BR Fall 2010

I am not a huge fan of Banana Republic. There was a time when most of my wardrobe was purchased from there but that was back before I had nailed down the concept of fit, fabric and design. I find that almost all of BR's pieces are lacking at least one of the three. Those that do manage to impress me and embrace these elements are marketed as their rugged Heritage line or their refined Monogram line and marked up beyond affordability for what they're worth.

I can honestly say that I haven't set foot in a Banana Republic in at least 6 months. It became too frustrating. I would find an item of interest, say based on design, only to discover that it was cut too boxy or "modern" as I believe they market it. Or I would find something cut slim and realize that the fabric choice made no sense. Or find an interesting fabric and not care for the design. Around and around I went with nothing to show for it but wasted money and increased donations to Goodwill. Even their basic sizing doesn't remain consistent. I bounced from a medium, to a small... a 32 to a 30 to a 31 inch waist. The clothes are not worth this must frustration - especially with the stellar design constantly pouring out of J. Crew. In fact, even if I had a choice between BR and Gap, Gap would get my dollar any day.

That being said I did actually find a few highlights after reviewing GQ's rundown of the Fall 2010 show. All images courtesy of GQ. View the full show here at GQ.com

I'm digging this black, what seems to be velvet jacket, especially paired with the slimmer khakis. Velvet jackets remind me of a contemporary take on one of my absolute favorite pieces of menswear - the smoking jacket. While this lacks all of the sophistication and detailing of the Victorian style, it is a socially acceptable substitute for the modern day. The texture gives off an air of elegance when worn in the right context, i.e. not "the club", so care should be given to styling such a piece so as to not look contrived. I could see myself in this trim jacket, gray flannel trousers and perhaps a rich colored bow tie at a holiday dinner party: 

The Norwegian sweater has been popping up all over the fall runways. Having a giraffe-ish neck, I tend to gravitate towards high-collared sweaters such as this. I like the muted pattern and oatmeal color - perfect pairing for jeans and a colorful button front shirt. I'm thankful that they chose buttons over a zipper to give it that added rustic, seaside feel. Just for the record, I'm not hip to the monotone vibe of this outfit and the collection in general. He looks like a damp day personified.  Too many earth tones and you just look drab:

I've been eying double breasted trenches for the past year but I can't find one that fits snuggly. I like the stark design and fit of this coat, although I don't know how it might translate over to a non-model-like, slim frame. Interesting color choice, which I find appealing as khaki seems to wash me out, black is harsh and navy is too monotone against my heavily blue wardrobe:

I have little doubt that these pieces were tailored to perfection before hitting the runway.  We'll see if they can actually deliver on the final in-store products.  I won't hold my breath. 

Bourbon & Cigars

It's not even noon and I have bourbon and cigars on the brain. No I am not a derelict, rather preoccupied by a pattern found at the clothing purveyor Southern Proper. A post by one of my favorite style sites, Dreams of Perfection, alerted me to the company and I promptly disavowed myself of work obligations and perused the site thoroughly. All the buzz over the company is for an upcoming tie pattern featuring bean boots.  As exciting as that is, I think I much prefer this design from their arsenal:

Image: Souther Proper

Ever since Easter I have been wondering what the repercussions would be of adding bow ties more regularly into my daily wares. Snide remarks and mucho mocking aside, I would love to have the confidence to wear one casually about my daily activities. My fear is that it is a passing trend and I will look back and regret standing out in such an obvious way.

Image: Southern Proper

Regardless I love the idea of a bourbon and cigar repp tie. Talk about rugged meeting refined. Southern Proper offers it in a long form tie and bow tie variety. Personally, I'm not a huge fan of icon-ladden accessories as they can be campy and have a little too much ivy influence for my tastes. This, however, is a pattern I am willing to make an exception for.

On the other hand, this is completely unacceptable:

Image: Southern Proper
Appropriate for amateur magicians and catering co. bartenders.

When it comes to a tuxedo, think "What Would James Bond Do?" (minus Roger Moore) and leave the southern garb in the closet.

For more on Southern Proper visit their website at: southerproper.com

Saddle Up Partner

In general I don't like shopping online. I hate paying for shipping, I can't try sizes and most of all I am impatient. That week between hitting the "place order" button and final delivery is torturous. All I can think about is "what if it doesn't fit, then I have 2 more weeks before I can experience the fleeting satisfaction of my purchase". Lately I have had to do more and more online ordering though: J. Crew's Urban Slim Fit pant is exclusively available online, Land's End and L.L. Bean only exist in the virtual world and I am otherwise finding my size forever "out of stock" even in the vast retail wilderness that is New York. But there is a bright spot to this process - when you forget that you ordered something and it arrives on an ugly, boring day.

Let's all give a warm welcome to The Kennett:

Image: Florsheim
"Thank you, Thank you.  Glad to be here!
Please you're too kind" 

After loading up on two versions of Sperry TopSiders last spring, this year I was looking for an equally distinct summer shoe to don as the weather starts to warm. In the vastness of my daily sartorial readings I was noticing a resurgence in the saddle shoe this season. Even as recent as last year I would have never considered this style, thinking it much too immature and costume-y. The last time I was in a pair of saddle shoes, if ever, I was most likely dressed like a show pony in a gray Eton suit laying on a photographer's pillow. If my personality of today resided in that little boy of yesteryear he would have stood up and said "Ma, you're kidding me right?! Do you want me to get my ass kicked? I look like a god damn fool!"

On second look though, the redesign of many brand's saddle shoes have slimmed down the silhouette to a more streamlined and less chunky shape. Now when I look at how the shoe is being styled with slim pants and sockless ankles, I can't get them out of my head. The saddle shoe is, afterall, a timeless prep staple and one that I am now glad to finally own under my discretion.

Not only is this shoe style a first for me, but so too is the brand. I have always by-passed Florsheim on my walk up Madison Avenue for the likes of Johnston & Murphy or Cole Haan. But recently I have been disappointed by J&M's offerings and Cole Haan is forever out of my price range. Besides their high-end signature line I find the rest of J&M's designs to be uninspired, trite and poorly constructed. Meanwhile, Cole Haan consistently churns out enviable shoes, but at a price tag that would launch a blitzkrieg on my bank account... and possibly induce mild vomiting when I got the bill.

I was feigning for the The Air Colton Saddle or The Pushover from the Cole Rood and Haan collection, until I looked at the price - $198 and $325 respectively:

Air Colton Saddle: $198 at Cole Haan

The Pushever: $325 at Cole Rood & Haan

In an attempt to by-pass the online ordering process I stopped into my local Florsheim store to check availability - no dice. While waiting to try on a pair of white bucks and secure my size I browsed and took note of many other affordable dress shoe options. It turns out I have been ignoring a gold mine of classic shoes at prices well under those of J&M. For instance my Kennett Saddles chinged in at only 90 bones! 

For staples shoes, such as a wingtip or cap-toe you can't go wrong with these well-priced options from Florsheim:

The Carleton: $160 at Florsheim

The Tolland: $90 at Florsheim

The underlying beauty of my new Kennett saddles is the nostalgic smell that has enveloped my room. I can't help but feel 10 years old as the new suede and red brick sole fuse together in a perfume that dances across my mind and makes me think that tomorrow I will relive the first day of Third grade.

New shoes - A thing of beauty.
And soon to take over my tiny room. 

So please - Rain, Rain, Go Away...

A Dying Breed: Part 2

How could I have forgotten the most rugged and symbolic prop of the film!?

Image: zippo.com

As most men of his generation and lifestyle, Kowalski is a smoker. In his western flicks, Eastwood would have have probably just lit a match from his three day stubble, but as an aged war vet he pockets a trusty zippo lighter. More than just a wick and flint, this lighter sparked the memory of his military service and provided him with a reflective surface to see into the past... to lost friends, fallen enemies and his own questionable/heroic actions. "Had it since '51..." he states, and, along with guilt and good intent, it was with him until the end.

In our time of disposable wants and fleeting trends, I wonder if I'll ever possess anything with that intrinsic value? Something that is not merely cherished as an item but serves as a constant reminder of specific events of my life. Hmm.

Being an avid runner and vigilant hater of cigarettes, a lighter will surely not be this item.  I have always admired the design of Zippo lighters though, and their Hollywood charm. If one does feel the need to light up I would surely dim my scowl slightly if I see a proper lighter in lieu of the plebeian Bic.  For a military man such as Walt, a lighter makes perfect sense as a treasured keepsake. Back in the day it might have been been as much a combat tool as cancer ignitor.

Turns out Zippo has churned out 1000's of designs for the U.S. Military since Double-ya Double-ya Two. I'd love to get my hands on one of these - a vintage Black Crackle Zippo from 1942:

Image: zippo.com

It's like something right out of Stalag 17 or The Guns of Navarone. According to Zippo's archives - "The legendary World War II Black Crackle™ lighter was manufactured from a secondary grade of steel. The standard metal for Zippo lighters was brass, but it was in short supply due to the war effort. The steel case was painted with a thick black paint to prevent the steel from rusting. As the lighter was baked for curing, the paint yielded a textured black crackle finish. During this time Zippo lighters were not available to the consumer market because all lighters were shipped to the military."

Damn it Grandpa! I know you had all of these cool vintage trinkets!!!! Why did you have to loose them? What... were you in a war or something?  Was it really that bad?  Would it have killed you to take a little more care of your personal affects... wait, you know what, it might have. Nevermind. I forgive you.

A few more military designs courtesy of vintagelighters.com:

1972 U.S. Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 133

1961 USS Ruchamkin

1966 U.S. Naval Station ADAK

And one from ebay: 

1969 USS Truxton Guided Missile Cruiser, U.S. Navy

Company logo evolution. Admirable classic graphic design:

Image: zippo.com

And my own - given to me by my parents ages ago when I had no business having a lighter. Luckily they trusted me and my advanced appreciation for functional design :

Even though I am not a smoker, every man should have a zippo. Even if it's just decorative or to light up the occasional cigar.

Check out zippo.com for additional history and a catalog of other designs.

A Dying Breed

Eastwood at his best.

I've never claimed to be on the cutting edge as most blogs are, and in fact I am about two years behind on screening Gran Torino. If you've never seen it - watch it. If you have - watch again.

Right away I found myself glued to the man more than the story. Eastwood's portrayal of a curmudgeonly Korean war vet who has little tolerance for his Michigan neighborhood's expanding cultural make-up is hysterical, exhilarating and captivating. He is an old-school man's man if ever there was one. A tortured past fueling his present day attitude. He grunts and sneers with palpable disdain for what he sees around him - the disintegration of culture, hard work and respect, managing to maintain likability through snarky comments and expressive reactions. I tend to think I have more in common with his geriatric character than with most of my 20-something peers.

At nearly 80, Eastwood is more of a badass than ever, each weathered crevice on his face lending itself to the severity of his character's demeanor. His trademark salty whisper, like the rumble of the motor on his aged Ford pick-up, continually spews vitriolic slurs at those around him whether in malign or jest. He reminds me of my grandfather in his view of the world and a pining for the way things used to be... reducing people down to ethnicity and class, the idea of political correctness a foreign concept. Being a former assembly line worker and Mr. Fix-It, he has a vintage definition of what it means to be a man. A coded language, primitive interactions and a sense of self sacrifice. An aloof stare hides a screaming silence within. He strips away emotion, most likely a casualty of war, and is left a stoic, callous and intimidating presence. A thick fog of a man... one that not even his own family can see through.

"I'll have a shot of Jack and a Pabst"
Me too, Clint, me too.

I actually expected the movie to be more violent and less endearing. His rifle toting, PBR sipping, grizzly, blue collar exterior subtly began to shift as he imparted course wisdom on his young mentee - an amusing journey towards his ultimate sacrificial demise. He never really shows outward emotion, rather expresses his feelings through actions and expressions: a grimace or snort, a wince in pain, the sharing of tools, a visit to the hardware store and barber shop, or merely giving his word in recommendation. This was common practice before open displays of male sensitivity were accepted.

In the opening scene of the film, Walt Kowalski stands at attention beside his wife's casket and scowls at his bratty, disrespectful grandchildren as they joke, text and befoul the ceremony with un-evolved antics; their fathers endorsing the behaviour with silence. It's moments like this that showcase the ever-widening generational gap in grace. Men of prior generations seemed to have a better sense of propriety, striking a balance and awareness between rugged and refined. We, as the new school, on the other hand tend to feel entitled and are quick to adopt a closed door policy on tradition, opting for comfort and convenience. It may not be the right way, but it's the right way for ME. Grrrr.

Eastwood's Kowalski personifies the root of this blog proving that being a man is an attitude, on either side of the R/R spectrum. While I appreciate fashion and style, men of that generation didn't just dress a part, they lived it. As I sit here in my chambray shirt, Levi's and Red Wings, it will never make me as rugged as Kowalski in his old man staples. His experiences - war, depression, social change - shaped his personality. His hands chapped and boots worn because of what he endured. His clothes simply a utility. Does that make me a fraud? Probably.

We take our modern day style cues from men that dressed for a purpose. The Kowalski's of the world, hard at work at the Ford plant or the Drapers high atop their cushy office thrones. It wasn't a trend or an homage - it was a uniform to produce, and they wore it well. A Walt Kowalski never relied on others to do something that he could have easily done or learned himself. Sadly, these men are a dying breed and I fear that we, their spoiled replacements will never be able to fill their shoes. They did and we watch. They worked and we type. They lived and we...

"I said, get off my lawn."

The concern I have with my generation of men is that as far as we've come emotionally, we seem to be missing the rugged attitude of the past. Instead, we rely on technology and third-party information above challenging ourselves to experience and explore. I find that the better part of my week is spent managing a virtual life instead of living a real one. I can easily read and write about being a man instead of going out and just being one. It's been a goal of mine to DO more... go camping, drink whiskey, take a woodworking class. But also to be responsible, respectful and courteous. To start to carve out my own legacy of how I want to be remembered. Not just as a man who appreciates style and the arts but one that can fix a sink and start a fire. To make this blog a ethos, not a vessel of empty words. To make Walt proud.

I've always lived vicariously through movies. In the end I couldn't help but feel more excited than ever to be a man. Watching Clint just has a way of stimulating the rugged. I found his presence in Gran Torino more intimidating and hardened than any western figure he ever portrayed. There is something so much more inspiring and entertaining about watching a septuagenarian intimidate rowdy young punks than the overcooked battles between middle aged men. If there is one thing this movie helped me to realize is that aging might not be as terrifying as it seems. Because let's face it, Eastwood makes turning 80 look down right cool.

Weekend Reading

Yes, it's orange.
Smug Esquire.

Friday I had one of those days where I just wanted to power off. File->shutdown my mind and disconnect from everything that vies for my attention. No more blackberry, e-mail, phone calls, blog rolls, etc. I wanted a CIA hit put out on my devices. Blackbag them all... dunk them in water and hook their little electronic testicles up to jumper cables. Take. Them. Out. It all just gets to be too much sometimes and I yearn for a technological quarantine. That's when I like to simplify with ink on paper.

Lucky I awoke yesterday morning (alright, technically afternoon) to a gray and overcast Saturday. Perfect for guilt free seclusion indoors and a chance to catch up on much overdue reading. Before grabbing a sandwich from the local deli I ran into Barnes and Noble to pick up the last of my weekend reading list. The night prior, while waiting for a friend to finish her shift, I wandered into a Hudson news in Grand Central Terminal and noticed that the Spring 2010 issue of Esquire's Big Black Book had been released.

Barnes and Noble is an interesting and frustrating place - causing me to wonder what people have against working in the sanctity of their own home. The magazine stand/cafe was booming with tea swilling, laptop wielding, trendy academics, making it near impossible to get anywhere close to the merchandise. It's like any Starbucks window you've ever seen x 1,000. After bending, weaving, squirming, limboing, shimmying and excusing my way around fellow patrons (and I use that term loosely as none of them seemed to have actually bought anything) I finally secured a copy of the BBB and was on my way, feeling like I had just finished a floor routine at a gymnastics meet.

Now I am a devout reader of GQ and even looking at the cover of an Esquire makes me feel like a philandering libertine. I have a deep loyalty to the magazine and its staff of excellent writers who consistently keep me in the know. Much like a dog seeing his master after the abandonment of a workday, there is little else that can excite me more than a copy of GQ spilling out of my tiny metallic mailbox each month. It's cherished pages are like babies giggling, flowers blooming or the sun shining to most normal people. Pathetic - yes. But it's the truth.

The Big Black Book is the exception. It's the roving eye to my otherwise faithful relationship. A tawdry affair, providing me with something that my glossy spouse can't give me. The Big Black Book has carved out a niche in how to showcase a gentlemanly lifestyle. The writing highlights diverse topics not found in normal monthly magazines. There is a presence to this book as a whole that ups the ante on sartorial knowledge. Even the advertising is less intrusive and offers a reason to stare. Currently working in the industry, I find this publication to have brilliant photography, fantastic layouts and unique editorial content that all culminates in near perfect printing.

This issue includes:

• Spotlights on luggage and advanced chronographs designed for varying purposes
• A Trad Trad Trad World - Traditional Prep Staples
• Away We Go - Spring Style for the Man of Adventure
• How to Dress for Golf - More Arnold Palmer, less Rodney Dangerfield
• The New Recruits - Historic lables get a boost from a new lot of designers
• Summer Party Style and Knowledge for Buying a Summer Suit
• And, as always a highly educational Maintenance section printed on old school tinted uncoated paper.  Offers insight on everything from the anatomy of a shoe to the rules of showing chest hair or how to make your own collar stays in a pinch.

My cheating ways are an act I'm not proud of but one that will continue to entice me and quench my lust for obscure stylistic information. It fulfills the piece of me that GQ can't. I can only hope that my magazine of record can act the political wife and turn a blind eye.

Pick up a copy at most major newsstands for $9.95. Well worth the price for the sartorially minded.

Let's All Raise a Fork...

A Groom's cake.
Served in a tumbler?

... and toast the Bride and Groom.

I first tasted Laphroaig in a stark, dark bar on 11th Street in the East Village. My favorite type of watering hole. The burnt bartender frequently left his post, entrusting us with its care while he stepped outside to smoke. The 70's had been his prime and from the looks of it he took full advantage of every opportunity, good or bad, that passed his way... my guess is mostly bad. A guitar whispered from the back corner while a man and his dog enjoyed take-out by the window. That dog was a rock star in the confines of the small crowd, enjoying belly rubs and the fawning of beautiful women. I wished I was that dog.

Hailing from the Islay region of Scotland since 1815, Laphroaig's peaty presence and medicinal palette put it at the opposite spectrum of what I usually enjoy. As the thin liquid lapped against my tongue I detected a distinct taste of the sea with notes of seaweed and brine. A little oily but it finished dry. Some say they find an oaky background... lucky them.

No matter the brand - killer cake idea. After enduring "bright hydrangea" dresses and cutesy floral arrangements, there is nothing wrong with the groom enjoying a swig of ruggedness at an otherwise frilly event.  Doilies are not welcome around this masterpiece.

High-five to those responsible for such a gem. Perhaps those over at Butch Bakery can capitalize on this idea.