using the desks to balance himself. Students looked surprised, as Pat usually carried himself without a care. With both hands, Pat pushed out of the door without the professor even noticing. He stumbled to the grey oversized trashcan in the hallway and retched over it. The coffee and Doritos he had eaten for breakfast came from his throat, around his teeth, and out his mouth. Pat heaved twice to get the remnants from sticking to his tongue and then breathed heavily as sweat collected on his brow. He heaved again trying to vomit out his own elitism but the beer he had drank before he went to bed was the only thing to come out. Perhaps the second professor was not natural at all. Maybe it was the first professor, with the wide pant legs and fly fishing fetish, that was the true natural person. Pat probably wouldn’t ever be able to find out. He still had the sickness, deep inside his gut.