Trauma: Style on the Streets #1

Image: shingirmingir

New York affords me the opportunities to experience unique "style" each time I set foot outside. There are the fashionistas of Soho, the uptown prepsters, the Williamsburg hipsters and the suits of Wall Street. It's a blogger's paradise - constantly ripe with attire to address... for the good and the bad. Sites like The Sartorialist, Swagger360 and yours truly draw inspiration (and in my case - some disdain) from what is seen on the street. 

My first real experience of city life was in Brooklyn. Bouncing around the tri-state area looking for a place to call home, I didn't settle into Manhattan until 8 months after my initial flee from Maryland. It was miserable. I hated NY (well, NJ and Long Island). I was going to give it the year then tuck my tail between my legs and exit defeated. The only repose from my suffering came from stints in Park Slope, Brooklyn house-sitting for my then boss. I felt at home there. The people were quirky, artsy, fashionable... and surprisingly nice. My only reference to Brooklyn prior to visiting were of goombas in wife-beaters, gold chains and leisure suits singing the Bee Gees. Needless to say, Brooklyn has come a long way and continues to burgeon as THE place for all things up-and-coming in NY. From music to facial hair to coffee - BK seems to be the catapult of trends. 

Oddly enough I am not one for crowds. Anxiety creeps in as the sidewalks start to strangle me with bodies. This past weekend unlocked the city with warmth. People fluttered out into the streets like moths from your grandmother's basement... and with that came a slew of style statements. Luckily I found myself in Brooklyn last Saturday morning and deferred the return river crossing to lap up the sun in absence of the shady edifices of The City.

Manhattan is known for its fashion scene but often the outer boroughs offer just as much amusement, especially when the weather is in the middle of transition. As I entered Brooklyn on Friday night I was immediately slapped with enviable wardrobes. I passed many of the current Brooklyn stereotype - the urban woodsman - beard bearing and flannel draped. But standing toe-to-toe were the natty gents of the borough, sporting bow ties, tailored blazers, sockless ankles with wingtips, and well-groomed hair in pomade. If rugged/refined were a place, Brooklyn would be it.

Perhaps the highlight of my weekend though was the exact opposite of the trendy spot that I just described... a view of a street corner as I was enjoying a refreshing beer and the company of an engaging woman on a bar patio. The scene was odd to start and only continued to escalate in weirdness, both in cast and wardrobe. It was like watching an SNL skit without dialogue. 

My lady-friend first drew attention to a mustachioed man behind me and we proceeded to make the requisite pedophile jokes as he looked every bit the part of a creepy predator. As my head pivoted back around I took note of a burly fellow on the corner, clad in denim on denim, just putting out the vibe next to a mailbox. The sun beat down on this Italian looking Marlboro Man and beads of sweat and hair gel began rolling along his forehead - the overabundance of the hefty fabric suffocating his pores. After a few minutes, he sauntered over to a Seabring Convertible on the corner (top down) and leaned in to discuss something with the Village Person that was resting in the passenger seat. His companion was decked out in work boots, short denim shorts, a bulky contractor Tee and his old baseball shades circa 1983. I was hooked at this point and all my attention went to figuring out what was going on with these two. 

Moments later, back at the street corner a horse-shoe headed man arrived bedazzled in a 3 tone Puma tracksuit, greeting the Marlboro Man heartily. Now his apparel was obviously style (not performance) driven as this gentleman would have surely suffered a stroke had he tried to run to the next block. This brings the actor count up to 3... but it didn't end there. Huffing across the street jogged the 4th clown and he was more spectacular than I could have ever imagined. Glistening like a fairy princess in the late day sun, his curly-haired skullet had become matted with sweat. The business had closed long ago up front, but the party never stopped in the back. He stood a stout 5'5" and channeled the look of an aging 80s porn star confidently wearing a XXXL green T and basketball shorts so long they could have been confused for pants. His pannus fell from his abdomen to mid thigh, swaying with pendulum precision. There was no doubt it produced an ooze within its folds solidifying throughout the day in his oven of skin. The meeting convened at the original mailbox location with no movement towards a final location, while actor #2 snoozed contently in the Seabring. We glanced back and forth wondering what could possibly be going down... a meeting of these costumed anti-heros to discuss their pending trip to Saville Row, perhaps? 

I don't mean to sound pompous, judgmental, or pretentious. I am an advocate for personal style and understand economic disparity. In fact, lately I have been noticing and extracting elements of individuality on even the most pedestrian outfit. I'm constantly amazed at the level of detail that one can find in another's presentation - the way jean cuffs are folded, an odd pairing of colors, or a quirky pair of frames. For example, I consistently see the same gentleman on the subway during my morning commute - he, a security guard, always has his boots polished with military precision. His uniform may be standard issue brown polyester but he takes pride in the way he wears it. The intricacies are why I love clothes - the perfect way to make a daily statement about yourself.

HOWEVER, there is unique and there is presentable. These fellows that I described were simply not presentable and lost in another time and place - their confidence and swagger completely unfounded. They were bringing Brooklyn down and I resented them for it. We all have off days, but my gut was telling me, this had been a bad decade for them. To further the hilarity, my lady-friend and I were discussing earlier that denim on denim is actually a coming trend in menswear. I doubt today's fashion designers had this particular look in mind.

But with every ying there is a yang. To juxtapose these hobbits of fashion, a pocket sized young-lady of no more than 5 put them to shame, passing by in quite the stylish get-up. She was playing the weather to its extremes, outfitted in shorts and an over-sized t-shirt that presented as a dress. By her own hand or that of a parent she accessorized with a floppy eared wool knit hat that housed strings that hung to her waist. She walked casually with a look of effortlessness that only a child can have. Even the children of Brooklyn are trendy! 

The check arrived and we had to clear out, the pending business of the Street Corner Triumverate still in session and their tuckered friend completely passed out in the now enclosed Seabring. Even as we passed by them exiting the bar, their discussion remained softly spoken, almost secretive - all huddled close to each other protecting the genius they were no doubt creating. 

Unfortunately the visual abuse didn't end there as my Manhattan bound train brought with it more fodder for ridicule: none other than a full denim suit with crocodile shoes... if only I was able to snag a pic. Apparently denim, like marijuana and and hand guns needs government regulation.

New York... you constantly surprise me - the suave and shabby offering equal levels of entertainment and enjoyment in their own right. There is no doubt in my mind that I garner the same critique with outfits that I chose to don. "Hey, check out the guy in the purple loafers" or "What a schmo, who does he think he is wearing a tie on a weekend?". To each his own, I suppose - no man can dress perfectly in the eyes of everyone. That's what makes it creative... an art form of sorts. It's why fashion is lumped in to the same categories as music, film, design and architecture. It's a matter of personal taste.

All of this begs the question: Does everyone believe themselves to be stylish in some regard? Do we all feel that the clothes we choose to wear each day do us justice both in appearance and personality?

I see many other irritable style missteps in men's attire as I walk about the city. Little things that I feel should be common knowledge to steer clear of but are instead embraced as a norm. I hope to present a few more to you in coming posts.