Barenazocine

Sitting in a motel in Aliquippa, Mr. Samuel and Mr. Costas had done nothing in particular for a few hours. They were still coming down. Down from the ethereal and into a burnt out and tired reality of Western PA where the air was soupy in the morning and roasted in the afternoon. Either way, your pants showed sweat streaks if you sat down for too long when you were outside. Mr. Costas lay on the linoleum in the bathroom and licked his upper lip continuously to make sure it was clean. Mr. Samuel sat on the tan AC unit strapped into the wall like all old hotel rooms and felt the fan blow cool air up his backside. They were coming down off their cannakitonhexanol high.

“Wanna’ get some food? Like, at Citgo?”

“I mean, is there a vending machine outside? I don’t feel like leaving the area.”

“You mean, like, buy some Snickers?”

“Yea, like Snickers and Middleswarth.”

Mr. Costas, who had suggested Citgo, frowned, which, like most scruffy Italians, made his jaw and upper lip look like a squashed kiwi.

The trip had not gone to plan. They had left their apartments a few days earlier to go on a trip of sartorial transcendence. So far the only transcendence that they had discovered was that they enjoyed not leaving their motel rooms. They were going to find a place where they could escape the pools of self-reflection but they hadn’t been too successful. They dressed exactly the same so escaping those pools was harder than expected.

“Actually let’s just take this.”

“What is it?”

“Some methylenediemmexypyrovalerone that Dorsett sold me. It’s supposed to be pretty interesting. I mean, we’ve got time before we have to get across the state.”

“Can we get food first?

Mr. Samuel ignored Mr. Costas and pulled out a Ziploc. Mr. Costas sat up and gave Mr. Samuel a glare from across the hotel room. Mr. Samuel wore a nubby silk tie that was the color of a deer that had been blown apart by a semi, which had been traveling at 127 kmph at 6 o’clock in the morn, and then sat in the humid PA sun for 6 hours – all dark red with flecks of orange. Mr. Costas considered yanking on that tie and pulling it so tight that Mr. Samuel’s face turned as purple as the tie that Mr. Costas had forgotten at home.

“Or if you don’t want that, I have some methoxelardinine or… errr….. I think this stuff is called barenazocine. It’s supposed to be old man swag inducing. But not in an annoying Ditka sort of way. Like a subdued, I-am-coolier-than-thou kinda’ way.”

“Fuck, I just want to get some food.”

“Nah, dude. Just smoke this and you’ll be fine.”

Mr. Costas, wanting to make Mr. Samuel happy, did just that.

Mr. Costas doesn’t remember much after that.

He does remember taking the nubby silk tie that was the color of a deer that had been blown apart by a semi, which had been traveling at 127 kmph at 6 o’clock in the morn, and then sat in the humid PA sun for 6 hours – all dark red with flecks of orange – and yanking it tight against Mr. Samuel’s neck until Mr. Samuel’s head looked like an Airhead (it didn’t look purple like the tie Mr. Costas had left at home at all).

He doesn’t remember taking a razor to Mr. Samuel’s face, peeling back the first layer, pulling out pieces of flesh like a firefighter pulling pork at a PA pig roast, and nibbling on them like a gerbil until a hotel maid found him.

Father's Day

hey guess wat

fathers day is soon i think its next sonday

i think all dads would look cool in a simon spur shirt ike this one



its really great becuse mr porter is having a sale!

make dad happy on fathers day and get him this col shirt

dads love cool shirts

Sam Franklin for Monocle (but not really)

EDITOR’S NOTE: THE FOLLOWING ARTICLE WAS WRITTEN BY SAM FRANKLIN AND SUBMITTED TO MONOCLE. HE TALKS ABOUT BOATS. IT WAS NOT PUBLISHED.

this yacht is pretty cool ig uess it look like it could go pretty fast its white which is like the normal yacht color so its clich and stuff but one of the cooler ones i saw they were bring booze on board when i saw them from the docks and i askedd to get on but they told me to go away

it was still cool A plus

this one is more retro and stuff it looks like jay gatby would hang out all the time on it ha i would feel cool driving around on it but i never drove it cause they would not let me on baord even though i yeled and screamed from the shore what a bunk of jerks

no one likes jerks B minus cool boat though

this one was real weird they let me on for a couple bucks but then i couldnt drive even though i paid there were a bunch of old people on board

old people suck especially rich old people

i tried to get people to leave because i wanted a good review but they wouldnt go the boat was real slow to so it sucked like screw you youre wearing sandals i dont wear sandal even when i go playing in the water i only wear penny loafers

C plus because they had drinks like 7up and mountain dew other wise D minus

this one is really cool even if i didnt see it i just saw it on google images

A plus cause its cool

this one was really smelly dont buy a smelly boat like i couldnt even talk to guys the only girls i saw on board had beards and beards on girls are gross

C if you dont include the bearded girls D plus if you include the girls with beards

this boat was the most fun and the most cheap i padled out on it and i went fast even though there wasnt an engie which sucks but it was ok cause im stonrg 

then i jumped into the water which was fun cause i splahsed all the boats that got near hahahahah i got them wet buncha suckers ip retended like i was drownded

losers

A plus because its cheap and fun and you can splahs people


-(SF)

deTolley

EDITOR’S NOTE: THE FOLLOWING SERIES OF EMAILS OCCURRED BETWEEN TWO PARTIES OF THIS BLOG AND SOME OTHER PARTY DUDE WHO YOU MAY OR MAY NOT KNOW. IN OTHER WORDS, YOU PROBABLY DON’T KNOW HIM BUT IF YOU DO, CONGRATULATIONS. 

deTolley

Sent: Wednesday, May 23, 2012 9:34 AM:

I’m done with heritage.

John Lugg

Sent: Wednesday, May 23, 2012 9:45 AM:

This sounds familiar.

deTolley 

Sent: Wednesday, May 23, 2012 9:57 AM:

But don’t worry, I’ve found a solution.

Sam Franklin

Sent: Wednesday, May 223, 2012 9:58 AM:

in know just wear spread collars and drakes ties and tasle loafters like me youll not get bored or angry with that

sent from my mom’s phone

deTolley

Sent: Wednesday, May 23, 2012 10:45 AM:

Like, I love heritage. It gave me identity and differentiation within a culture. I already had a home, I just wanted to find a place outside it that was entirely my own.

But as the market saturated and demand went up, I was discovering that this place that once held individuality was now becoming a full, slimy and sick, fishbowl with useless castles sitting in the water; a place where the rocks were neon colored for the sake of being neon colored. 

Leaders of the industry like to dispense knowledge like, “find your own path” and, “be curious and individualistic” when they really mean, “fuck off my own grind yo”. They know that the fishbowl is full. 

Instead of becoming a place of innovation, the upper middle class is happy to sit. They’re happy to produce a lifestyle that creates stratification without creating any true value. Stratification has become a product of culture and free time rather than true ability to make progress economically or in a sense of human progression. Even in the chase to discover the “new” they’re still stuck in the same socio-economic fishbowl as before. They mistake change for progression, which is something all liberally minded people tend to fall for.

This place of upper-individualized-custom-trite-bespoke-anti-bespoke(because every one is calling it bespoke these days)-middle-class grouping is sickening in that everyone is capable of recognizing their own individuality (given their historical perspective of their identities) but often struggles to see others.

There’s the furniture collector/designers/bum/ragamuffin who’s loft is photographed just so with everything at a right angle or at a carefree 45 degrees (NOT 35 or 40). His loft is so clean for the photos that you’d think that gnomes live in his walls and when he falls asleep they come out and dust everything down, throw out yesterday’s paper, adjust the occasionally ridden skateboard, scrub the scuffs from the Vibram soles out of the floor, press every magazine with an iron to make sure there are no rolled edges or creases, trim his perfectly rugged beard that hides his cherubian cheeks, give the walls another coat of white paint making sure that the exposed brick is not encroached upon, clean his underwear (that actually might be his mom), attempt to reassert the man’s pathos for others not inclined in the arts while he sleeps by putting gnome dust underneath his eyes, sort his Fish Oil supplements into two separate jars (those above 1ml and those below 1ml as if they don’t understand the concept of significant figures [incidentally, gnomes don’t understand significant figures{thus, it’s a logical nightmare for them because their instruments cannot determine volume to an infinitely small number which drove a few gnomes mad, so now they cheat and just do it by guesswork}]), and add air to the tires of his bike that he purchased from someone else’s history to assume as his own. 

This is a group individualism mistaken for true individualism. Everyone has those gnomes living in their walls. It’s an assumed simplicity that people hope will reveal their true baroque personality of culture and consumption to the world. This group is defined by their use of time to create individuality within themselves. Some other groups (i.e. the poor; the lower middle class) will exhibit this, but individuality is not pursued with such fervency or with such unity. Individuality is inherent in usage of time. However, using time with the intent to create greater and perceivable differentiation is what I believe defines this group. However, because the manner of individualization is the same, you have tangible things to define this group. People are surprisingly definable - in a lucid sense - no matter how many Nietzsche quoting tumblr heritage chambray females there are insisting otherwise. Sorry to break it to you, but they might have watched the Titanic a few too many times and bought into that “woman’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets” or whatever. Sure, your projection isn’t definable as I’m not sure that even you can define exactly what your projection is, but you have quantifiable actions and emotions. At the very least you are part of a society; that is a notion of definition.

This upper-individualized-custom-trite-bespoke-anti-bespoke(because every one is calling it bespoke these days)-middle-class could possibly be blamed on the Sam’s Club culture. I mean, it would make sense as it is somewhat close to an anti-thesis (perhaps more of a caveat): conscious consumption as an identity versus overconsumption as an identity. It would make sense, given our big-box-of-1000-Twizzlers from the wholesale shoppe upbringing, that we would grow to find our differentiation in our choices to have less and acquire items with greater quality (this point can be contested). 

EDITOR’S NOTE: THE NEXT TWO EMAILS HOLD NO RELEVANCE TO THE CONVERSATION

Sam Franklin

Sent: Wednesday, May 23, 2012 10:49 AM:

hey looka  this shirt i designed ill sent it to you guys

sent from my mom’s phone

Sam Franklin

Sent: Wednesday, May 23, 2012 10:49 AM:

heres a purlple one purlple is in this year its goanna be pretty cool

sent from my mom’s phone

John Lugg

Sent: Wednesday, May 23, 2012 1:11 PM:

It sounds like you’ve identified the group but I’m not sure how you are not involved in this group. I mean, you sought out heritage as a way to be a subjective god climbing a mountain in American made boots.

Yet how can something like heritage be all yours even within a small community? Clothing is a cultural phenomena, as otherwise I wouldn’t even bother with briefs. We all have some lineal sense of what we have culturally inherited from our forefathers. How do you exclude yourself from this group?

deTolley

Sent: Wednesday, May 23, 2012 1:54 PM:

I suppose that I really can’t. Other than I know that after mall-wear brands stop selling heritage I’ll still be rooting out old Woolrich flannels. Is allegiance heritage? My biggest problem is the refraction of image that people get from other people. I look like a bandwagon hopper to others. Others look like bandwagon hoppers to me. Yet I am not a bandwagon hopper and those others are probably not bandwagon hoppers either. Our views of each other are just disjointed refractions of our subjective projections onto others. 

Most frustrating is that I think that people cannot determine their trivial individualization to be a cultural movement. Some perceive it as an actual divergence from society. Anti-societal types forget that their definition is still societal.

John Lugg

Sent: Wednesday, May 23, 2012 3:44 PM:

So I’ve gathered that you’re not done with heritage? Because if you change you’ll just be dragging society into a new uncharted area.

deTolley

Sent: Wednesday, May 23, 2012 3:55 PM:

I’m getting on the forums and I’m cutting and burning everything heritage. I’m going to try my hardest to make heritage as something stupid, overplayed, and lame. Heritage will burn to the ground. Then, when everyone has left as there isn’t anything that interests them anymore, I’ll retake and settle my heritage. Everyone else can screw off.

John Lugg

Sent: Wednesday, May 23, 2012 3:59 PM:

Ah, yes. That actually makes some sense. It’s petty on your part but you still get what you want. 

Sam Franklin

Sent: Thursday, May 24, 2012 2:56 PM:

if this was all a joke i dont get it

sent from my mom’s phone

EDITOR’S NOTE: I DON’T HAVE A REAL EDITOR, WHO AM I KIDDING?

January (capsule) - A Retrospectornomereif...whatever

I’ve been sitting on this post for some time. I could’ve put it out right when I got back from NY 5 months ago, but I decided to wait for various reasons. One reason is because I think the internet reacts too quickly and that some things need time to be seen properly. The other reason is because I'm real lazy and forgetful.

People often complain about the #menswear industry by saying things like, “it’s a circle jerk”. Before my experience at (capsule) I assumed that these people were just grouchy old hermits who had a bit of hard luck.

Upon rolling into the building looking like I got lost, which I was for a time, I noticed something was up. All the men in the building looked like their hair had been caught in a vicious hurricane and if they weren’t careful, it would blow off like a toupee. I walked back outside to see what had happened to the weather between the time I had walked inside and the time I got my hokey lookin’ bracelet. It was pretty nice out and Aeolus wasn’t active enough to blow anyone’s hair in that manner. This detail began to raise my suspicions that something was weird about this place.

I walked back inside and proceeded to the first room. Not much to see there. Just some expensive thrift store finds and a smell similar to my Grandmother’s house – the one that lives in Ohio and on a farm.

I walked into the second room and smelled it immediately: a recent wank. Actually, almost the entire place smelled like a recent wank (except for the woodland room, that just smelled like a big honkin’ pile of mulch). Even the music they played reminded me of that time when I was coming back from class and I walked into my room and… Uh, never mind.

Various groups of people gathered around the popular booths playing the “muffin game”, which explained a lot. Monitaly and Ovadia and Sons were popular booths to participate in, apparently, everyone’s favorite game*.

- A post-"muffin game" photo.

I was condescended to an uncountable number of times. People actually act like this? I had never met a group of people so snotty. A marketing director called me “Boss” four times in four sentences, which I would’ve considered a commendable feat if I hadn’t been so offended at the time. He represented a company that took old rugs and blankets and repurposed them into expensive bags. Which is a lot of green to be green. Is that even green? My Mom has some old rugs and blankets lying around. I’ll have to see if this company wants to buy a few and my Mom will have some extra cash to go with my Dad out to Applebee’s. It’ll be a date. If you’re ever there you should try the Cowboy Burger. It looks like the current middle-class America – sad, sloppy, pale, and with little hope of becoming something great and respected – but it tastes like contentedness, which I suppose is like middle-class America too. (capsule) was the sort of place that would make you miss something like a Cowboy Burger.

(capsule) was a big circle jerk. But when looking at most industries that are like #menswear, I’m sure you’ll see exactly the same thing. Is jerking a necessary component of success? Maybe.

Shout out to the few people who did treat me with a bit of kindness. I don’t endorse products but I wish you the best for you and your brand.

As I rode the bus home, I realized that spending a day at (capsule) turned me into a Veblen sympathizer. Money begot money. Productive begot useless consumption. But after 5 months I got over it and accepted reality. Frankly, I didn’t care enough to make a fuss. Now that I had my answer to the question, “Is #menswear a big circle jerk?” I discovered I had a new one: do I want to get some lube or not?

*The muffin brand name “Otis Spunkmeyer” actually makes sense now.

Cazal

John: Rebellion and being a “quirky jerk” in general have an odd place in society and has not been entirely defined. This “quirky jerk” is progressive to some, so containing value, and disruptive to others, detracting value or whatever crap. Does society have an end other than constant progression? If you answered “yes”, then these “quirky jerks” can really drive you nuts. But whatever, these “quirky jerks” like splurging on stupid stuff like incense sticks or socks or shoes(?). It’s the “quirky jerk” who would splurge on something like Cazal glasses. Cazal glasses could be progressive to some. But if you’re hoping we’re moving to a place of post-materialism then perhaps not. Societal value is hard to define and grasp, as is a coherent paragraph about Cazal’s value. Even years after their introduction, I haven’t got a clue what exactly Cazal gives society - differentiation from all those people wearing fake tortoise shell Ray-Ban’s? Follow me, and we’ll wade through the fog of my narration and occasional interjections from Sam.

Cazal glasses are really cheesy. Big surprise right?

Sam: this is the dubest article ever why cant we right about warby parker they actually have cool glasses for sale and they just dropped a lookbok

John: If you want to follow the crowd then you’re more than welcome. This article is about being a “quirky jerk”, remember?

Sam: oh john your soo cool and rebellios

John: I had no idea you were capable of sarcasm.

Sam: ok heres the rundown cazal started in the 60s by this dude named cari zalloni

John: Right, and from there he designed some iconic (quick, call the cops! I’ve sold out) frames. The 951 and 955 were pretty big during the 80s.

951

955

The 8003 and 8004 are some Rick Ross style pieces. Late 90s rap throwbacks, y’know? The 607 and 616 are on some Asian furniture designer levels.

803

607

616

 Cazal was very popular with rappers, B Boys, and new money attorney’s in the late 80s and the very beginning of the 90s. Check out this song about stealing Cazals. Or don't, it's not particularly good.

Sam: WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT HESE THEY ARE STUPIDE AND UGLY I cant believe I did research for this post

John: The Vintage Cazal glasses are on something else. I’m not sure if Cari Zalloni is a good designer or not. I mean, given the price tag I’m sure that these are great quality, but the design choices are meant to make people aware that you are wearing glasses. If you want something more reserved just hit up Cazal regular collection. There are some atrocious Dollar Store frames but some gems in the rough. “Quirky jerk” sums these frames up for me. They’re large, clunky, claim great design, and great for those who might not be looking for long-term commitment.

Sam: these are so ujgly

You realize how expensive these are for a bunch of ugly holly guacamole

John: Yes, but I think that might be the point.

Ludditown

The shiner walked specifically through the tunnel as his shoes ick-ick-ick’d along the floor. The squeak was a product of dry sneakers, which is funny for a man who took care of others shoes.

The shiner was ick-ing along to a neighbor hood where his skills were needed. A place where men knew some old secrets which once benefitted society but harbored ideologies of centuries past. Ludditown it was called. The man arrived at his spot: the subway stop for the neighbor hood. Just as he arrived he heard the coming of a train.

CHUCKACHUKACUKACOCKCOKCUCKCHUKC

The train rambled making noise erratically. The train pulled into sight as bodies of young men flew up and down – like Animaniacs – as they pumped a jigger. Coming into the stop, both stopped and began to yank on the brake that would slow down the single car that they pulled behind them. The car had no roof and looked vaguely like that boat in that movie. Y’know the one with the kid and the crazy guy and the chocolate factory and the scary orange guys? Yea, that one.

SCCCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The train scraped to a stop.

Several scrambled out and they stumbled over those who remained. By this time the shiner had already set up shop. A man looked at the shiner and walked over. He looked a proper Luddite, one who could very well live up to the neighborhood’s name. He had grease in his hair; starch in his shirt, far too much frayed fabric in his wool trousers, and suspenders that hiked his pants past his navel.

The man plopped himself down with a resounding:

FLARP

The kind of unintentional noise that even Grandma would smile at.

The man flopped his shoe’d feet into the face of the shiner. The shiner halked up a large lugie he had been storing since breakfast and, with little deliberation, spat it upon the man’s shoes. PLOP! Using a dirty rag the shiner rubbed the shoes clean. The spit corrected the corrected leather.

The man paid, got up and left. The shiner sat there waiting for another customer who needed his corrected leather corrected.

Some people aren’t just borne back ceaselessly into the past. Some people bornded… borned?... boobed?... Well, that one isn’t right… beared?

Well anyway, some people row like the dickens (haha, get it?) to that green light. It’s at the end of the tunnel. Or at least that’s what I heard from a man wearing corrected leather. Pfff. What a cheeseball. Everyone knows that you have to go all the way or not even bother at all. Dabblers have no place in society. Except the part when they’re our society.