MEN AND STYLE

Essays, Interviews and Considerations

David Coggins
 ‘lange
N) nov 2016 |
BY Se eee

MEN AND STYLE

David Goggins 4, 6
©

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A 3

with a foreword by Glenn O’Brien

i is, v3 reac
ael Ca e 1)
 PART I
Becoming Men of Style: A Rake’s Progress

004 Foreword: The Exquisite Propriety of Men |

008 Introduction: Higher Learning /
013 Beginnings / 017 The Power of Clothes/ |
019 Youthful Exuberance: Onward and
Upward / 022 How Did You Dress as a Boy? /.
033 Certain Advantages / 035 Rituals
of Court / 039 How Did Your Father Dress? /
047 Fathers & Grandfathers /
056 Considerations: Gregory Peck /
061 The Dress Code: Rules of the Game /
063 Ties and the Meaning of Things / 065 Did
Your Father Have Rules? / 068 Do You Have
_ Rules? / 071 Did You Wear a Uniform? /
076 The Case for Imperfection / 078 There
Goes the Neighborhood: The Unending
—Pursuit of Authenticity / 080 In College /
085 Considerations: Gay Talese / 090 Men
of Style / 095 Some Inheritance

3
 Foreword

The Exquisite Propriety of Men

This is not a book about fashion. It is a book about style, that holis-

tic aestheticism that gives us reason for living. Fashion is what the

social climbers are wearing; fashion is for followers. The dandy is

an individualist, a man of style. He does things his own way, right

or wrong—and if wrong, instructively so. If he has anything to do

with fashion, he’s likely not to notice because it’s following directly

behind him.
My friend David Coggins, the author of this delightful com-

pendium of sartorial lore and vestmental testimony, is a dandy in the

ancient and classical sense. He is not a fop or a peacock, a frak or

a flamer. He doesn’t make a spectacle of himself. People don’t turn

around to look at him as he passes them on the street. He is not an

idler, a flaneur, or boulevardier—although he could be taken as such.

He’s quite subtle, when he wants to be. He could even pass for a

conservative until you look closely because, as we all Know, the devil

is in the details, and thus El Diablo is the patron saint of sartorial

distinction. Hence the gleam in the eye.

Coggins is relatively discreet for a man of style, lurking in

a back booth of the club, dressed very properly, or sitting at home

rereading an obscure first edition, wearing the tie of a club he was

blackballed from and sipping some obscure distillate. He is a still-

curious connoisseur and a historian of oral lore yet to be written.

He is, however, a self-deprecating fellow, sometimes to the point of

annoyance, and his idea of making a statement is understatement,

at which he excels.
 Coggins is also a dandy in the philosophical sense, the
Baudelairean sense. A true dandy is not that horrible thing called a

fashionista. He doesn’t dress wondering what might lure the street-

style strobe and the photo-remora of the red carpet, but more likely,

he dresses according to what will go with a marvelous new pair of

cashmere socks. The true dandy dresses to honor himself (only

coincidentally to shame the flagrant) and to demonstrate the supe-

riority of the timeless to the latest.

It is likely that the individual dandy’s style (and there are

many exemplars here) has changed little since puberty. It’s quite

possible that he inherited it from Dad, as one would a ginger beard

or a Roman nose. Fashion is industry; style is culture. That’s why this

book is important. It’s not about trends or marketing. It’s about ideas

and themes, arts and rituals, the things that constitute culture.

The dandy takes great pains dressing to express himself;

this fastidiousness may occasionally be noticed by the hoi polloi,

but the dandy’s manner of dress is for himself, not for an audience,

except those initiates he can count as peers. It is not his intention to

draw stares on the street. His intention is to simply follow his knowl-

edge and instinct by any means necessary to create a suitable hab-

itat for his sensibility. The true dandy approaches life as art, doing

everything as best he can.

The style of that most famous of dandies, George “Beau”

Brummell—the first famous commoner, thus the first celebrity—was

not flamboyant as is widely assumed today. He invented the modern

suit, and changed the masculine palette from the wild gilt-trimmed

peacock spectrum favored by an idle and grandiose aristocracy to

the black, charcoal, navy, buff, and dove-gray of the man of affairs.

He trimmed the entourage lounge wardrobe to a silhouette favoring

the lean and athletic body of a chevalier, a man of action. Lord Byron
said of Brummell that there was nothing remarkable in his style of

dress except “a certain exquisite propriety.” He was simply creating a

style that favored the man of affairs and achievement, not the hered-

itary landlord; a style that recognized that art, décor, and wit were

the coming currency. Today’s dandy is also a reformer, the enemy of

sweatpants and industrially distressed faux work-wear.

Brummell’s revolution coolly expressed disdain, as has Cog-

gins and the latter-day dandies he has assembled as expert wit-

nesses in this volume. These are “creatives.” They are not corporate

functionaries or the couture clad conspicuous consumers of the 1%.

These men are more likely to drive a 9-horsepower Citroén 2CV than

a Lamborghini Huracan, more likely to be found in a dive bar than

a velvet-roped “table service” joint with knucklehead bottle prices.

They are the 1% only in their intelligence.

Coggins and his witnesses are for the prosecution of the

vulgarity that surrounds us, that upstages us in mass communica-

tion, and dwarfs us in resources. And so we are still following the

directions of Charles Baudelaire from The Painter of Modern Life:

Whichever label these men claim for themselves, one and all
stem from the same original, all share the same characteris-

tic of opposition and revolt; all are representatives of what is

best in human pride, of that need, which is all too rare in the

modern generation, to combat and destroy triviality.

Oh, you'll find what looks like trivia here, but its trivia that

tells a story and encapsulates an attitude.

This is one of those books that’s genuinely hard to put down

because it’s so easy and entertaining ... Oh I’ll just read one more

chapter . .. but it’s also a book you can take on a trip or even keep
in the loo because it’s neatly modular. You won't lose your place or

the plotline. It’s all about you, about us. It’s personal, but also clubby.

At times reading this, | almost felt | was reading the yearbook of an

imaginary university, with cliques ranging from Cynic to Sophist to

Epicurean, and absolutely no requirements other than self-interest

and revolt against the status faux. Of course | also know many of the

contributors, and, oddly, | found myself almost liking some of those

whom | had dismissed for one reason or another. (Almost.)

But the diversity of the expert witnesses here assembled

is an excellent thing. It constitutes a demos, a community that wel-

comes considerable differences while sharing a common goal-—in

this instance, the practice of life as art. And | quite enjoy that it both

heals wounds and wounds heels. It is not a manifesto—those are

quite unsalable today—but it is delightful testimony from the current

crop of true dandies and some of their better imitators.

| think you’ll laugh again and again... at least twice, perhaps

much more. But when you stop, you may think and think again, and

dress the better for it tomorrow morning.

And when you’re dressing, remember Baudelaire: “[T]he

dandy’s beauty consists above all in an air of coldness which comes

from an unshakeable determination not to be moved; you might call

it a latent fire which hints at itself, and which could, but chooses not
to burst into flame”
And, of course, Thomas Jefferson: “Nothing gives one per-

son so much advantage over another as to remain always cool and

unruffled under all circumstances’

What follows is cool.

—Glenn O’Brien
Introduction
As a young man you're taught lessons,
and if you're lucky you’re taught them
by someone wise. But to actually learn
them you have to live through failure
on your own. A life without certain
embarrassments has not been fully
embraced-that’s why they take your
picture at prom. Those photos exist to
remind you that you didn’t know
everything always, especially if you
rented a tuxedo. But it only takes one
time for you to realize that you wear
a sport coat to the 21 Club, bring
cash to Peter Luger, and never order
a pink cocktail. Ideally, you arrive at
this knowledge with your dignity intact.
Even if you don't, you have a good
story, and you pass your wisdom on
to the next man at the bar.
In the most direct sense, this is a book about men’s style—what

men wear and why. But it’s also about emerging from the other side

of youth, and having read the books, listened to your father (and

argued with him), spent the night at the worst motel in New Mexico,

watched your team lose in the bottom of the ninth, bluffed your way

through a poker game, drank too much Laphroaig, slept past your

train stop in Tokyo—how you still managed to keep it together and

become a better man.

Who is the man we celebrate here? He’s an artist, an editor,

a designer, a writer, a musician—a person who puts something out in

the world and makes us have a better sense of it. He’s an individual

who’s himself everywhere he goes, whether navigating the wine list

at Le Grand Véfour in Paris or drinking bad beer in Stanley, Idaho.

He’s not afraid to make the first move or be the last man standing

at closing time. He may have well-known tailors, or he may prefer

jeans. He may know every World Series lineup, or he may disregard

sport. He may stow away first growths, or he may abstain from the

bottle. But he has arrived at a place in the world and has a keen

understanding about how he fits in it.

Ultimately, | like men who teach me things: what fly works

when you're fishing the Madison River, where to find roadside BBQ

in Vermont, what’s a good orange wine from Croatia, a tailor in Flor-

ence, a still life in the National Gallery, a short story by Cheever.

These are good things to know; they’re why you still carry a note-

book. They say if you’re the smartest person in the room, then you’re

10
in the wrong room. Hopefully, this book puts you in good company

in the right room—one that, in spirit, is both library and open bar.

Most of the men interviewed here are friends, a few are

strangers | admire who kindly agreed to contribute, others are men |

find intriguing. It’s highly unscientific—isn’t that the nature of friend-

ship, admiration and intrigue? This is not about being all things to all

people, it’s about learning from singular men who’ve lived well and

have something to tell us about how they earned their worldview.

They're smart enough to absorb the wisdom that’s hidden in the

world, and even smarter to wear that wisdom lightly.

Salut!

D.C.

11
 Beginnings

How do you begin to write about the way we dress? Like many things,
you don’t recognize a pattern when it begins, the contours just become
clear in retrospect. My interest in clothes when I was a boy growing up in
Minneapolis was not historical or wide-ranging, it was intense and specific
and, unfortunately, involved a pair of red suspenders when I was twelve,
which I wore on the rare occasions I deemed worthy.
A childhood with creative parents, a Montessori education, artist and
actor friends coming to our house for elaborate but informal dinners, a lot
of travel, a love of art and literature—these things seemed normal. So did the
antiques, uncomfortable wicker furniture and lack of cable TV, sugar cereal,
and microwave. I remember sitting at large tables in formal French restau-
rants as our parents prayed that my sister and I, dressed in our finest, would
behave. We still travel, still have favorite restaurants, and still dress up.
Your eccentricities start to become clear the farther you get from home.
When IJ arrived at college in a small town in Maine, my father dropped me
off at my dorm. My roommate had arrived early to train as a cross-country
runner, and he had furnished his side of the room simply, with a motiva-
tional running poster, a Boston Red Sox cap, and an industrial-sized bottle
of Listerine. My father looked at this blue mouthwash with wonder. “You're
going to meet a lot of people here who are different from you,” he said with
strained optimism.
College dorm rooms, with their democratic down-the-middle
decor divisions, are perhaps the starkest display of differing sensibilities.
I dutifully pinned up posters of morose British bands and stowed a fly-
fishing rod I mistakenly hoped would get use. I carried a Baudelaire poem
in my pocket, and—wait for it—used a shaving brush that had a been a
graduation gift.
Outside the dorm my habits were remarked upon. In a word, they
were judged formal. Not that I wore a tie to class, but a button-up shirt and
cords apparently signaled a certain amount of propriety. There was a lot of
Polo Country (the discontinued Ralph Lauren line, still beloved and sought
after in Tokyo vintage stores). I refined these habits on visits to New York,
a semester in Paris, and train trips around Europe. I worked the Herald Tr-
bune crossword with a friend who smoked avidly—at the time, the ‘Tuesday

Alain Delon in Purple Noon

13
puzzle was the limit of our collective abilities. I returned to Maine feeling
very continental, and wore soccer jerseys under a sport coat, which is not
a look I recommend.
From my father I had discovered Paul Smith, and on trips to New
York I would visit the store on Fifth Avenue and Sixteenth Street. I was
intimidated and fascinated by this wry take on British decorum. ‘That store
closed not long ago (along with Union Square Cafe, which was nearby),
which seems to represents a shift from a certain elevated ease in dressing
(and dining, for that matter), before the Internet, Instagram, and the rest.
When I graduated from college I moved to Tokyo and was an English
teacher of no particular distinction. I was an active visitor to the Barneys in
Shinjuku, where I studied endless rows of suits and plotted acquisitions, like
my hero A. J. Liebling studying menus in Paris and planning meals when
he would have money to afford them. Dressing interested me then for the
same reasons it does now. How you present yourself to the world, how you
convey what matters to you, what you aspire to (and what you don’t)—
these things are never indifferent. And in the ideal case it’s an expression
of self-knowledge.
After a year inJapan I moved to New York. It was 1998, and I’ve lived
in the city since then. I wrote about art for a number of years. But then |
started to write for magazines and Web sites and newspapers about things
that I liked but seemed less lofty: drinking, fly-fishing, traveling, tailoring.
All these things are enjoyable, and there’s a risk granting them more import
than they deserve, but they give me so much pleasure, and writing about
them heightened my sense of appreciation.
Dressing has the power to reassure and to shock. Certain well-dressed
men communicate traditions that existed long before you were born. Have
lunch at Wiltons on Jermyn Street, a favorite of R.W. Apple’s, and you'll
see a few. There are cutters on Savile Row who learned from the men who
made suits for Winston Churchill. You can also be surprised and forced to
reassess what you thought was allowed. Tokyo is a good place for that, but
Naples is just as good. I remember being in Naples on a sweltering June
day, admiring a man in a mustard-colored suit who was impervious to the
heat. He had his cell phone tucked inside his helmet so he could talk while
winding through traffic on his bike. He wore his formality lightly, on his
own terms. It goes without saying that he was smoking a cigarette.
A wardrobe, like an apartment or a library, takes years to build.
Doing it all at once doesn’t work, because few people have that much self-

|
ee
14
lar owledge. Over time it evolves, just as you do. Men’s clothing isn’t that
complicated. What worked for the last eighty years, with few variations,
still works. A well-tailored coat will serve you well most places you go,
particularly if you’ve been subpoenaed. If you think that’s superficial, then
consider whether you would hire a lawyer who wore a plaid shirt to work.
But just because it should be simple to dress well from an early age doesn’t
mean it is—your adolescence gets in the way, and advice from your father
goes out the window for reasons that make perfect sense to a teenage boy,
if no one else.
This book is about the mistakes that are an integral part of the path to
ultimately getting it right. The lapses in judgment are specific to each of us,
but recognizable to all. We’ve all mistakenly worn red suspenders thinking
we're the best-dressed one in the room.

15
 The Power of Clothes

At some point the power of clothes becomes clear to everybody, usually

because you're overdressed or underdressed, or, perhaps, not at all dressed.
‘To me a formative moment came after a summer trip to Europe when my
parents bought me a pair of white Adidas tennis shoes. But where the laces
should have been there were no laces, there was only Velcro. Two strips of
irreverent, contrarian, paradigm-shifting Velcro.
At that time, summer of 1982, I was nearly seven, and Velcro shoes
had not yet blessed these shores. America may have invented baseball, the
Weber, the Jeep, and the martini, but it did not invent Velcro shoes. They
had more cultural traction than you might expect. It wasn’t the arrival of
the Beatles, but the novelty of these shoes that caused a downright uproar
at my school. Nothing this unexpected had been seen since Liz Lauer found
a condom in the gutter near the playground.
But while the condom’s intended use was not clear to many of us, the
Velcro Adidas were instantly and well understood by all, and very much an
object of desire. People wanted to try affixing the Velcro, then retry it, and
we arranged to do this in covert corners away from a teacher who under-
standably found the sound annoying. These shoes were better than sugar
cereal, better than Centipede, better than snow days.
I cherished every day that Velcro shoes were not available in America,
and the exoticism did not diminish. Id like to think I outgrew this, but
in high school I overpaid for rare import CDs that contained one song
unavailable on the American version. Later I hauled back seemingly exotic
orange Penguin paperback books from London, where they’re readily
available for a pound.
Sometimes people want to have something—must have it!—whether it’s
rare (the frenzied eBay bidder frantically refreshing a bid) or widely available
(the person who camps outside for an iPhone). There are other examples:
the crazed look in the eyes of otherwise sane women in line at sample sales,
Star Wars devotees who would rather sit next to someone in costume as
long as it’s opening day. Some people want to be part of a collective cultural
moment; some will do anything to stand apart. Sometimes these are both
the same person.

A scene from Le Million

17
 An accomplished fly fisherman I know says that he likes to pursue fish
where people are not. In theory, he couldn’t be more right. He was lucky
to fish legendary water on his own in the seventies, as he loves to point out.
But it’s a more crowded world, and it’s hard to find what we want away
from the masses. Not only that, but it’s difficult to keep up the pace if we
measure our taste in relation to how rarefied it is—there’s always a more
obscure band, more avant-garde Japanese denim label, more under-the-
radar bar.
I would prefer that people aren’t able to tell where my clothes are from.
And I don’t usually tell them. But what sets you apart, of course, isn’t any-
thing you can acquire—I think Santa Claus told me that when I asked for
a cement truck. He was trying to give my parents an escape hatch for my
inevitable disappointment. I was shrewd enough not to believe Santa then,
but it’s still worth remembering him now.

18
 Youthful Exuberance: Onward and Upward

The reasons boys like clothes are rarely clear after the fact. When the pas-
sions of the moment recede you wonder why you’re wearing the same
shirt in every sixth-grade photograph. This irrationality is just as true of
music—which is why you spent a week listening to the Steve Miller Band
before storming back to sell the CD at a loss to the same clerk who should
have talked you out of it in the first place. (Record stores once had rows
of abandoned Steve Miller Band Greatest Hits CDs—it may be the most dis-
carded album in history.)

Tom Schiller

19
 Boys plastered their walls with posters of bands, athletes, and TV
shows. I once had a brief, intense interest in MichaelJ. Fox, though some-
how I never realized he was from Canada. I remember that around the
release of Light ofDay (starring opposite, ahem, Joan Jett), he filled out a
magazine questionnaire in his own handwriting (like a Playboy Playmate),
that included the revelation that his favorite food was linguine with clam
sauce. This very specific answer made me, at age eleven, seriously recon-
sider an aversion to bivalves.
I also coveted a two-tone jean jacket that he wore in Back to the Future.
This was before the Internet, of course, when I could have found like-
minded obsessives seeking similar jackets in poor taste. Just as likely, I
would have discovered contrarians whose snark would have shaken sense
into me before I made escalating eBay bids trying to acquire an ill-advised
blue-gray jean jacket. I also wore a vest over a Baracuta jacket, following his
lead, but I’m afraid to have that confirmed by my parents.
The Internet could also have warned me about the folly of sporting
clothes in civilian life, a minor calamity still afflicting boys and, alas, many
men, especially in the Greater Boston area. Returning from a trip to Europe
one summer, I had acquired shorts that were long in the French style. I
took this fortuitous opportunity to hike my favorite striped tube socks to
my knees in direct imitation of the NFL players whose on-field style I so
enjoyed. I did this far from the football field, which is a bit like wearing a
toque around your room because you like French chefs. The Gallic shorts-
American tube socks mash-up was a tragic undermining of the style of two
separate and sovereign nations.
As luck would have it, the shorts were turquoise, the color of my
beloved Miami Dolphins, whose quarterback, Dan Marino, was another
of my unalloyed heroes. I liked things from Miami, which was strange
since I grew up in Minneapolis and had never been to Florida, not even to
the mythic Walt Disney World (which my sister and I heard, from trusted
reports, was far superior to Disneyland). When I finally went to Miami
twenty years later, to write about Art Basel, the axis had tilted, and I was
as petrified walking down Collins Avenue as the first time I went to the
orthodontist to get fitted for headgear.
The mid-1980s was the era of Miami Vice, and I was a true partisan,
though I only vaguely understood the show. This Miami attraction infected
my musical taste as well: I was deeply familiar with the Miami Vice sound
track, which I owned on cassette, with the once ubiquitous instrumentals of

20
Jan Hammer. It sat on my shelf next to the less popular Miami Vice ITsound
track, for those rarefied enthusiasts for whom one installment of brood-
ing keyboards was not enough (the cover showed Don Johnson sporting a
newly feathered crew cut, perhaps the most divisive hair shearing outside
of Al Pacino in The Godfather: Part III).
This rabbit hole led further down into a curious Don Johnson phase
that involved a Halloween costume (whose effect was lost on most house-
holds in our neighborhood), and pins of Don himself that I wore on suit-
ably Crockettesque light-colored jackets. I was one of the tragic few whose
love for DJ was so intense that we were compelled to acquire his solo album
Heartbeat. The title track’s refrain practiced repeated, unswerving simplicity,
like a hammer pounding a nail: “Heartbeat / I’m looking for a heartbeat.”
It’s all a reminder that childhood obsession is as immune to aesthetics
as it 1s to logic. It’s driven by passion and evocations that don’t make sense
to anybody else—even to the same person a little while later. You love a city
you've never visited, a car you’ve never sat in, a sugar cereal you’ve never
tasted. But in the eyes of boys, taste can’t be explained—and shouldn’t be—
any more than it can be rationalized when you're older, supposedly wiser,
certain in the knowledge that you’ll never suffer a lapse in judgment ever
again. That’s why grown men never get divorced, make bad decisions, or
wear flip-flops in public. Unfortunately, the promise of perspective is always
Just around the corner.

21
 Interview

HOW DID sex

DRESS A Seas Oe:

“| dressed poorly as a boy, but with a sense of

adventure. | famously wore underpants over
my pants in the effort to look like a superhero.
| think a lot of young people have done this.”
—Nick Schonberger

MICHAEL WILLIAMS I was the type POGGY As a teenager I was so

of kid who would drag my mother obsessed with clothes. I would go
from store to store to find the perfect shopping with my girlfriend and
outfit when we went school shop- she asked me, “Which do you like
ping. I’ve always been very partic- more, the clothes or me?” And I
ular. I distinctly remember going said, “Well, the clothes.”
into the Gap, and saying, “Well,
that color isn’t right, it’s not the ALEXANDER GILKES My parents
right shade.” Today I’m exactly the tell me that even from before I can
Same Way. remember, my mother would leave

Wesley Stace

22
 “As a boy | remember my mom telling me that
| hated stripes, horizontal stripes specifically”
—Randy Goldberg

Clockwise, from top left: Tom Schiller, Jeremy Hackett, Mark McNairy, Hiroki Kurino, Enoc
Perez, Brian Awitan, Shin Nakahara, Shin Nakahara with the sumo wrestler Takanohana

23
 How Did You Dress As a Boy?

out my clothes for the following Chess King jeans. They were really
morning and would then find that I rugby shorts. I wanted to look like
had changed everything she had left something I saw in the movies or on
out to wear exactly what I wanted TV. It would have been a California
to. I think back in the day I would look. We’d cut the sleeves off our
sport a lot of Benetton 0-12. Viva shirts; we’d cut our own shorts in
los eighties! the summer. I don’t think I’ve ever
owned a pair of dedicated shorts.
STEPHEN COATES I dressed quite
formally. My father was quite for- WHIT STILLMAN I remember an
mal. Button-up shirts, always with announcement at school lunch once
socks pulled up. I remember having that there was a lost jacket. They
an upright childhood, which I liked. said, “We have this lost jacket, and
My mother was very particular it’s from Barneys Boys Town.” And
about clothes. We were very well there was this massive laughter—that
turned out. On Sundays it would was before Barneys went upscale.
be very formal. I was a very strict It wasn’t mine, thankfully.
Catholic, and every year was a
parade. All the children from Cath- J.C. MacKENZIE My first obsession
olic schools had to wear the same with clothing was with an oversized
clothes—you got a new outfit every pair of blue, wide-wale corduroys,
year, which was probably chosen by worn until threadbare. I was seven.
the priest. Then that outfit would They had large pockets, lined with
deteriorate during the year because flannel, which held a frightening
you wore it all the time. A year later, amount of boy paraphernalia: toy
at a new parade, you'd get a new cars, Goldfish crackers, bottle caps,
outfit. It was nice to see all these Pop-Iarts, guitar picks, and rocks.
kids in these immaculate crest shorts I was obsessed with comfort and
and long socks. I liked that. loved anything jumbo-sized. Large
shirts, large coats, large pants—any-
RANDY GOLDBERG I made a lot of thing big, I was happy.
mistakes—I wanted a purple suit,
with all seriousness. I remember DAN ROOKWOOD I crew up in Liv-
shopping at Merry-Go-Round and erpool during the 1980s, when the
wanting flashy things. city’s two football teams were at the
height of their powers. Until I was
WALTER KIRN I grew up in a small thirteen, I embodied the Scouser
town in Minnesota, which is prob- stereotype of wearing a shell suit—a
ably as unconscious of a place, in synthetic “shell” tracksuit that was
sartorial terms, as exists in Amer- very likely a serious fire hazard—
ica. If Iwas dressing for school, the and a Liverpool FC replica shirt.
idea was to get down to the mall in It wasn’t until I left Liverpool at
the [win Cities and get the latest thirteen that I learned there was

24
 How Did You Dress As a Boy?

more to life than stink-incubating ALEX BILMES The first item of cloth-
polyester sportswear. ing I lusted after was a Nike wind-
proof. That’s what the Rock Steady
AARON LEVINE I would gravitate Crew wore. My dad was very con-
toward certain things. There was servative—Church’s brogues, pin-
this certain polo shirt with a fox stripe suit, worked in the City—and I
on it that I loved and an uber-small was trying to dress like Crazy Legs.
running short and a cowboy hat
that I liked. HIROFUMI KURINO My first inspi-
ration was western movies. My
MARKLEY BOYER I’m afraid that I mother was a movie lover, and she
came to dress myself for the first took me to the movies when I was
time in the suburbs in the mid- very young. I was really impressed
seventies, and I don’t think that by 1950s cowboy movies—the good
anything particularly good emerged guy wore white and rode a white
from that period. Before I became horse, and the bad guy wore black
a little rebellious, I seem to remem- and had a black horse. The medium
ber a lot of turtlenecks—maybe guy wore beige and rode a palo-
white turtlenecks? And a lot of mino. I wanted to be the man in
velour shirts—possibly purple. And white. Then I realized the man in

“My father didn’t make any boys’ ties other than

those he made for the young princes William
and Harry. With tie cutting, if you’re cutting one
it can make sense to cut four, as long as the
patterns are identical. So my father would make
one each for the princes and one each for my
brother and me. We’d all end up with the same
ties” —Michael Hill

corduroys—thin-wale corduroys, white was actually very cheesy. So

brown, I think. The whole thing I eventually found the charm of the
was not so good. bad guy in the black shirt or the
supporting guy with the brown suit.
GUY TREBAY I was pretty basic—
suburban kid clothes. I remember MICHAEL HILL My father was a tie
wearing slip-on Keds, I remember maker and he said, “Look, we can
wearing a wool dickey, whatever a work together on this.” He gave
dickey was. me the same sort of advice he gave
the buyers he used to work with:

25
 How Did You Dress As a Boy?

Montalban. If you grew up near

Beverly Hills, it was more normal
to get dressed up to go to dinner or
to a show or, in my case, to go to
the filming of the J Love Lucy show.
You had to get dressed up for special
occasions.

ARMANDO CABRAL When I was a

young boy, I used to wear socks up
to my knees with shorts or pants.
I never wore jeans in the begin-
ning. That was something that
I’ve learned from my dad. Before
leaving the house he was always
dressed up in a suit with the tie. I
think part of my classic reference
Choose a solid and then perhaps a comes from that.
motif, a madder print, a rep tie that
would work with my blazer. MARK McNAIRY I wanted to make
decisions at an early age. I wore
TOM SCHILLER I remember these bell-bottom Wranglers with a patch
German Loden jackets that I liked pocket and a button fly. I remember
to wear to my parents’ parties. I'd getting them and being so excited
pretend to be a waiter, holding a and going out into the streets and
white napkin over my arm, and go kicking my heels to rip up the back.
around to people. I was about six or They were from Sears in Greens-
seven. This was in Westwood Vil- boro, North Carolina—where all my
lage at the former home of Ricardo clothes came from.

“| used to get my hair cut at a place called

Michael’s on Eighty-sixth and Madison,
and their most popular cut was called the
John John, of course a reference to John
John Kennedy, not that | knew that. They had
a special room in the back for criers, with
which | was intimate as a little boy. Only later
was | able to handle sitting in the little cars”
—Thomas Beller

Nick Sullivan and his brother Jonathan

26
 How Did You Dress As a Boy?

NICK SCHONBERGER I grew up in My mother still dressed us in a

an era where wildly multicolored proper uniform, even though the
trousers were quite popular. They school didn’t have one—so she made
must have been inexpensive, as I one. It was a red check shirt, gray
was allowed to wear them. In the little short shorts and long socks
late eighties and early nineties I that you pulled up, with elastic to
became cognitive in things I wanted hold them up, and black polished
to own. shoes. That’s what we wore every
day, even though no one else wore

“Pll put it to you like this: | dressed as Burt

Reynolds for Halloween when | was seven.”
—Josh Peskowitz

RICHARD CHRISTIANSEN I had a it but us. She got some of the other
twin brother and we always dressed kids in school to wear them too.
the same, every single minute. We
went to country school with around NICK WOOSTER The clothes have
twenty-two kids in the entire school. changed, the proportions have
changed, but the approach is 100
percent the same. Starting in kinder-
garten, I refused to let anyone tell
me what to wear, and if they did,
there was hell to pay. I’ve rebelled
against dress codes and advice all
my life.

ANDY SPADE My uniform was

Vans sneakers, Levi’s 501s, OP
corduroy shorts, Hang ‘Ten shirts
or Lacoste shirts or logoed T-shirts
with skateboard or surf logos on
them. Virtually every day I wore
Stan Smith sneakers. I never wore
loafers. When I was younger than
that, I just wore striped ‘T-shirts
you'd see in the sixties. My mom
would dress me. I had cutoff jeans
and also PRO-Keds—you shopped
at Sears in those days.

Henry Conover Boyer (Markley’s great-grandfather)

 How Did You Dress As a Boy?

NICK SULLIVAN I grew up in the I probably didn’t wear an oxford

1960s. I was on the cusp between shirt or knit tie again, but now I
postwar England and modern do practically every day. So there
England, which happened in the it was. A taste of what was to come.
seventies. Invariably I would wear
hand-me-downs that were kind of EUAN RELLIE I would wear dif-
rough. I wore a lot of home-knitted ferent tweeds, very heavyweight,

“There was a turquoise alpaca V-neck sweater

that | told my mom | wanted really bad. She got
it for me with my initials on it, and then | refused
to wear it. | can still remember her chasing me
around the block one morning, trying to make
me wear it” —Mark McNairy

sweaters with buttons on the shoul- proper tweed. Made in Harris you
ders. There were always endless would have forest green all the way
Christmas presents of yet another through stony green.
chunky sweater. I wore those in
the summer too, because it was THOMAS BELLER One of the great
England. distinctions of my childhood that
blows my mind, now that I have to
JAY Mc!NERNEY Even though I went deal with parenting today, is that I
to a public high school, I thought traveled on my own in Manhattan
the way to go was to dress preppy. as a kid. I took the crosstown bus
When I was in junior high the style to school as a third grader.
was Brooks Brothers, L.L.Bean—
that seemed like the easiest way to GLENN O’BRIEN When I was a kid
dress. It was something that I was I loved costumes, so I'd have my
raised on. parents buy me an army uniform—it
seemed like they were more avail-
JAY FIELDEN I got obsessed with able in those days. It had chaps and
having to have a button-down shirt. a white hat and a pistol. Then I’d
It was my reward for doing my sci- be a soldier another day. Aside from
ence fair project, which I somehow that I dressed the way I dress now.
went on to win. I’m not a scientist,
as you know, so it was clearly a MATT HRANEK I was very preppy.
complete accident. But I remem- I lived for anything Lacoste. I was
ber—this is not an exaggeration—I very into L.L.Bean and Blucher
also wanted a navy knit tie to go mocs.

with it. For twenty years after that,

28
 How Did You Dress As a Boy?

“I was forced to leave school because | grew my

hair as a protest. Hair length was a big issue”
—Stephen Coates

BRUCE PASK I have a twin brother, kid I was particular about what I
so for the two of us, we were always wore. I really loved navy and tan
identified as part of a unit. Dress- in combination. I remember I had
ing became a way to individuate Levi's cords, in navy as well as tan.
within that unit, so we broke into And I had two great crewneck wool
color groups. I was always blue and sweaters, one in navy and the other
Scott gravitated toward other colors, in dark brown.
sometimes green. I felt like I owned
blue, also as a means of identifica- G. BRUCE BOYER I was becoming
tion: Bruce = blue, so people could a teenager just as zoot suits were
tell us apart a bit easier. going out of fashion. That was the
first thing that I experimented with:
FRANK MUYTJENS I grew up in a what jazz musicians would wear. I
small village in Holland that was Just thought it was a sharp thing,
quite traditional, and the last thing that these guys were sophisticated.
I wanted to do was stand out, so I
Just wore what everyone else was JOHN BRODIE I think from one of
wearing. That was in the early sev- the earliest times that I was cogni-
enties, so it was a lot of polyester, zant of getting dressed, there was
printed shirts, patterns, cord pants, a dress code, which was coat and
and turtlenecks. One of the first tie: no jeans, no sneakers. The blue
things I bought, in the early seven- blazer was my workhorse. I'd go
ties, was a [-shirt with the American with my mother to get outfitted at
flag printed all over it. It was my Brooks Brothers, which had its own
favorite. designated boys’ corner back then.

MICHAEL HAINEY I grew up without WALTER KIRN For fishing and hunt-
a father; he died when I was very ing, I wore clothes that I later real-
young. And we didn’t have much ized were pretty cool, like Red Wing
money, so I wore a lot of hand-me- boots, or down in St. Paul, we had a
downs from my older brother. So store called Gokey’s. Those clothes
from even a young age I learned that were ones that lasted and ones I
less is more. I learned style is like liked to wear. There was a certain
friendship—it’s not about quantity, cachet of showing up in school in
about how many items you have, hunting clothes, because sometimes
it’s about quality; it’s about mak- you’d hunt before school. We tried
ing the most out of the least. As a to avoid as much as possible “the

29
 How Did You Dress As a Boy?

lumberjack look,” because we had a GLENN O’BRIEN I was always

sense that for a seventies Minnesota really into clothes. I guess I was
kid, that was to be avoided. a preppy. Pittsburgh had a Brooks
Brothers; we didn’t have a Brooks
TOM SCHILLER My mother would Brothers. But I used to shop at a
always take me to a place called store in Rocky River, Ohio, called
Carroll and Company, which was Captain’s Quarters. They stocked a
a Beverly Hills men’s clothier. I was lot of really East Coast brands. I had
nine or ten, and I got a little suit and every flavor of Gant button-down
little jacket and itchy wool pants. I shirts. I still wear a lot of the same
liked it. These guys would throw on things. I still love saddle shoes and
my jackets and flip me and every- tassel loafers.
thing. It was like being treated like
a little prince! NICK SULLIVAN We started going
to France. It was hugely exotic.
POGGY When I was a teenager liv- We started to go to a house in the
ing in Sapporo, I was very inspired South of France with friends of ours.
by Japanese magazines. It was the It involved a rather long journey
only way to find people like me who on the Train Bleu, through Paris,
were into street style and companies overnight—it was so exotic, and we
like Bathing Ape. I was obsessed would wake up in this completely
with magazines and would be at different world, this Mediterranean
convenience stores as soon as they world.
arrived. The magazines that didn’t
come to Sapporo, I had to call and MICHAEL WILLIAMS One day I
ask them to send them. would dress very preppy and the
next I’d be inspired by hip-hop,
which was pretty forgettable.
“| became a real
devotee to mousse” JEREMY HACKETT I was a pre-
—Jay Fielden cocious child, and from an early
age I had pretty clear ideas as to
how I wanted to dress, much to
FRANK MUYTJENS I remember that the annoyance of my parents. In
I asked my mom to make a vest, my scooter-riding youth, I dressed
and it was fake suede. It had metal in a mod-meets-skinhead fashion,
clasps and I wore it all the time. I wearing button-down shirts, Shet-
sat next to her while she was sewing land crewneck sweaters, Levi’s
it. It was very unself-conscious. I cord jeans, and Clarks suede des-
wasn’t supposed to go into fashion; ert boots.
I wanted to be a graphic designer.
Then I went to art school, and the RUSSELL KELLY I was one of three
idea became clear to me. skateboarders in Arkansas. I was

30
 How Did You Dress As a Boy?

obsessed with skater style and 21 mander Salamander, and my par-

Jump Street. I wanted to be like ents were kind enough to take me
Johnny Depp with the hair and there on pilgrimages.
unbuttoned cuffs and not quite
grunge but, like, high school spretz. ROB ZANGARDI In grade school, in
Ohio, my twin brother and I owned
SID MASHBURN I was really into a lot of the same things, but in two
clothes at a young age; I was always different colors. This made for some
trying things out. For a little while interesting styling techniques: wear-
life was like a costume party for me. ing two different color sneakers,
When I was in the fourth grade in multiple watches on the same wrist,
1971, I wrote a letter to my older and so on.
sister asking her to find me a choker
and some green pants. TAAVO SOMER In nursery school, I
remember being obsessed with the
BRUCE PASK I remember being par- idea of playing army. I remember
ticularly obsessed with a pair of blue going to the Army Navy store and
plaid Sears Toughskins trousers, wanting army clothes that of course
though the proper term then was did not fit me. My dad wanted me to
slacks, when I was in first or second try clothes on right in the store, but
grade. It was the early 70s after all. it was very uncomfortable and the
aisles were packed. He said, “Just
ERIC DAYTON I was really into color try this one,” and I said, “No!” My
but had no idea what I was doing. I mom did a lot of sewing, and she
used to have purple Girbaud jeans altered those army clothes to fit me.
that I would wear with my favorite My mom brought me to Sears,
green North Stars T-shirt, a color which had a boys’ brand. Aside
combination that only the Joker can from making lawnmowers or crafts-
pull off. It was a real shit-show. man tools, they also apparently have
a suit section for little boys, and I
TIM SCHIFTER I distinctly remem- remember seeing the suit and hat-
ber going to Brooks Brothers every ing it, not because it was a suit but
August with my mother to buy my because I just didn’t like the fabric.
back-to-school wardrobe, which I liked materials and textures and
consisted of wide-wale tan cordu- the tactility of things, and even at
roy suits, button-down blue oxford age six I thought, This is not a good
shirts, and penny loafers. fabric.

TUNDE OYEWOLE I was nine years

old and my aesthetic was 100
percent New Wave-—or at least my
interpretation of it. There was a
store in Georgetown called Com-

31
 Certain Advantages

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me a copy of The

Great Gatsby. “You should read this,” he said, as if the matter was settled. I
did, and of course I was enthralled. The book belonged to a world of things
that should be known: how to navigate a wine list, for instance, or what
sartorial rules can be broken. And you simply must be able to drive a car
with a manual transmission. In an empty parking lot I peeled out fiercely
while my dad sat stoically, a prisoner in the passenger seat. “A little easier
on the gas,” he offered calmly, as the tires nearly smoked. I was sixteen. I’ve
driven a manual ever since.
Cultural overlap is a good thing—being familiar with the current exhibi-
tion at the Met, say, or Anthony Lane’s latest review in the New Yorker—but
it can lead to the occasional aesthetic friction. Over the years my dad and
I have clashed verbal swords with enough ferocity that acquaintances look
on with concern.
When I graduated from college my parents gave me a first edition
of The Great Gatsby. Holding it was surprisingly intimate, and you could
imagine what it was like in 1925 when the book was new and nobody
knew what lay ahead for Jay or Nick or Daisy—or, for that matter, any of us
finishing school that day.
My dad asked me to look again at the first page, where Nick recalls
advice from his own father. I remembered the first line, but not the second.
I read aloud: “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one just remember
that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve
had.”
My dad smiled—I knew which advantages he meant.

Jacques Tati in Mon Oncle

33
 Rituals of Court

Growing up, I had a weekly tennis match with my dad Saturday mornings.
He believed there were certain things that you should Just be able to do, like
get your first serve in most of the time. That led him to serve and volley
even when his serve disappointed, which I realize now was less a sporting
strategy than an exercise of principle.
My dad is tall, six foot three, an accomplished athlete, and a direct
player. An acclaimed high school point guard (game-winning shot, wearing
Converse: photo on the cover of the Washington Post), respectable college
quarterback for a woeful Colorado College team (he received offers to try
out for the Baltimore Colts, though he had stopped playing after his junior
year). I did not inherit his height, or his right-handedness. A lefty, I relied
on a kick serve that didn’t kick enough (like satire without enough bite). I
was solid off the ground with good hands, a counterpuncher, with occasion-
ally fierce passing shots. Both of our games have fallen into severe disrepair,
and I play more squash, a sport that allows you the satisfaction of hitting
the ball as hard as you like, even when it’s tactically ill-advised. We would
go afterward to the Lincoln Del and order a Rachel sandwich—a kraut-free
variation of the Reuben—and undermine all our good work.
Looking back, I’m interested in my dad’s ensemble. He wore a cricket
sweater, purple and black stripes at the V-neck. It struck me as a bit femi-
nine, which bothered me at the time. He carried his racket to the court in a
canvas carpenter bag with the handle sticking out. I carried mine in a large
professional bag, as if I were on tour and needed a change of clothes, mul-
tiple rackets, some protein powder. It was basically empty.
Only later I appreciated this contrast between his refined sweater and
rugged bag, like something you’d see in an old Jack Spade ad. I thought of
that during my junior year of college when I was studying in Paris. That
fall I began a lifelong habit of frequenting cafés, bars, and restaurants, a
strategy I recommend in the strongest terms. I went, nearly every night, to
a café on the rue de Seine called La Palette. It is well known, though it was
not well known to me at the time. I was naive enough that when, after an
evening with friends, our perfectly reasonable bill arrived and was seventy-
five dollars, I couldn’t imagine a bar tab that high.

Fred Astaire

35
= = = ee

The man who ran that café had a salt-and-pepper beard and stood at
the door appraising passersby. A neighborhood fixture, he practically mar-
shaled traffic on the corner and he prowled the empty tables, wiping them
with a white towel, whether they needed it or not. He was endearing to
regulars and brusque to Americans. He was cool to me until the eighth or
so night when, instead of reading novels, I began to bring girls there. Finally
he said, “Comment tu tappelle?” which was in the range of my limited French.
“Davide? Jreplied, Frenchifying my name. “Frangots,” he said. “ fean Francots.”
On these new terms, he asked if I played sports. When I told him that
I played tennis, he raised an eyebrow. (In fact, I was loosely affiated with
my college team, one of its worst players, except for a Japanese exchange
student. He and I were exiled to the court farthest from the players of merit,
like sick soldiers quarantined from the healthy, lest we infect them with our
erratic ground strokes.)
On the day assigned, I was to meet Jean Francois at the place de l’Opéra.
I had not traveled with exercise clothes, so I wore a U2 Achtung Baby T-shirt,
some shorts I slept in, and a pair of blue Velcro shoes that Sylvain, one of
the bartenders at La Palette, had donated to me, eager to contribute his part
to the big match, the cause of much curiosity at the café.
Forty-five minutes late, a large silver Mercedes sped up to the steps
and stopped with the aggressiveness of a car in a getaway. Jean Francois
emerged wearing a black baseball hat that said, of all things, FBI, in large
white letters. I ran down the steps. “You know it’s daylight saving, right?”
he said—I had never heard him speak English. That meant he was fifteen
minutes early. “Yes, of course,” I ed, not wanting to admit how uninformed
I was in my adopted city. I got in his car, which was playing Enigma loud
enough that we didn’t have to speak as we drove toward the Périphérique.
When we finally arrived at his club, we entered the white bubble, and
he asked me if I wanted an espresso and croissant before we played, as if
that was the most natural thing in the world. I had only been drinking cof-
fee for about a month but said yes and realized that this was a far different
protocol from my matches with my dad.
The tennis, you ask? We played a set and a half. His game was impas-
sioned but erratic. He swore. We kept score in French (égalité!). He told me
I was fast (“comme un lapin”). Like many Frenchmen, he had surprisingly
small feet. It was a good day.
A few years after that I was in Paris, and he asked me to play again. I
felt tremendously satisfied. This time I was told to come to his apartment—
even better! I arrived at his well-appointed flat (he was partial to native |
can sculpture, like many Frenchmen of a certain age). I felt Iwas practically
part of the Parisian establishment. As I was about to pass into the apartment
and greet his wife and quite attractive daughter, he paused and looked back
and asked conspiratorially, “Is your name Alex?”
If that was gamesmanship it worked, because I was completely taken
aback as I reminded him my name was, ahem, Davide. I later spoke to
another American at the café who, it turned out, also played tennis with
him. I felt slightly deflated learning I wasn’t the only one—though I was
heartened to hear that Jean Francois mistakenly asked him if his name was
Alex too.

37
 Interview

BOW DID YOUR

HtitR DARE
SS ?

NICK SCHONBERGER My father’s row nor too wide, a subtle feather

remembered for dressing with stuck in the ribbon. I remember him
this abandoned decorum. When I always having a glance in the hall
grew up he wore Italian suits, vents mirror, running his fingers over the
sewn shut. In later life he gravi- brim before stepping outside on the
tated toward colorful corduroys, way to his office or a cocktail party,
cashmere sweaters. He was a fan and his arriving home at night with
of holiday dress. He had a sense it a bit more raked to one side than
of occasion but also bent the rules when he left.
a bit.
ALEX BILMES My father took me
ROBERT BECKER What I loved the to a smart shop to buy a suit. He
most were his hats, de rigueur for a had a very strong opinion about
man when I was a boy. Classic gray what I had to wear, and, of course,
fedoras with brims neither too nar- I resented it. You don’t want to be

“My dad, in some moment of insanity, went on

a game show-I don’t remember the name. He
did not win. He came very close to winning.
But the consolation prize was a selection of
alpaca cardigans, in all colors. | don’t remember
whether he wore them, but | inherited them at
a certain point and did wear them. That was a
crazy phase: ironically wearing alpaca.’
—Guy Trebay

Reverend Colin Rookwood (Dan’s father)

39
 How Did Your Father Dress?

buttoned up when you're a kid, do atJ.Press, Tripler’s—there were a lot

you? But now I have a son—he’s of more individualistic men’s stores
three—and I like choosing what he’s in New York back then.
going to wear. I’ve become just like
my dad! STEPHEN COATES My first mem-
ory of my father was him towering
DUNCAN HANNAH My father was above me, in what would have been
a hardcore Ivy Leaguer who had a quite stylish 1960s shirt. I grew up
gone to Harvard and was besotted in Lancashire and my grandfather
with Brooks Brothers andJ. Press. ran the only gentlemen’s clothes
Later he became a bit more flam- shop in the town that I’m from. It
boyant, with velvet smoking jackets, was a working-class mill town, an
knickers, and ‘Tyrolean hats. He was industrial town. They would have
definitely in the country club set, so sold tailored suits, which in London
there was a lot of Lilly Pulitzer pants wouldn’t have been a big deal, but
and things like that. But he took it in this town it was the only shop.
a little further because he’d been an
admirer of Fred Astaire and Cary DAN ROOKWOOD My dad was a
Grant when he was growing up, so vicar so he pretty much rocked a
he was a bit of a fantasist himself. dog collar most of the time. And
He was really big on blazer crests— flowing robes on Sundays. But on
he even had them on his bathrobes. his day off he wore a shirt and tie—
often a tweed or wool tie. A shirt
JOHN BRODIE My father was a and tie was his default off-duty set-
banker. He was a born and bred ting, even on holiday.
New Yorker who had gone to col-
lege in the South. His stores were RANDY GOLDBERG My father
Paul Stuart,J.Press, Brooks Broth- dressed up all the time; he wore
ers, and his dress was fairly con- suits and sport coats to work and
servative. Gray suits, oxford cloth then wore sweaters and sport coats
shirts, rep ties; the Alden tassel out on the weekend. He went to a
loafer was his major workhorse. A clothing store in Baltimore called
lot of our father-son time on week- Rothschild, and he had a tailor
ends was spent going to see movies there. He wore boots with suits—not
in theaters. ‘Then he might do what necessarily cowboy boots, but some
he called “doing the rounds,” which cowboy boots. I think he liked the
was looking at Paul Stuart, looking height of those. He kind of looked

“He used to wear shirts with separate collars

that had to be laundered and buttoned on. He
must have been one of the last people to do it”
—Nick Sullivan
 How Did Your Father Dress?

“He rarely appeared in public without the tie.

In fact, my grandfather never appeared at all
without a shirt and collar without a tie”
—Stephen Coates
like a mobster. I saw that the way he that he could find. That awful waffle
dressed was different, but he looked thermal underwear was pretty much
sharper to me so | appreciated that. his shirt and pants. And he wore a
He was the only dad that dressed lot of itchy Pendleton stuff. He felt
like that. He wore a lot of jewelry that when we dressed to work on
but not a wedding ring. He wore a a farm or go hunting, you were to
pinky ring; he had a chain that he be armored. He liked tough, hard-
wore every day. He eventually made working clothes.
me the same one, and I wore it until
I lost it. Now I have his. AARON LEVINE My dad worked for
the government so he used to wear
WALTER KIRN My father was a pat- suits every day, and I remember
ent lawyer who worked at 3M, and wanting to dress like that but not
he had two forms of dress. We lived being able to because I didn’t have
about sixty miles out of town on the occasions to. He had this dou-
a farm, so when he got up in the ble-breasted suit that he referred to
morning, he put on the suit. He’d as his Dr. Doom suit, and it was
never buy a new suit; he would awesome. I had to buy a suit for
only go to a thrift store called Next my first homecoming dance; it was
to New in downtown St. Paul. He a double-breasted Dr. Doom suit. I
wore baggy suits, but he had been a kept referring to it as that.
big high school football player, and
he was an athletic guy who liked MICHAEL HILL I revered the way
to go outside. So as soon as he got my father dressed. I thought he was
home, he ripped that shit off and the most dapper man in the world.
wore the crunchiest outdoor wear My memories go back to Saturdays

Left to right: James Mashburn (Sid’s father), Lane duPont (Stefaan’s father)
 How Did Your Father Dress?

when I used to drive up to London had to go take a picture next to her

with him. I was intrigued by what and she said, “Come here, Tommy!”
he wore and would quiz him. We And she had a low voice—she used
often used to talk about how casual a higher voice for the Lucy char-
he could be on a Saturday. Nothing acter—and she had red hair that
less than gray flannels, tweeds, or a looked monstrous and she smelled
blazer, and because it was Saturday, like Chesterfield cigarettes and nail
he might wear brown shoes, contra- polish. But Desi was nice.
vening the “never brown in town”
rule. He was almost rebelling! ARMANDO CABRAL I learned how to
tie a tie when I was about ten years
TOM SCHILLER He was relaxed Hol- old because of my father. He was
lywood casual, an upscale-writer always dressed up in a suit and tie.
type. Nothing special. He was a I was always next to him, and he
writer for J Love Lucy, and going to said, “Here’s my tie. Can you tie it?”
work with him was exciting. We’d He was this very classic guy who
sit up at the top of the bleachers, dressed up in suits. And he was very
you'd look down, and you'd see tall and thin like me.
the whole show unwrap before your
eyes. But before, you’d have dinner ENOC PEREZ He dressed very con-
with them at Nickodell’s, a restau- ventionally. He teaches history. He
rant around the corner, and you’d dresses as a teacher: slacks, usu-
see Desi and Lucy and Bill Frawley ally a shirt, short sleeved, because
and Ethel. Bill Frawley had a tremor Puerto Rico is hot. Everyone wears
because he used to be an alcoholic. a guayabera—I started to wear those
And little Ricky was not the real later—but he wore one with no irony.
son; he was an actor. But it’s a statement shirt when you
When I saw Lucille Ball during wear it outside of Latin America.
rehearsals, she was nightmarish. I

Left to right: Lawrence Herndon (Tunde Oyewole’s grandfather), Omer Denayer (Michaél
Borremans’s grandfather)

42
 How Did Your Father Dress?

MARK McNAIRY He always wore dressing that way. He would wear

a suit to work, which was kind Bass Weejun loafers usually and a
of strange because he worked for monogrammed alligator belt.
NCR, National Cash Register. At
that time, the cash registers were NICK SULLIVAN He had a very
mechanical, and his job was fix- reduced wardrobe. He had a couple
ing them, so he worked on those of suits, he had a couple of Hack-
machines with grease and tools—and ney jackets, tweed jackets, and flan-
he was wearing a suit and tie. nels, and he was firmly on the cusp
between the fifties and the sixties, in
MATT HRANEK I'd say he had good the sense that he was a young man
style—pretty classic, very upstate. in the army, Berlin in the late fifties.
My favorite style moment was him Then he came back and became
in wide-wale tapered cords, black a dentist, but he dressed like a
wool turtleneck, and a tan Baracuta man who had been in the army.
jacket with desert boots, tooling He wasn’t particularly bothered by
around in a 1959 Triumph TR3A. clothes, so he reduced everything
to essentials.

“He was a guy who waited for it to get cold so

he could start wearing thermal underwear?”
—Walter Kirn

NICK WOOSTER My father was a JAY McINERNEY My father was a

mechanic. He wore chambray shirts, real dandy, sometimes embarrass-
selvedge 501s, and Red Wing boots ingly so. In the seventies he went
with the equivalent of Sol Moscot in for the double-neck shirt and
sunglasses with a flattop. That’s the white faux Gucci loafers. He
how he dressed every day of my actually embraced the seventies.
life. Idid everything in my power to He always went in for color and
be the exact opposite of him. pattern, he had a very keen inter-
est in clothing, and he was a very
ANDY SPADE My father worked in good dresser. He took it a little far
advertising as a creative guy. He in the peacock direction in a way
always wore a sport coat, a repp that made me a little self-conscious.
tie or club tie, a simple stripe like I will wear a pink jacket—but I think
a Princeton stripe, and gray trou- hard before I do it.
sers. He had four versions of gray:
gray, light gray, medium gray, flan- JAY FIELDEN My dad did not have
nel gray. We were in Arizona, but terribly great style as a father, and
he’s from Michigan, so he grew up I think that bothered me a good

43
 How Did Your Father Dress?

deal. From pictures, I noticed that shoes, suits, not three-piece suits but
he once had been more interested in jackets and slacks, suits and ties.
clothes. He’d had what I might even He had a thick head of black hair
call a cool style as a young man in that he’d comb very neatly to the
the 1950s, and he still had many of side, the real telltale thing—this is a
those clothes in his closet. He didn’t generational thing. When my dad
wear them anymore, but he hadn’t was at home, he would maintain
thrown them out, and I remember that formality. Not the same clothes
getting to a certain age where my but the same feeling. He would wear
mother started to pass them down robes and slippers.
to me. This was my introduction
to razor-thin lapels and unpleated JOSH PESKOWITZ We would steal
tapered pants and topcoats that my dad’s Polo sweaters that had
looked like something that a jazz snowflakes on them. Anything Polo
musician would’ve worn. was a big deal when we were in high
school in the early nineties.
EUAN RELLIE My dad comes from
a different generation. He thinks FRANK MUYTJENS He was a sales-
you should dress to take an air- man and so I remember him always
plane flight. My dad had most of in a white shirt and a tie and a sport
his clothes come from Welsh & Jef- coat. He was dressy—that’s how I
feries on Savile Row, even though remember him.
he wasn’t particularly rich. He
believed in having his suits made, MICHAEL HAINEY My sense of his
and he would wake up on a Sun- style comes to me primarily via
day and put a suit on because he photographs of him. He worked in
would go to church, and he gener- this incredibly glamorous time and
ally encouraged us to go to church. place: Chicago newspapers in the
He wouldn’t twist our arms too fifties and sixties. It was like Mad
hard, but usually one or two of his Men meets All the President’s Men.
children and occasionally his wife Men then wore coats and white
would go with him. shirts and ties. Men got dressed for
work. Dark suits. White shirts. Thin
THOMAS BELLER My father was an ties. After he died I’d look at those
immigrant who didn’t get to Amer- photos. To me those shots of him in
ica until he was sixteen years old. the city room, sleeves rolled up, his
He’d grown up in Vienna, and he tie loosened—very glamorous. And
became a psychoanalyst. Within the he looked supercool and modern.
psychoanalytic gestalt is a rather for-
mal conservative look, and within MICHAEL WILLIAMS My dad’s a
that there’s a frumpy professor ver- blue-collar guy. He would say things
sion and a more nifty, Continental like, “If Iwore my nice shirt, I’d
version. My dad was the latter. Nice walk through the shop and get it

44
 How Did Your Father Dress?

dirty, and it’d be ruined before I ROBERT BECKER My father wore

have rny first sip of coffee.” pinstriped, three-piece suits from
Brooks Brothers. Narrow lapels.
RANDY GOLDBERG He would Wide lapels were foreign to him. He
wear a shirt and tie to the office, also wore sock garters and braces.
come home, take off his jacket, put Casual meant a blue blazer and
on sweatpants, but keep his shirt gray or light trousers, sometimes
tucked into his sweatpants. Formal tweed jackets, sometimes corduroy
leather slippers, dress shirt, sweat- pants; in the summer, by the shore,
pants, and that’s the way he’d spend he wore alligator polo shirts, knee-
every night in our house when we length shorts, ‘Top-Siders. ‘The sim-
were having dinner or hanging out. ple uniform ofhis circle.
That seemed really normal.

Rowland Wilson

45
 How Did Your Father Dress?

SID MASHBURN He worked as a CHRIS BROWN I remember his raw,

chemist for a cement company, so selvage Levi’s jeans. He always
he always had dust on his shoes— wore really great chambray shirts
that’s one reason I like bridle leather and bandannas and white T-shirts,
where the wax is still coming out, like James Dean-ish. Very classic.
kind of like dew on the grass. Red Wing boots, cowboy hats, I
mean—I dress like that today, so I
ERIC DAYTON I think of him in a know where it comes from.
navy two-button suit and tie for My father always wore a Stet-
work, but then always the same old son. As a child in the early sixties,
pair of beat-up jeans on the weekend I have great memories of trying on
and maybe a flannel shirt and Pata- his beige Royal Stetson while he was
gonia jacket. Clothes aren’t really at work in the oil refineries. It was
important to him, but he has his sweat- and smoke-stained from days
go-tos and they do the job. in the garden and nights around an
open fire during frequent weekend
TUNDE OYEWOLE My father pro- camping trips in the piney woods of
vided me with the freedom to dress southeast Texas. It smelled like him
how I wanted when I was grow- and gave me comfort in wearing it.
ing up. And my grandfather, my I own that hat today.
mother’s father, with whom I would
spend my Sundays, provided me ROB ZANGARDI My family always
with an ideal. How to describe his put stress on always looking “put
manner of dress? Classic. Easy. together.” To this day, my parents
Self-assured. The man knew the would prefer I dress like a toddler
power of his silhouette, and he was on school picture day, with a tucked
not afraid to show it. in colored shirt and my hair parted.
It’s an endless battle—they still ask
TIM SCHIFTER I mostly remem- why there are so many holes in my
ber my father’s weekend clothes jeans.
during summers in the sixties in
our small house in East Hampton.
Sears chambray work shirts (always
with a pack of Camel non-filter cig-
arettes in the pocket), Levi's jeans,
and Indian water buffalo leather
sandals—very bohemian for a busi-
nessman.

46
 FATHERS & GRANDFATHERS

Clockwise, from top left: Duke Goldberg (Randy’s father), Sylvester Hooks (Glen Ligon’s
grandfather), Thomas Kelly (Russell’s grandfather), William Boyd (William’s grandfather)

47
 FATHERS & GRANDFATHERS

Clockwise, from top: Daniel and Hebert Hartman (Darrell’s uncle and father),
Ron Hranek (Matt’s father), Markley Boyer Sr. and Jr.

48
 FATHERS & GRANDFATHERS

Clockwise, from top left: Dal Ray Brown (Chris’s father), Charles Hill (Michael’s father), Richard
Blackmore (Russell’s father), Byung Hak Park

49
 FATHERS & GRANDFATHERS

Jeremy Gilkes (Alexander’s father)

50
 FATHERS & GRANDFATHERS

Top to bottom: Byong Mok Kim, M.D. (Byron’s father), Ariston Awitan (Brian’s father)

51
 FATHERS & GRANDFATHERS

Top to bottom: Adrian Dannatt and his grandfather Howell Davies,

James Sullivan (Nick’s father)

52
 FATHERS & GRANDFATHERS

Top to bottom: Joseph Micoli Jay Batlle’s grandfather), Felix Sullivan (Nick’s grandfather)

53
 FATHERS k GRANDFATHERS

Clockwise, from top left: Timothy Baker, Robert Becker (Robert’s father), Bill Chapman (Greg’s
father), James Hannah (Duncan’s father)

54
 FATHERS & GRANDFATHERS

Top to bottom: Dave James (Al’s father), Robert Brydges (Shawn’s father)

55
 Considerations

GREGORY PECK

ANTHONY PECK My father inhabited his clothes as effortlessly and deliber-

ately as he inhabited his life, which is to say, in correct proportion. Clothes
were not a be-all, end-all for Greg. But men must clothe themselves and
Greg did. He loved pure technique and great craftsmanship in all fields:
on stage, in a painting, a sculpture, brick laying and carpentry, ballet or a
Sandy Koufax fastball. And the cutters and tailors at Huntsman, his lifelong
tailor, are master craftsmen. Greg had an artist’s appreciation for line and
for detail, for quality and craft, and he felt all of this in the Huntsman cut.
He never wore clothes that called attention to themselves. Instead, they
simply supported who Greg was: a humanitarian, a man of taste and refine-
ment, an artist, a storyteller, a family man.

56
 SASSY GENET WEN RE SRE

aa

Greg had a natural elegance in voice, in speech, in posture and gait, in the way his mind worked.
He couldn’t make a false step because he was true to himself above all else. And, in his bones,
he was decent, kind, and fully alive. Greg had an inner glow that can only come from an inner
glow. If you met him, you knew it.

57
| remember the day. We were rubbing our faces together like horses. Then it evolved into this
chin-to-chin one-upsmanship. Greg is wearing a Huntsman cashmere tweed in dark green-and-
black dogtooth. Made in 1960, the fabric was woven on the Isle of Islay in the Inner Hebrides,
Scotland, in one of the world’s oldest mills. Greg wore this tweed to night games at Dodger Sta-
dium, on walks in Central Park and down the Champs Elysees, to drop us at school on his way
to the studio, and to visit museums all over the world. He allowed me to borrow this particular
tweed in college where | wore it playing a character in a George Bernard Shaw play. | paired
it with the spectacles he wore in The Boys from Brazil and thought | looked very professorial!

58
A summer favorite, Greg would wear this to a concert at the Hollywood Bowl or an evening dinner
at Swifty Lazar’s or the Sinatras’. That beautiful polka-dot tie is another example of Greg’s lively
spirit at work. He was not a dandy in any way, rather he truly appreciated the care, the attention to
detail, the close and careful work of the cutter and tailor who would have constructed this garment.

On his way to opening day at Ascot. Greg owned racehorses as a hobby and loved going to the
races with his friend David Niven. Greg had the dove grey swallowtails made at Huntsman and
would have seen the whole day was a delightful lark. Greg would wear the appropriate finery
with a sense of fun and appreciation for the history and tradition of the event, the clothes, the
pomp otf it all.

59
 The Dress Code: Rules of the Game

An unsettling article tucked away in the Times a while back announced

that the few remaining Manhattan restaurants still requiring dress codes—
bless you, 21!—are now providing a better class of jacket to their delinquent
underdressed visitors. “These were not the stained, ill-fitting, polyester
Jackets of shame from decades past,” the author assured us. Apparently,
there’s a perfectly good coat waiting for you at Per Se, so you can hide your
complete lack of protocol under a 40 long from Ralph Lauren.
While the restaurants are being admirably hospitable—Daniel, in fact,
has its coats custom-made—that does not mean you want to join the sartorial
class of clothes-swapping masses who wander into serious establishments in
their shirtsleeves. Perhaps you prefer to rent a tuxedo as well.
Show a sense of occasion! When you stride into Eleven Madison Park,
why not wear your most devastating pinstripe suit? Break out a double-
breasted coat for your lunch at 21, and honor the dapper New Yorker
cartoonist Peter Arno, who was once a fixture there.
Unless you are known by one name or have taken your own company
public, a dress code is not to be tested lightly. You might think you’re getting
away with something, but who wins in the scenario where you are the most
casual man in the room? Certainly not your date.
So take it upon yourself to be the man who makes an impression,
honors the house style, and sets a higher standard.

Robert Mitchum

61
 Ties and the Meaning of Things

The first tie Iremember remains a favorite. It’s dark blue silk with light blue
diagonal stripes. Polo, late eighties, straightforward, classic. A little wider
than ties are now, but after the madness for thin ties it’s quite satisfying to
return to something with a bit more heft. Ralph Lauren got his start selling
ties of course, and he did well by this.
I brought it to college in Maine, and it served admirably when called
upon for formal dances. It represented a developing comfort level with
dressing up, part of the path of growing up. I loved this tie out of pro-
portion, and it became a reassuring staple, like a dependable Scotch, or a
favorite Smiths song.
Then something happened in my late twenties. I was spending a lot
of time in London, so much that I was dating an English girl. I suppose I
dressed formally, probably overly conscious of being an American in an
English setting. I was particularly devoted to Anthony Powell’s novels at
the time and read in quick succession the twelve books that formed A Dance
to the Music of Time. I was drinking at rarefied bars, spending time in the East
India Club. I was probably insufferable.
One evening my girlfriend’s father took us to Wiltons, the old guard
restaurant on Jermyn Street that serves Dom Pérignon by the glass and
Colchester oysters by the dozen to the great and the good. Out came my
best suit, out came a sharp shirt, and, of course, out came my tie. As we
gathered at their town house before heading out, her father shook my hand
vigorously and took in my ensemble. I was ready for it.
Then he said: “I wasn’t aware that you had attended Eton.” He him-
self, as well as his sons, had indeed attended Eton. And he was very aware
indeed (as he would have said) that I had not come anywhere near the sto-
ried walls of the school founded in 1440.
How could Ralph do this to me? How could he make a tie that was
essentially that of the old Etonians? But the fault was, of course, nry own.
I was certainly not the first American to crash his English aspirations in a
poorly navigated sea of tradition and propriety. I deserved it—like a charac-
ter satirized by my hero Anthony Powell. You learn a lesson like that once
and you don’t need to be reminded: When in doubt, go for the knit te.

63
sea Tain
eT WENT

|‘
<
ess
Lis
ey
 Interview

DED YOUR
FATHER HAVE
ate Sie

“He thought if you’re wearing a dinner jacket,

your shoes should have a patent sheen on
them. He would say, ‘Americans like to match
their clothes—you’re British, remember always
to clash your clothes:
—Euan Rellie

ANDY SPADE He always took me all of us kids a silver belt buckle

to men’s clothing stores: one in with our monogram on it. He loved
Arizona called Captain’s Quarters. taking us shopping when we were
He’d take me there and buy me the _ kids. They were divorced, so he’d
right shirt and the right tie. He gave pick us up and go throw the Nerf

Above: Mohammad Moshir al Tojar (Kamrooz Aram’s great-grandfather, on left)

Opposite: Preston Sturges

65
 Did Your Father Have Rules?

“He didn’t really like it when | had long hair in

the eighties. But nobody liked that”
—Enoc Perez

ball around, and then we’d go to do this job? and the answer is no,
Captain’s Quarters and he’d buy then you’re not doing enough. Do
us something. Then he’d take us to more to make yourself essential. I
happy hour and let us play Pong and think that also speaks to style, about
video games while he hit on women. carrying yourself and caring about
He had his cocktails and then he’d your appearance and making that
take us home and say, “Don’t tell part of what you do and being on
Mom about the cocktail hour part.” time. Handshakes. All the things
that sound cliché that aren’t as much
ALEX BILMES I had a father who about what fabric you're wearing or
had strong opinions about what what sport coat, it’s about how you
people should wear, and I was the carry yourself as a man.
person who rejected everything his
father said. Almost every time we TOM SCHILLER He showed me
went out to some family occasion, how to military tuck in my shirts.
we would have cross words about You’d pull them really hard in the
what I intended to wear. I would back so that it’s flat in the front. He
always try to wear something I con- was always straightening my collar
sidered hip, and he would be not to make sure that it was properly
impressed by this. adjusted. He came out of the army,
so you had to look sharp.
RANDY GOLDBERG The lasting
thing that my dad would say to me DUNCAN HANNAH He was a real
was to make yourself indispensable, stickler for propriety: Always wear
make them want you. If you’re a belt. Don’t mix brown or black.
looking around and you have to Make sure you have the right shoes.
ask yourself, do they need me to
DAN ROOKWOOD That it’s always
better to be slightly overdressed
than slightly underdressed. Both of
my grandfathers were from the war-
time generation where things were
done properly, and my father inher-
ited that and passed it on: Shoes
were polished, ties were firmly in
their collar, jackets were brushed

66
 Did Your Father Have Rules?

down, and hair was neatly combed. SID MASHBURN Most importantly
Everything had its place. how to dress out of respect for
the people you’re with and the
JAY McINERNEY I remember my occasion you’re going to. He was
dad taking me to Brooks Brothers always amused and bemused by
when I got my first suit. Although my clothing choices. He tolerated
the problem then, going to Brooks my experimentation a lot more than
Brothers if you were somebody with most dads in early 1970s small-town
a slender build: That cut is made for Mississippi would have.
businessmen with potbellies. The Every Easter I would get a new
shirts too—vast acres of fabric. It Easter suit (some of them were
wasn't a perfect look. hand-me-downs from the Beasley
brothers)—and one year I went to
JOSH PESKOWITZ I grew up only McRae’s with my sister Kay and we
listening to hip-hop music. My picked out a brown pinstriped dou-
father tried to correct that in as ble-breasted suit with brown-and-
many ways as he could by intro- white spectator shoes. My parents
ducing me to soul music and reggae, didn’t make us go back, but they
which was the basis of rap, but he were close.
didn’t dissuade me from rap. And
not for nothing, my pops was into JEREMY HACKETT I remember him
rap too. When my brother stole saying to me one day, “I am too
his car in °91, we found the sound poor to buy cheap shoes”—advice
track to the movie Juice in the tape that I have taken to heart, and there-
deck. It wasn’t like he was all crazy. fore I have a wardrobe full of good
shoes.
POGGY He’s very serious. He told
me not to dress in a crazy way or
to go out looking sloppy. I still
asked him to lend me money to
buy clothes, but he said, “No way.”

ANDY SPADE He had one that I dis-

agreed with, that he never cuffed
his pants because he said that we
aren’t tall people, and that actually
shortens your line.

67
 Interview

DO YOU HAVE
RCE Ei

“| don’t do fringe.”
—Michael Hainey

WHIT STILLMAN The principle for GUY TREBAY I’m interested in fewer
me, since I separated from my wife decisions. There’s a place down the
in 2002 and I became essentially an street from my hotel in Milan—one
itinerant, is just to have just one suit- of those typical Milanese haber-
case. So I have very few clothes and dashers—which I passed a thousand
tend to wear things over and over. times before finally going in and
discovering the pleasure of having
G. BRUCE BOYER I have very few shirts made. They have my mea-
rules. One: You should dress your surements now, and all I have to
age. I think you can look good at do is reorder.
any age. I think it looks ridiculous
when sixty-year-old guys try to look MARK McNAIRY Birkenstocks:
like their surfer son. Two: Buy the Please, please, stop it.
best quality that you can afford.
And going along with that idea, you
“A jacket hides a
should keep your clothes forever.
It’s the best diet you can get. multitude of sins”
—Nick Wooster
STEPHEN COATES [ think that guys
over thirty should wear good shoes. NICK WOOSTER There was a sem-
I’m not keen on guys over thirty-five inal book in terms of style that I
in training shoes at all. I mean, that remember-it’s really embarrassing—
sounds horribly pompous, doesn’t it was called Dress for Success. It was a
it? book written in the seventies, and it

68
 Do You Have Rules?

“It’s a casual-wear world. The baseline has

moved.” —Thomas Beller

would say things like if you’re short, I had worn a blue blazer, a blue
which I am, you should always wear oxford cloth shirt, a red linen tie,
one color, head to toe. Well, I do and really busy madras trousers. I
that. It helps not to break up the remember one of my favorite teach-
eye to make you appear shorter. I ers saying to me, “Really?” The
also just think it’s easier. If you work madras trousers were really busy,
in a business-casual office and you and everyone else was in navy chi-
want to look smart, wear head-to- nos. But I had to bring it.
toe navy or head-to-toe charcoal
gray. That will automatically make MICHAEL HILL I think you have to
you look a billion times better than know what works for you, what
everyone else. you feel comfortable in, and some-
times that takes time. I like some-
GLENN O'BRIEN I think men are less thing to be fresh and relevant too,
afraid now, which is really great. I’d as opposed to costume. But I’m
rather that people look like show-off still learning as well. A lot of great-
fools and fashion victims than look looking guys are in their sixties, and
like boring schlubs. Just go for it. that’s because it can take some time
to develop your own style.
JOSH PESKOWITZ I still have a
pretty strong inclination to match ARMANDO CABRAL People always
my shirt to my shoes. Doesn’t have ask me, “Why do you always
to be exact, but even today I’m smile?” I love smiling because it
wearing a white shirt and my shoes makes me happy, it’s a gift, its very
have a little white. I could be out contagious. It costs nothing to smile.
here looking like the fucking leader
of the Branch Davidian compound, ROB ZANGARDI I think this is why
but the oranges and the yellows are I love the rugged, classic, all-Amer-
going to be very close to each other. ican vibe. It was always the tradi-
I never clash. tional classics my parents bought
me as a kid, but somehow I would
JOHN BRODIE IJwas reprimanded in try to fuck them up and make them
my eighth-grade graduation because as “mine” as I could.

“A blue blazer, flannels, or khakis and a shirt and

tie will get you where you need to go. No one
has proven otherwise for me.’
—Nick Schonberger
 Do You Have Rules?

| “| would feel silly in a caftan.”” —Glenn O’Brien

THOMAS BELLER One of the more within that context. But the point
influential fashion pieces that I’ve of grups was, these guys became
read in the last fifteen years is one grown-ups but never really stopped
that New York magazine ran, by dressing like kids. That message had
Adam Sternberg, called grups— an effect. Now I'll actually wear a
which is shorthand for grown-ups. blazer in New York, when I didn’t
But the upshot of it is, there’s a used to. For a while the only per-
certain generic look of “I’m smart, son who I knew who wore a blazer
educated, and I might even have was David Berman, who wore it
money, but I don’t have to go to the with a thick leather wristband, or
office.” There’s a spectrum within someone like Rob Bingham—crazy
that look. It’s kind of an informal people with style and some South-
look: T-shirt, sweatshirt, hoodie, ern thing, which made them more
sneakers, jeans, or some variation comfortable in some kind of—maybe
of that. ’m smart, and maybe it’s not Southern, maybe it’s just
even solvent, but I don’t go to the prep school. But for a long me
office. For a long time I was working I wouldn’t do that, wear a blazer.

70
 Interview

DID YOU WEAR A

UNIFORM?

“Secondary school, the rule was any suit,

provided it was either two-piece, three-piece, or
double-breasted and gray. Mid-gray. You could
go as far as charcoal; you couldn't go as far as
black. Unless you were in the sixth form, where
you were allowed to dress in black—but | didn’t,
tellingly” —Nick Sullivan

Keio University baseball team

71
 Did You Wear a Uniform?

GLENN O'BRIEN I don’t think we uniform: It takes so much anxiety

were allowed to wear jeans, but peo- out of life. It’s so liberating.
ple didn’t really wear jeans to school
back then. The first time I ever had GUY TREBAY When I went to work
any dress code was when I was in for Andy Warhol’s Jnterview in the
a Jesuit high school and we had to seventies, I had a uniform. My hair
wear a tie. That was it. We would was cut in a platinum-bleached crew
wear a tie and a turtleneck over it, cut. I wore a very tight Meet the
so the Jesuits would come up and Beatles T-shirt, lace-up work boots,
pull your turtleneck down to see if and olive drab army fatigues.
you were in compliance.

“The schools that we went to were strict on

clothes. They had to be brown. At my school the
headmaster, who’s a priest, would stand at the
school gates and raise your trousers as you left
to check what color your socks were.”
—Stephen Coates

DAN ROOKWOOD Iwent to a school

DUNCAN HANNAH Iwent to a prep in Liverpool called the Blue Coat,
school from sixth grade to tenth and our uniform was a navy blazer
grade, and we had to wear a jacket trimmed with roped gold piping. I
and tie and short hair—so we tried believe this was a maritime throw-
to figure out ways to get around back—the school originally had links
that. I wore the most outrageous to the then world-famous shipping
tie you could possibly get: It was port that put the city on the map.
like fluorescent green paisley. Or It was a fairly hideous blazer, and
shoes—I had boots with zippers up I didn’t enjoy wearing it, mainly
the side, which really pissed off my because it made us more visible
wrestling coach. targets for thugs from rival schools.

WHIT STILLMAN The good thing MICHAEL HILL I went to a differ-

for me was not having to choose ent school than my brother, and
my clothes. I went to Collegiate, I remember when we used to go
the school my brother had been to to his sports day, one had to dress
before, and we had a school dress. up—but again, there was a freedom.
Flannels, blue blazers, white shirt I recall one year choosing to wear
and tie, and loafers. It’s just easy a tartan suit. I thought it was the
and a really good way to dress. business! I just loved the cloth and
That’s the thing about a school really wanted to wear it as a suit. It
 Did You Wear a Uniform?

struck me as being great fun, and TOM SCHILLER I went to prep school
I didn’t feel conspicuous in it in for one year, which I loathed: Cate,
any way. in Santa Barbara. I had to wear a
blue blazer, white shirt with a school
ROB ZANGARDI In private school, tie, and gray pants and black shoes.
we wore uniforms. Growing up I hated that, although secretly I liked
with a twin brother, it often felt like wearing a little schoolboy uniform.
we wore uniforms even when we In study hall I was right next to
weren't at school. When we were the radiator. I laid my jacket flat on
little, my parents dressed us in the top of the radiator, foolishly think-
same outfit, but in two different col- ing that it would catch on fire.
ors. One of our neighbors knocked
on the door to ask “if the blue one ARMANDO CABRAL In Portugal, it
can come out and play.” was pants during the winter and
shorts in the summer with the
BYRON KIM When J attended La socks all the way up. And a shirt,
Jolla Country Day School, we had we called them Balalaika, like those
to wear uniforms on Friday. It was shirts African presidents usually
ridiculous that we had to wear them wear. A Cuban-style shirt with all
only on Friday. What was the point? the pockets.
I hated it. The boys had to wear

“We customized our uniforms, which | think

everyone does—you want a certain amount of
rakishness.’ —Alex Bilmes

blue blazers, gray slacks, and black NICK SCHONBERGER In middle

shoes. The girls had to wear the school we had a dress code of
same except for gray skirts instead “blazer, shirt, and tie,” or “blazer
of pants. You could wear a white and turtleneck,” or “sweater, shirt,
turtleneck instead of a button-down and tie.” I don’t know why turtle-
and a tie, so of course I went with necks were deemed as appropriate
turtleneck. During the rest of the as a shirt and tie. Naturally, almost
week, it was cool to look like a surfer everyone just wore turtlenecks.
even if you weren’t. That “uniform”
involved pastel colored turtlenecks RICHARD CHRISTIANSEN We were
and either short or long corduroy so remote. My mom used to get a
pants, also pastel. I generally liked lot of stuff made, and we loved the
a pale yellow shirt with baby blue attention. My mom would always
Levi’s cords or OPs if it was warm iron our shirts, every morning. Our
out. Remember OP shorts? socks were always perfectly straight.

73
 Did You Wear a Uniform?

We were decked out with little lunch because nobody became priests.
boxes with stickers on them. They were very, very picky about
uniforms. I remember them raising
NICK WOOSTER When I was the young boys’ trousers, which prob-
men’s fashion director for Neiman ably isn’t legal. You worked cre-
Marcus, I had to dress to conform atively to express yourself. It came
to a dress code, and it obviously got down to things like the width of the
me in trouble because I don’t do knot of your tie—could you expand
that very well. The minute someone the width of the knot of your tie? It
tells me I can’t do something, I do was a way of being different than
everything in my power—to say fuck everybody else. Once they caught
you to that. Kids that go to schools on to that, of course, and wide knots
with uniforms, I don’t know how were not allowed, then you'd go the
they do it, because I would have opposite way and have a very long
had to have been put in an insane tie and a knot the size of a pea.
asylum.
ALEX BILMES Blazer, gray shorts,
STEPHEN COATES That school had long socks, and a cap, which was
a pleasant brown-and-yellow piped a little black peaked soft cap with
jacket. Quite a nice jacket, actually, a red cross across the top. I liked
and a brown-and-yellow tie. A lit- it. Until you were eleven you wore
tle bit old-fashioned—it was a prep shorts, and then you were in trou-
school for Catholic boys that forced sers. I liked safety pins. I don’t know
them to become priests. Obviously why the hell I did, but you’d rip the
it wasn’t a funnel to priesthood, seam at the side and then refashion
Brighton Cricket Team: Keith Scrase (Nick Sullivan’s grandfather, third from right)
 Did You Wear a Uniform?

it so it was thinner with safety pins. wore jackets and ties in prep school
All these things were not allowed. but were able to improvise by wear-
The main thing was the tie. You’d ing polo instead of dress shirts, at
have a really long back part and least for classes.
really short in front. It was a way
to express a certain amount of sub- BRUCE PASK My brother and I
version. I don’t think it was quite both worked at Jack in the Box
subversion on the Separatist level, with friends in high school and we
but it was inspired by all that. absolutely loved it. The uniform was
this ballistic polyester pullover in a
NICK SULLIVAN At primary rust and navy plaid. We had Jack
school, we used to have to wear in the Box jeans that were piped
flannel shorts that stopped about down the seam in red, embroidered
three-quarters of the way up your with the logo on the back pocket
thigh, summer, winter, rain, snow. (real “designer” jeans!), and grease-
You were not allowed to wear trou- covered after every shift.
sers unless you had a medical reason
from your doctor. We wore them WESLEY STACE The uniform for my
with a gabardine coat. It was a very public school, King’s School Can-
strict uniform, a cap with gold braid terbury (ages thirteen to eighteen),
around it and a crest. Not like a was beyond beyond: undertaker’s
baseball cap, like an English school pinstriped suit, a waistcoat, a wing
cap. A white shirt, a yellow striped collar—literally a starched wing col-
tie, and a blazer and knee-length lar, which wasn’t even attached to
wool socks. the shirt, it was held in place with
collar studs—and a black tie, which
MICHAEL HAINEY ‘lo me, ajacket became a dark blue tie if you went
and tie and being dressed was a to Oxford and a light blue tie if you
structure in which I could rebel. I went to Cambridge. On top of all
could never wear a T-shirt and jeans. this, because I was on a scholarship,
But it was more that that was who I had to wear a gown in the morn-
I was; I felt comfortable. ings. On Sundays, an extra treat
was a mortarboard and some kind
ROBERT BECKER My elementary of white surplice. Honestly, crazi-
school had a uniform. Maroon ness, beyond even your vision of
jackets, gray flannel trousers, the worst possible school uniform.
white button-down shirts, gray-and- Except the one they wore at Christ’s
maroon-striped ties. There was Hospital: You can look that one up.
nothing the slightest bit tasteful
about it. I remember our school
patch, sewn to our breast pockets,
was an embroidered crest with a
wolf, arrows, and a crown. We also

75
 The Case for Imperfection

Is it possible that white shoes can provide insight into the world? Over the
years I’ve cultivated an appreciation for white bucks, spectators, cricket
shoes, and more bucks. I fully support wearing them from early spring
deep into Indian summer (though I have friends who will blow through the
winter and still look great). When you acquire white shoes, of course, they
embody perfection, unsullied by the world, without a trace of age. There’s
nothing wrong with admiring your new pair for days, even weeks, before
wearing them. I have an unworn pair that’s been sitting in my closet for a
few years, like a prince patiently waiting to take the throne.
But in this Platonic state they do not yet exist the way the sartorial
gods intended. ‘They are not yet worn, they are not yet tarnished, they are
not yet truly yours. ‘The white shoe, of course, does not remain white, nor
should it. It should reflect your trip to New Orleans, the time you were
caught in the rain, the grass stain from a lawn bowling escapade. Con-
versely, it is only then that they achieve white shoe nirvana.
I confirmed this theory a few years ago when I ran into a particu-
larly well-dressed friend on one of the hottest days of summer. He wore a

Marcello Mastroianni in La Notte

76
gray suit, a yellow tie, and white bucks—he looked immaculate. When I got
closer I realized he had a dark footprint stained across the top of one of his
white shoes. It was brilliant. The flaw, in the context of the meticulousness
of everything else, was inspired. He knew what mattered, and what mat-
tered was embracing the unexpected.
We are attracted to things that show a sense of their history and are
honest about that. The boxer’s broken nose, flawed heroes, the singer’s
aging voice. Yes, Fred Astaire threw his suits (or had his valet do it) against
the wall to take the newness out of them. The master knew that a suit
shouldn’t look fresh, it should looked lived in and reflect its wearer, not
its maker. (Of course, his given name was Frederick Austerlitz, so he also
knew the power of reinvention.)
You trust the apparent mistakes of a well-dressed man—he doesn’t mind
that his collar is frayed, so you don’t either. A chef is the same way. Julia
Child said that when you’re hosting a dinner party, you should never apol-
ogize for anything that comes out of the kitchen. In the first place, people
often think the effect is intentional, and anyway, we all can forgive a slightly
deflated soufflé. How many times have I gone back to the grill when some-
body found the steak I served just a little too rare? No problem, we’re here
to please. Another trip outside isn’t the worst thing—just refill your wine
glass on the way.
All of which is to say there’s a fine line between the quest for perfec-
tionism and cultivating specific taste. As I get older I find myself attracted
to those whose style is less conventionally impeccable and more singularly
eccentric. But that style can’t be achieved in a day: A pair of distressed jeans
isn’t going to do the trick; you’re going to have to break them in yourself.
Yes, you can track something down on eBay, or in that store in ‘lokyo you
won't tell anybody about. But that’s not the same thing, and secretly we all
know it. Yes, in the end, we all have to make our own way down the long,
rewarding path toward hard-earned individuality, with all its flaws.

77
 There Goes the Neighborhood:
The Unending Pursuit of Authenticity

Like pornography, we know authenticity when we see it. It’s the coin of
the realm, though it can’t be bought. But that doesn’t stop designers from
trying to capture it and marketers seeking to sell it. It manages to be new
but recognizable, imitated but unrepeatable, instantly classic.
And one more thing: It can make people furious. That’s because the
line separating authenticity from posturing is very fine. This all leads to a
friction without end, and it defines the contours of the culture. The battle
is jomed among urban lumberjacks and fervent locavores, the heavily tat-
tooed and the early adopters, precocious MFAs and analog purists. They
may not all scale the heights, but they remain savvy enough to know who’s
a pretender to the throne.

Portrait of John MacWhinnie, Fairfield Porter

78
 Yes, you lived in the right neighborhood, before there was a barista,
a bar that’s barely open, or even an ATM. You knew the artist before he
had a gallery, heard the band before it had a record deal, and ate at the
restaurant before it had a liquor license. You’ve been on the front lines—it’s
invigorating, but it’s also perilous.
Once you stake your pride (more than you’d care to admit) on having
a table at the restaurant with no phone number, you're setting the bar high,
and it only gets higher. There will be another chef who learned foraging
tactics in rural Scotland and another bartender making every cocktail Fitz-
gerald ever drank. And the quest for access begins again.
You've had a good run—you were in Marfa when it was still Marfa, you
were backstage at the Pavement reunion. But you want to withdraw from
the extremes of the artisanal avant-garde, ease your way out of the game.
It’s not easy, because after you there’s another wave. There always is. And
they’re trying harder, riding their fixed-gear bikes farther.
When you’ve been raised on the nuances of what’s next, you can rec-
ognize those in relentless pursuit. And more often than not, their efforts will
strike you as transparent. Why are people excited about this band or that
actor? Why is there a line out of that restaurant? You’ve seen it all before, and
you’ve seen it done better. But you’re going to get a closer view than you
wanted, because these people are going to move into your neighborhood.
Did you think you were safe? Did you think they wouldn’t find out
your secrets? Of course they will—they’re hungry. And the Internet makes
the exotic familiar faster; anybody can access the out-of-print in real time.
But don’t resent it. Everybody is entitled to a vinyl collection, just like
everybody discovers Salinger.
It can be easy to forget that it didn’t start with each of us.Just like it
didn’t begin with the Lost Generation or the Beats or Paul Newman. We all
look for what distinguishes itself in our own time, what’s singular. Our taste
remains very much our own—but the desire to stand apart defines us all.

79
 Interview

IN COLLEGE

“You just put your hair up and hoped it would

stay. It was before hair products, so you used
soap. When it started to rain, your hair would
start to feel soapy. There were braids in the
back—it was very experimental. | think my mom
had a tough couple of years.”
—Frank Muytjens

Duncan Hannah

80
 In College

JAY FIELDEN My college style was ENOC PEREZ I went to art school
hardcore Ralph Lauren. Not to at Pratt. Everyone had a style—not
make San Antonio sound like an a style of their own, more of an
overly interesting place, but it had archetype, like Goths. I didn’t know
one of the first official Polo Shops in what to do; I was just a guy in surf-
the country. I got obsessed with that ing T-shirts. So [had to think about
place, and I decided I would apply style and basic things, like wearing
for a job there. It was my senior coats, sweaters—I didn’t own any.
year in high school, and what it I was nineteen in 1986. The first
meant was “I’m not really working place I went shopping was Antique
here, I’m just wearing the clothes Boutique on Broadway. I remem-
at a discount. Oh, did you ask for ber getting a lot of pajama tops. I
something, sir?” wouldn't be caught dead wearing
By the time I went to college, those now. But I used to buy a lot of
I had amassed this war chest of30 those because they were five dollars.
percent-off stuff that I spent my

“In college | wore blue jeans every day, and then

when ! graduated | decided not to wear blue
jeans ever again, and never have.”
—Whit Stillman

entire check on every two weeks. THOMAS BELLER I graduated from

Because one of the first things we St Ann’s in 1983. I only went there
would do at the shop would be that one year, but it changed my life.
the moment something cool in our The previous school was one of
size arrived, we immediately put the conventional prep schools of
it aside for purchase. This gave the city, and the taste was very con-
the guy who owned the place an ventional. St. Ann’s changed my
aneurysm when he figured it out. life. I went from Zeppelin, Stones,
He practically wrapped one of the Beatles, the Who to all this other
polo-mallet props around my neck. stuff. Run DMC entered my life. I
was hanging out with all these white
WHIT STILLMAN I remember going guys who were really into hip-hop,
with my friend Campbell Chen to and I was dressing like a Wall Street
the Brooks Brothers, downtown banker—and then I did this weird
Boston, and they were selling spats, thing where I tried to integrate those
and we looked at the spats very things which could’ve been cool, but
closely. We adored things like the I wasn’t quite the person to pull that
detached collars and collar buttons. off. It was, like, a blue blazer with
We should’ve bought them. a Playboy baseball cap, but I don’t

81
 In College

know, I’m seventeen or eighteen. WHIT STILLMAN My proctor in the

Suddenly I had the blazer and I room next door was William Ben-
was wearing a Fred Perry polo shirt nett, who was later author of The
buttoned to the top. Book of Virtues. Wearing big boots
and leather jackets, and he was in
DUNCAN HANNAH In college I was the law school, and he seemed like
all over the place. I went to Bard and a really tough guy. He gave this
Ziggy Stardust had just come out, so delightfully square advice, which
I was dressing in a Bowie-esque kind was just what we needed: Don’t be
of fashion, which is ridiculous in a entrapped by young high school
rural setting. Huge black fedoras girls at Harvard Square.
and a lot of, well, women’s clothes.
There was a thrift shop in Wood- WALTER KIRN For some reason—I
stock that sold great Joan Crawford don’t know if I saw a picture of
overcoats, which I thought looked Albert Camus before I got to col-
very forties space age. I would see lege—but I had a notion in 1979 and
one and say, “Oh that’s perfect!” ’80 that to be in college was to be a
Whenever I flew back to Minneap- depressive, chain-smoking, hooded
olis in those clothes, I was always dark character. So I got some knock-
pulled over by security and frisked. off raincoat. It wasn’t a Burberry,
When my poor father picked me up but something like that, darker, not
at the other end, he said, “Oh God, the tan color. I wore that thing until
what is this, Mildred Pierce?” I was in my late thirties. It’s funny, I
wanted to be a writer and conceived
STEPHEN COATES Iwas fifteen or of myself as one at age seventeen.
sixteen. I went from quite a posh But there is no uniform for being a
place to Bolton Technical College, writer. There are a lot of different
which was a very un-posh place. potential uniforms, and you don’t
That was the place for people who know how to mark yourself as one.
had been expelled from school or I think that raincoat was part of it.
people who were a bit freakish.
But you could wear whatever you AARON LEVINE Flannel shirts, cor-
wanted! I dressed like a hippie, an duroys, Birkenstocks, Pirates hat.
Afghan coat, very long hair. Unfor- That was it, man. Kind of crunchy,
tunately, I’ve never been able to not dissimilar to how I dress now.
grow a beard, so I went for sort of I’ve come full circle.
jaded glamour—that’s how I would
describe the look. I had to go to HIROFUMI KURINO I started grow-
Manchester to get anything decent. ing my hair and the teachers hated
Bolton wasn’t the mecca for sarto- that. This was the late sixties, the
rial stuff at all. period of the international student
movement. I joined a group of high
school boys against the Vietnam

82
 In College

War. People were dressing very tons of shorts. I always tapered the
expressively. Later I became very pants. There was a company called
interested in Bryan Ferry, who was Rough Hewn, where I worked in
wearing a dark blue suit with a tie college, with Walker MacWilliam.
with dots. He never looked like a
rock musician—I was really charmed JAY McINERNEY I went to Williams
by the way he did it. I realized I and I was dressed the way every-
could keep a rebellious attitude one else was. Some of the Euros
and dress traditionally. In a way it’s and some of the prep school guys
more interesting to look classic but had some new ideas. Shortly after I
have an avant-garde spirit inside. So graduated from Williams, the Official
I started wearing suits and cut my Preppy Handbook came out, and it
hair, and my friends said, “You’ve kind of spoofed and popularized
converted!” and bastardized the whole thing. By
then it wasn’t much fun anymore.

“The first month at Georgetown, | met several

people who I’m still friends with. They had never
owned a pair of jeans. The idea that someone
couldn’t own a pair of jeans meant that they
came from a universe that | had no insight into.
They grew up in Newport and went to St. Paul’s,
and there was no need for denim. | couldn’t
imagine!” —Randy Goldberg

NICK SCHONBERGER | had one of FRANK MUYTJENS When I was

those tower sound systems with a there I needed to catch up. It was
mini-disc player—I had just been to a very interesting time in London,
Singapore and bought a portable and there was the Romantic move-
mini-disc player. I thought it was ment with Spandau Ballet and
really awesome to have that. And Duran Duran, and a bunch of us
then iPods came out like a year later, were into that. I dyed my hair with
and it was redundant. a highlighter. It was sparkly and
then the next day it was red and
ANDY SPADE In college I wore des- the next day it was blond. I was
ert boots every day. I was a runner into Vivienne Westwood.
and triathlete, so I would wear Pata-
gonia shorts. I still wore Lacoste and THOMAS BELLER I went to Vas-
a lot of oxford shirts, similar to how sar and Vassar was a big school
I dress today. But it was Arizona, so regarding diversity at that time;

83
 In College

they weren't really on it, particularly BRUCE PASK One summer during
with men. I’m semi-embarrassed to college I worked at The Gap on
say it: 1was Mr. Hip-hop at Vassar Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown.
for the first couple years, practicing I was pretty fastidious, so every eve-
with two turntables in my dorm ning I was usually assigned to tidy
room. Then I chilled out a bit. up the massive jean wall because my
folding was impeccable. I was there
RUSSELL KELLY I was a freshman in for an hour or two folding jeans
college and I started working a part- after closing. It was methodical and
time job in the mall, oh, what was totally satisfying.
the name? That horrible men’s store ‘The next summer, I worked at
owned by Express. There was this Esprit in its heyday, just down the
weird store at the end of the mall street. We wore these brightly col-
called something like International ored neon short-sleeved camp shirts
Male. They had, like, expensive with an Esprit Staff logo. I would
blazers, pointy boots, and flowery sometimes wear mine out because
shirts, and I loved buying stuff there. I thought it was so cool.
I had this horrible, huge patterned,
black-and-white houndstooth blazer
that I would wear with a silky shirt
buttoned to the top.

WHIT STILLMAN I let my hair grow

long in college. I had my picture
take for the yearbook, and it was
so shockingly awful I’ve never had
long hair since.

84
 Considerations

GAY TALESE

I always drink every night. I don’t drink during the day, wouldn’t touch
anything in the day. But come seven thirty, eight o’clock, I’m at a restau-
rant and I always have a dry gin martini. If you’re drinking martinis, I'll
have a half with you. So one and a half, but never more. I don’t ever get
plastered.

85
 Boyhood

What my father gave me was an appreciation of tailoring, an appreciation of

clothes, the recognition that clothes are part of your personal fabric. You’re
linked to how you look, and how you look not only makes an impression
upon those who are looking at you but also, and more important, how you
feel about yourself.
I started being aware of fine tailoring not long after I could walk. I have
photos of myself at age six, age seven, age eight, in clothes that my father
made for me. Not only suits and jackets and overcoats. Not that he made
hats, but he always wore a hat, summer and winter. And I did too. I have
photos of me walking along the boardwalk at Atlantic City with my mother
and sister, wearing a fedora at age nine and ten.

A Young Reporter

When I became a reporter for the New York Times in 1956, I always dressed
exceptionally well. In those days people dressed better than they do now.
Yankee Stadium in the thirties and forties, people in the stands were wear-
ing hats and suits and ties. When I was a reporter, the only person I knew
who dressed well was on the Herald Tribune—it was Tom Wolfe. I knew him;
we were very young together. I believed that when I knocked on the door
looking for an interview, it was very important I made an impression. I felt
when I dressed well I had confidence in what I was wearing and my own
appreciation of style, and I also felt that I was showing respect for the peo-
ple I was interviewing.
You show respect when you go to a funeral or a wedding or a bar
mitzvah or a christening—you dress up. A lot of people I see in four-star
restaurants, expensive restaurants, the women make an appearance but the
men are very, very underdressed—sometimes not even with a jacket. I don’t
know why.

Yellow

Yellow can work very well with the blue and black suit. Especially if the
shirt sets off the yellow, if it’s a striped shirt such as this or a white shirt.
Almost all my shirts have white collars and white cuffs, because the suits,
especially at night, are always dark. I don’t want to look funereal but then

86
red, patterned reds and maroons or burgundy, that requires wearing a dif-
ferent shirt, usually a shirt without too much action, not too many stripes,
a plain shirt. I do that but then the suit has to be light in the summertime.
It gives a contrast to my face, there’s a little spark about the color that I
like, and it plays against a more sober suit. I think it’s bright and sunny and
cheerful.

Family

When I was in the army, I was stationed in Frankfurt. I was the lieutenant
attached to a general. ’'d never been to Europe before. I was twenty-two
years old. I went to the southern part of Italy where my family comes from,
Calabria, the most southern tip of the boot, the point. My father has very
well-known tailors in his family and one older cousin of his named Antonio
Cristiani whose name is on all those suits that you saw here.
My father was trained in the little village, from Cristiani’s father.
It’s a tailoring family of five generations—they actually go back to the time
when Napoleon ran southern Italy. In 1804, there were Cristiani tailors.
Men dressed for the courtship. You couldn’t hit on women, you'd get killed.
But what you could do on Sundays is parade around the town square.
Every little village has a town square with a fountain, and on weekends,
Sundays, men would dress up and go arm in arm with a cigar, smoking

87
and talking. The town square has balconies on every side, and the women
would look at the men. This particular type of male procession 1s called the
passeggiata. It’s a parade of peacocks.
I picked up on all this when I went for the first time to see my cousins
in Paris. I went to the shop on rue de la Paix, and I saw photographs of
Cristiani with Gary Cooper. I saw a photograph of the prime minister of
France in the 1940s, named Léon Blum, the first Jewish premier of France.
I once went to a shop, there’s this tailor called Roland Meledandni,
used to have a shop at 74 East Fifty-sixth Street. I have a Meledandri suit:
It’s a wonderful dark blue, red-pinstriped suit I bought from him in the
mid-1960s that I still wear with pride—to a New Year’s party in 2016! I met
this Meledandri in 1964 at Elaine’s, and he told me that when he started
his shop, some ten years before, a young kid would peddle ties to him, and
they’d display some of these ties. And the ties were by a young man named
Ralph Lauren.

‘Touches

I look for tone in writing, a little special touch in your wniting, in your
clothing, in your general way of living. People who are in the literary game
say your work speaks for yourself—well, not only. The work might speak
for you, but I believe there’s more than just what you do, it’s how you live.
What kind of personal style do you exhibit in the way you conduct your-
self? The way you walk away in the morning to leave the house and how
you return. How you walk into a restaurant. It’s a whole exhibition of life.
You're living in the spotlight of it, the shadow of it. Unless you have a sense
of self, you’re not going to wear clothes with any pride, because the clothes
are wearing you. You have to wear the clothes.

Hangovers

I haven’t been hung over for a long time. I got an assignment from Esquire to
interview Peter O”Toole in London, and I went to London, and he’s a very
nice guy. He said, “I really have business I have to do in Dublin. Do you
want to come with me?” Sure I did. Well, he drank a lot. And I never hung
around Irish pubs before—they never use ice in what they drink!
After I did the piece, I got to know him, and he called me up once
and said, “We’re at P.J.Clarke’s. Do you wanna join us?” This was about

88
five years later around 1970. I remember they’d closed P. J. Clarke’s—they
stayed open for us. I was with Jason Robards and Pete Hamill. It was about
three in the morning. I walked up Third Avenue from P. J. Clarke’s uptown,
kicking every corner, and I came out and fell on the sofa right there. But
that’s a rare thing.

The Dry Martini

I make them myself. There’s a shaker right here; upstairs I have a bar. I just
fill the shaker with the ice. I put in a little dry vermouth—Boissiere French
dry vermouth, put just a drop, just a little, a thimbleful—and then I’m very
free with the gin. I’m only going to have one and I do fill it to the top, shake
it up, twist of lemon. I always have martini glasses ready in the freezer. I use
Bombay regular, not Sapphire, something about the Sapphire I don’t like.
It’s rather perfumey. You drink gin, right?
I think probably in the 1980s or maybe before that, I started liking mar-
tinis. I used to drink Scotch, and I’m never affected by Scotch. If I have to
preside over a big dinner party—sometimes my wife has a book party here,
and maybe a hundred people will show up—I’ll have maybe a Scotch or two,
but I want to have a gin when I have nothing on my mind.

89
 Interview

MEN OF STYLE

Miles Davis

90
 Men of Style

STEPHEN COATES Gainsbourg, par- He would take me to this opera

ticularly in the sixties. I absolutely restaurant, an Italian place, and all
loved that look, even that no-socks- the waiters would say, “Kim, sing
and-loafers thing, which is kind of for us!” And he’d sing something in
objectionable in principle, but he Italian even though he didn’t speak
made it look good in denim. But in Italian and barely spoke English.
the sixties, it was Michael Caine. I When he first got to New York he
loved those peacoats, sixties-style attended Juilliard, but he eventually
mod. got kicked out because he refused to

“Richard Merkin would say wearing white shoes

with a white belt is called a full Cleveland. He
always would say this obscure stuff like it was
common knowledge. He was living in a different
time, but it was as if he didn’t know it”
—Duncan Hannah

GLENN O’BRIEN My big fashion take any classes that involved any
influence was Fred Hughes, who other students. Florence Henderson
was Andy’s right-hand man, his was his classmate there. Eventually,
social secretary, and art adviser she became famous as the mom of
and decorator. Fred is one of the The Brady Bunch. 1 miss my New
greatest, best-dressed men in Amer- York uncle. What an amazing guy.
ican history. He was so elegant. He
had a strange life: He grew up in GUY TREBAY People around my
Houston and his family didn’t have parents seemed swanky. My god-
money, but somehow he had been mother—who, alas, I never met
adopted by the de Menils. He had again after my baptism—was the
the most beautiful khakis, the most daughter of the man who was gen-
beautiful English shoes. He was just eral manager of the Plaza. As an
impeccable. infant I was taken by my parents
to parties there and parked on the
BYRON KIM I had an uncle who bed with the fur coats. I guess they
always looked great. As far as I couldn’t afford a babysitter at the
could tell, he delivered the New York time.
Times to Japan viaJFK for a living, My maternal grandfather was
but, somehow, he shopped at Bar- very stylish and six foot seven. He
neys. He usually wore penny loafers had slicked-back hair and a tidy
and a white shirt. Oh, at some point mustache. It was a challenge for
he owned the first Korean restau- my grandmother being married to
rant in New York, Korea House. him, not least because she was pos-

91
 Men of Style

“My grandfather was an army sergeant and

ran a hospital during World War II, just north of
London. When he came back he took over the
family business, a plumbing supply yard. He
was a very uptight guy, very clean shaven, very
austere, high and tight with the fade. The day he
retired, he grew his hair out, he grew a beard,
and he turned into a complete fucking hippie.
Not really a hippie, but he looked like a hippie—
he started wearing cowboy hats and bolo ties.
| idolized my grandfather, so | started wearing
cowboy hats too.” —Josh Peskowitz

sibly five foot five in high heels. In Brothers and Lacoste for holidays,
a photograph of them together, she and he had monogrammed them for
is wearing platform shoes and some me. They lived in Delray Beach in
sort of top hat, and she still only Florida. He was a stockbroker and
comes up to his armpits. a very traditional, very good-look-
ing guy.
TOM SCHILLER My father’s father
lived in Sacramento; he was in the JAY FIELDEN I think there was some
ladies’ garment industry. He had accidental—or occupational—style in
a thing called Studio Fashions, the family. I had an uncle who ran
which wasn’t for the Hollywood the original family homestead—a
studios—it was just the name. He lot of rocks and cactus in central
would travel with a model, up and ‘Texas—where the family landed
down the coast of California, trying around 1890. My mother grew up
on his line, which was cloaks and there and has very fond memories of
suits. I said, “What’s a cloak?” He riding her horse like a scene out of
said, “Just a fancy way to say coat.” Giant, and my great uncle basically
I said, “Why did you travel with a ended up living there as a bachelor
model?” “Well, if you just hold up a his entire life. He had a really simple
garment on a hanger, it doesn’t look way of life and of dressing, which a
so great. But if you have a model, lot of other ranchers in that part of
and she’s prancing around in front the world did at the time too.
of the chent. 7 I still think of it as one of the
greatest uniforms you could ever
ANDY SPADE My dad’s father, have. Basically, he had two things
Wayne Spade, was very stylish. he wore. An all-khaki outfit, which
He would always send me Brooks was made by Sears, Roebuck. Thick

92
 Men of Style

muilitary-grade stuff. Khaki pants,

khaki shirt, a tooled-leather western
belt with a double buckle. It was
slender, not some honking,J. R.
Ewing thing. The other outfit was
jeans and a chambray shirt, same
belt, and same boots—the old Red
Wings, made with saddle leather.
Plus a Stetson hat: the Roadster
model. In my mind’s eye, Uncle Bill
always looked very put together,
always cool in the high Texas heat,
yet always ready to killa rattlesnake
or castrate a bull.

ALEX BILMES My father’s father

was a Judge, extremely dapper and My grandfather had an amaz-
cared a lot about clothes. I have a ing holiday wardrobe. He loved
memory as a boy of sitting on my France, he loved being abroad, he
grandfather’s bed, watching him loved heat. I’'d see him in a pow-
get dressed to go out in the eve- der-blue safari suit, with shorts and
ning, and the meticulous way in sandals. He was a dandy; he had
which he did it. He was wearing a look for every occasion that was
garters. I once trod accidentally on slightly different. The panama hat
my grandfather’s shoe, and he was comes out, which would never be
genuinely angry. seen in London. Not that my grand-
My grandfather was a Jew from father loved the countryside at all,
the Ukraine, so I think he felt more but if there was, like, a Sunday out
than anyone that it was necessary of town, shoes you’d never seen
to conform to the role of English before came out. I think that was
gentleman, be more English than great. I think dressing for the occa-
the English. So he very much cared sion is very pleasurable.
about clothes, and my father inher-
ited that, and subsequently I did
as well.

G. Bruce Boyer

93
Clockwise, from top left: Eric Dayton’s grandfather’s naval officer pins, Jay Batlle’s father’s
pocket watch, Nick Wooster’s father’s watch, Jay Batlle’s father’s vest, Russell Kelly’s grand-
father’s lighter, Chris Brown’s father’s Stetson, JP Williams’s father’s dog tags, Brian Awitan’s
father’s watch

94
 Some Inheritance

Clockwise, from top left: Aaron Levine’s father’s army jacket, Jay Fielden’s father’s Western shirt,
Don Weir’s great-grandfather’s pocket watch

95
 PART II
Intricacies of Dress: From Head to Toe

098 Do Clothes Matter? / 101 Revelations

of the Hat / 103 Reason for Being: The Suit /
105 Enduring Appeal: The Blazer / 109 Ties:
‘Setting the Bar / 111 Thread Count: How
Many Ties Do You Own? / 112 What Do You
Collect? / 116 Scarves: Wrapped in Meaning /
117 Great Detail: The Pocket Square /
119 Southern Exposure: Men Without Socks /
121 In Praise of White Shoes / 123 Man of
Auction: Bidding Wars / 124 Major Acquisitions
and Indulgences / 128 Phases: Troubled
and Otherwise / 137 On Secondhand Clothes,
Dressing Gowns and Thrift / 143 Theories of
Dress / 147 Levi’s / 149 Glasses / 150 Mitch
Epstein: Dad’s Briefcase 2000 / 153 More
Inheritance / 155 Watches

97
Of course they do.

They explain how we imagine we fit

into the world. They’re about self-
knowledge and, in rare cases, self-
realization. We seek rules of dress—
and it's important to know them—but
the best-dressed men create their
own Sartorial world with its own
internal logic and controlled anarchy.
They make new rules: of possibility,
of expression, of improbability. We
celebrate men who defy the endless
branding of every space of the
culture. They go forward and dictate
the terms of perception, knowing that
in the end, clothes serve to reveal
their own personality.
Gordon Cooper
 Revelations of the Hat

As a cultural barometer few things rival the hat. A glance at a picture of

a behatted man can reveal his profession, the occasion, the era when he
lived. By hat, we refer to the real thing: homburg, trilby, fedora, bowler, and
even the top hat. To wear one is to take a stand, to assert one’s sensibility
on a populace that may still be catching up to you. There is no neutral hat.
‘Today’s man wears a hat to invoke his unique place in the world: He is not
a company man, a member of a boy band, or the leader of a religious sect.
You wear your trilby and you walk alone. And that’s as it should be.
We know who wore hats: Sinatra, Capone, Bogart. And we know,
chiefly, who did not wear one: John Kennedy. Of more recent vintage we
admire the late Richard Merkin, the artist and fierce dandy, who was one
of the few men to wear a bowler and look entirely himself. He was the most
singular dresser in any room, yet he made you self-conscious. His secret
knowledge made you question what you thought about society. That’s a
man who knows how to dress.
Kennedy may have banished the hat for generations of the ruling class,
but the cycle has swung round again and there’s an increase in hatted men
from the runway to the midway. Not caps, mind you, or little straw hats
perched atop C-list actors in West Hollywood, but more assertive options.
Step into the opera house wearing a trilby with the assurance that you'll be
dressed on par with the maestro. You came to the party in a fedora to see if
it was worthy of your time. Arrive at the auction in your homburg and let
the bidding begin.
There’s no guide to wearing a hat, any more than there’s a guide to
having a winning personality. Though it helps when you wear one if you
have the other. The key to a hat, like countless sartorial challenges, is to
wear it on your own terms. There are no half-measures. The hat should
serve your personality and express how you view your place in the world.
You should look more yourself in one, not less.
The fedora has raffish Rat Pack undertones. The bowler, always iden-
tifiable with Chaplin, has a performative quality, playful, vaudevillian. And
yet it can be read as a challenge.
One reason men are donning hats again is that they’re returning to
clothes favored by previous generations. The smoking jacket, the velvet

Pablo Picasso

101
slippers, double-breasted coats, heavy tweeds. These are the pillars of the i
classic gentleman’s wardrobe. Yet when they’re combined and recombined,
they look anything but traditional. If anything, they draw the present into
extreme focus. You choose these things not because you inherited them
(though that is convenient), you choose them because they express what
you ask of the world and what you think the world should ask of you.
Go forth in a trilby and you convey a sense of appreciation in what
men’s clothing was and what it can be. Urbane, festive, forward, daring.
You have a sense of formality but also one of occasion. Accept no substitute.
A remarkable hat doesn’t express itself until it’s worn, when it’s joined with
the wearer. Afraid of a top hat? Ellington wasn’t. It underscored how fear-
less and formal he really was.
The same hat can convey infinite meanings. Just tilt it. Wear it until it
falls apart, even with a formal suit. A friend wears his panama hat back-
ward; on him it belongs no other way.
A hat covers the head, but it reveals the man.

102
 Reason for Being: The Suit

The case for the custom suit is well known and irrefutable: It’s the last fron-
tier of superior craftsmanship, entirely built by hand. The word “bespoke”
has been hijacked by marketers and nearly rendered meaningless, but the
genuine article—a bench-made suit, cut specifically for you—has no substi-
tute. The knowledge that goes into a Savile Row suit can rightly be deemed
historic. Your cutter might have been taught by the man who cut suits for
Winston Churchill. The sheer range of fabrics is just as astounding. You
may think you know everything there is to know about tweed—think again.
Some sheds in Scotland make only a handful of bolts of fabric a year. One
of those bolts should be yours.
Look through your closet and be reminded how little else you need; if
you're going to get something, it should matter. There’s not a well-dressed
man I know who doesn’t advocate fewer, better options. ‘There are excep-
tions, of course—a transformative overcoat, say, or a good pair of English
brogues. But without the background noise you can focus on tailoring tradi-
tions that existed since before you were born and will continue after you've
ascended to menswear heaven. So take the long view and ask: Could this
piece of clothing have been worn ten years ago? If not, it will look dated ina
few years, and you'll be praying your photos from some defunct street-style
blog won’t turn up when somebody Googles your name.

el ee
103
.
That doesn’t make it any easier when the reckoning comes: The price
is going to be dear, but you’re going to take it like a man. You probably
don’t want to disclose just how much it cost, the same way you don’t want
to broadcast the rent of your West Village apartment. And if you live with
somebody who knows your rent, well, she might still be so shocked that
you don’t want to tell her either. Men who resort to stealth smuggle their
suits into their closets under cover of darkness. That’s not enough! You
must also feign nonchalance when she notices your dashing suit and com-
ments upon it. “What,” you say, as if you’re talking about the weather, “this
eray flannel suit with a devastating rolled lapel? Had it forever. But feel the
lightness of the fabric.” She’ll be on to you because she likely does the same
thing, knowing that you can’t tell heel widths apart.
It’s a slippery slope. Once indoctrinated, however, there are few com-
plaints. Rare is the man with only one handmade suit—he’ll do everything
in his power to buy another. But be assured that that money does not go
into an advertising campaign for a cologne destined for duty-free stores.
Instead, it returns, as is right, to tailors who’ve apprenticed for years to
become expert at what they do. In fact, the profit margins of Savile Row
tailors are surprisingly small, and many have closed or left the Row.
If you'd like to make a pilgrimage to London or Naples, by all means
do. But plenty of tailors now visit their American devotees on our own
shores, where they rightfully receive a hero’s welcome. They usually take a
suite of rooms in a discreet hotel, and it can be strange to pay a midday visit
to a hotel room in the town where you live. When the door opens, there’s
an odd fear of encountering an upscale escort.
Another client may be emerging as you enter. He may have the abashed
look of a man who intended to get a summer suit and has just ordered a
blazer, a topcoat, and a winter suit for symmetry. Not unlike the man who
returns the wine list to the sommelier with a slightly uncertain look after
he was convinced to head much further down the page of prominent Bor-
deaux houses.
It’s worth taking a break from the heavy traffic on the menswear high-
way. If you care about tailoring, abstain for a few months, even a year,
and get back in the game with the best jacket you can afford. You'll gain a
new sense of clarity. You'll arrive at a point when you look back and won’t
believe you saw the world any other way. When somebody tells you you’re
overdressed, remember, if done correctly, it merely means you're the best-
dressed man in the room. ‘That’s a burden you deserve to bear.

104
 Enduring Appeal: The Blazer

The blazer represents classicism in the best sense—its appeal is both historic
and immediate. It stands for unimpeachable sartorial ideals, which is useful,
while flattering the wearer, which is vital. Ifa gin martini is the one cocktail
you should make with a sense of authority, then a well-tailored blue blazer
is the article of clothing that should hang in your wardrobe, ready to ease
you gracefully through society while setting the stage for your winning
personality.
Yet the blazer endures despite its somewhat traumatic childhood asso-
ciations for many men. It’s often the first piece of formal clothing in a boy’s

Sean Connery

105
 esa

life. You are taken, perhaps under false pretenses, and certainly against your
will, to Brooks Brothers or Ralph Lauren and inserted into something that
feels very much of the adult world.
As their wisdom grows, however, men move beyond these memories
and the blazer is welcomed back for one simple reason: It looks terrific.
Back to Ralph Lauren our hero goes, now with a spring in his step, as a
regular customer, perhaps to try on a double-breasted number in a wool-
cashmere blend, which he’ll add to his growing collection.
Wear one that fits well and the opportunities are endless: Wear it with
jeans if you desperately need to communicate creative credibility, wear it
with a knit tie if you’re of a Continental mind, wear it with gray flannels
if you share a kinship with Fred Astaire. Hell, wear it with shorts if you're
Thom Browne (but only Thom Browne).
Get a good one and you'll be shocked at how often you choose to put it
on, and how many compliments you receive. Do it for no other reason than
to have something in your arsenal when you stride purposefully into the 21
Club, an institution that hasn’t done away with its dress code. Conversely,
you could enter in shirtsleeves and be asked to don one of the “house
Jackets” at the restaurant’s coat check. If you’re on your way to a business
meeting with, say, Jack Donaghy, he’ll know who has the upper hand when
he takes your measure in an ill-fitting, possibly stained jacket. Ifyou’re with
a date, she may have already left.
How did we get to this point? Like many of our clothing traditions,
it arrived from England. But the first thing to know is that the blue blazer
didn’t begin its life blue: It was red. Members of the rowing club at
St. John’s College, Cambridge, in 1825 wore searing jackets that led to
its name. While those at St. John’s felt a proprietary sense toward the red
color, other sport coats became known as blazers as well.
And become known they did! Worn to indicate the membership of
clubs, they multiplied in various colors, stripes, and crests. They weren’t
just worn to attend sport; they were worn while playing sport. Wearing
your jacket sends a clear message. It recalls the line from the great Luciano
Barbera: “Any time I see a man playing tennis or golf in his jacket, I know
he and I can be friends.” Luciano, amico mio, let’s hit the court, then get Negro-
nis.
If you feel the double-breasted coat with gleaming gold buttons looks
like you're about to dock a yacht or is too much like Dr. Emil Schaffhausen
in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, then consider the more discreet two-button coat

106
ee|
with dark buttons Sean Connery wore as 007 in Dr. No. Still too clubby for
you? Then take the versatility and indispensability of the coat from Jona-
than Ames: “If one’s sport coats were as important as one’s inner organs,
then the blue blazer would be the lungs—absolutely essential; you can sur-
vive without the seersucker, for example, the spleen of sport coats, but try
getting by without a blazer!” Amen, brother Ames.
So go forth and conquer in your jacket. Wear it when you're a guest on
Charlie Rose, wear it with white jeans to a Riviera nightclub, wear it with
a sober tie to your parole hearing. Wear it with the confidence that comes
from being part of a classic tradition that continues to help men carry the
day.

107
 Ties: Setting the Bar

When Jason Kidd coached the Brooklyn Nets a few years ago, he became
noticeably more relaxed as the team went on a hot streak. The New York
Times noted that this went beyond the team’s play: “From an aesthetic
standpoint, Kidd’s development has included growing a considerable gray-
flecked beard.” We always support beards in leadership roles, even among
titans of finance (you can approve the beard and not approve the invest-
ment strategy).
The piece went on to note that during the winning streak, Kidd had
also forsaken wearing ties during games, and he looked pretty good with-
out one. Suill, our first thought was that this was another step down the path
of informality—like the sad day when the 21 Club dropped its tie require-
ment at lunch.
Why is that? The tie is a declaration of intent. A good tie announces
your understanding of society and your place in it. The tie maintains a
cultural power even in its absence; that’s why you notice when somebody
in a position of authority isn’t wearing one. Would you hire an accountant
who wore a flannel shirt? Consider the downward spiral from ‘Tom Landry
to Bill Belichick. Both are brilliant coaches; one was dignified and natty, but
the other looks like he should be replacing used towels in the locker room.
That doesn’t make the tie a default mode for every man—we’re long
past that point. But if you are going to forsake the tie, it should look like a
proper consideration. You don’t want to look like you’ve been ejected from
a fancy restaurant and are looking for the nearest bar with a television.
Boys are made to wear ties against their will; men understand a sense
of occasion and rise to it. Ultimately there is a time to wear your tie, and
you should know when that is. Whether you’re eating at Daniel, attending
the opera, or sitting through your sentencing hearing, wear your tie from
a position of strength. In the meantime, if a tie constricts you, then find
another path. But let that path be true.

Lee Marvin in Point Blank

109
110
Thread Count: How Many Ties Do You Own?

Al Fames Richard Christiansen Adrian Dannatt

That’s easy and About thirty. But the odd Countless, literally.
embarrassing: One. thing is that I only ever wear
two of them. But when push
comes to shove, I’m not Jay McInerney
Chris Black brave enough to embrace pat- In active rotation, around
Five—for weddings and tern and I pick a solid color. fifty. Another hundred or so
funerals only. in the closet.

FP Williams
JF. C. MacKenzie Thirty-three ties, four bow Glenn O’Brien
Eight. ties. I counted last night and seem
to have 179 ties. I think Oscar
has my Calvin Curtis $ tie
Thomas Beller Fay Batlle in his room, which would
I would say twelve. Enough to know each one make 180.
personally.

Enoc Perez Gay Talese

Maybe twelve. Five of them Dan Rookwood Nearly two hundred.
are from my grandfather. Fifty-three.

Duncan Hannah
Brian Awitan Nick Sullivan I suspect around
Thirteen, all gifts. About sixty. I wear two. two hundred.

Frank Muytjens Robert Becker G. Bruce Boyer

About twenty-five. They Around one hundred. I’ve got about two hundred
come and go. ues. I cull the herd every few
years, but they keep multi-
Russell Kelly plying anyway.
Russell Blackmore Over a hundred, but I con-
Thirty, which seems like a sistently wear less than ten.
lot for someone who doesn’t Derrick Miller
wear a tie very often any- Three hundred fifty, or an
more. Andy Spade embarrassing amount.
One hundred and six.

Alexander Gilkes Michael Hill

About thirty, but I always use Mark McNairy Could be five-hundred-odd,
the same three. A shitload. including those made by my
old man and great-grandfa-
ther. As far as those I keep
Nick Wooster in the wardrobe and wear,
After a massive culling, 137. probably no more than two
dozen.

111
 Interview

WHAT DO YOU
COLEEG#2

“I’ve actually become a collector of collections

of cowboy boots. Other cowboy boot people will
become weary of their addiction, and then I'll
buy them.’ —Walter Kirn

Clockwise, from left: Matt Hranek’s Barbour, Al James’s fishing reel, JP Williams’s ball of twine,
Brian Awitan’s flask

112
 What Do You Collect?

Cuff links are an obsession. They can be

whimsical or a little baroque in a way that
men’s couture doesn’t otherwise allow unless
you’re a game show host or a hip-hop star”
—Jay McInerney

JAY FIELDEN I probably have a hun- them at full price. One of the com-
dred knit ties. I’m easily overcome pensations of living in New York
by Charvet. I go there all the time City is sample sales.
when I’m in Paris. I love all the
wackier colors, the really French HIROFUMI KURINO I have so many
ones: Indian blue, chartreuse, tan- clothes, and countless shoes. But my
gerine, apple green. Colors I could biggest collection is vinyl records.
never wear with my red hair, but I have about ten thousand records,
I sometimes still buy them. There and I keep buying them. I saved
they hang on the goddamn hook in for records when I was in elemen-
my closet, enjoying the free air-con- tary school—each month my par-
ditioning, I guess. ents gave me 300 yen, which was
about three dollars. Three dollars
ALEX BILMES I do have a lot ofties. is enough for a kid. But a single
I have a lot of suits. I have a lot of record costs 370 yen. So I saved
shirts. I don’t need any more shoes. two months and bought one single.
But I’m going to get some anyway. If I saved six months, I was able to
buy an LP.
G. BRUCE BOYER Ilove tweed jack-
ets. My wife says they all look the MARK McNAIRY I had two hundred
same—browns, greens. I like those pairs of Adidas, Nike, and Con-
mossy colors. I see a huge distinc- verse. I had them meticulously lined
tion between all of them. But not up around my room. That was from
everybody else does. working at the sporting goods store
and getting sneakers from the bas-
STEPHEN COATES I’ve got too ketball teams. I was younger than
many single-breasted, three-button sixteen, because I wasn’t allowed to
suits. There’s just not enough differ- legally work there.
ence, really, between them to justify
having them. I should narrow them NICK SCHONBERGER | have a lot
down to five. of T-shirts that I don’t wear. Every
time I move, I put T-shirts in a bag
GUY TREBAY I probably have more and put them in storage. I have most
than one more Brunello Cucinelli significant T-shirts of every era of
puffer vest than I need. I don’t buy my life in a bag.

113
 What Do You Collect?

“| had twenty thousand records. I’d cut my

grandmother’s lawn for twenty bucks and would
ride my bike across town and blow it on records.
Back then, the only way to hear it was to buy
it. If | didn’t like it, |would warp it on the stove
and put it back in the sleeve and take it back to
the store and say, ‘Hey, | want a different one:
But they would only exchange it for the same
album—but the day before, | would take all of
those albums and hide them in the jazz section.
School Kids Records was the hippie record
store—but | didn’t do that to them. | did that to
Record Bar, which was the chain shop in the
city” -—Mark McNairy

ROBERT BECKER I’ve been collect- were all made in the 1930s and ’40s
ing since I was old enough to have by kids in the metalwork shops.
my own money. I still have the first They were bought by British civil
object I ever bought at a flea market, servants, who'd bring them back
a framed tobacco card of aChinese and give them as presents. Amaz-
circus performer. Right now ’m ingly, they are all the same. They’re
obsessed with nineteenth-century all maps of the Indian subconti-
Japanese ambrotypes, tiny glass nent, and you can tell whether it’s
photographs housed in delicate pre-Partition—’47—by the names
kiri wood boxes decorated with on the areas, and for the most part
calligraphy. they’re pre-Partition, World War II
and before. ’'d buy them for eight
ANDY SPADE [I'll buy shell cordo- or nine quid and take them to a
van loafers, shell cordovan brogues, silversmith in the jewelry district,
the same simple oxford. They last and he’d replate them for me.
for years but when they’re gone,
they’re gone. I'll buy desert boots JOSH PESKOWITZ I have an exor-
from Clarks, the same one color, bitant amount of overcoats; that’s
over and over again. I would buy my biggest weakness. I don’t like
white and blue oxfords from Brooks wearing puffer coats. Obviously I
Brothers, over and over again. have a parka, but I'd rather wear
two overcoats than wear a fucking
NICK SULLIVAN I started buying fifty-below Canada Goose—shoot
souvenir ashtrays from India that me if Iever wear Canada Goose.

114
 What Do You Collect?

FRANK MUYTJENS Chambray shirts.

I find them at vintage shops and
they're a little roomy but I like
that. Another thingI can never get
enough of is French vintage linen.
I find that in Japan.

MICHAEL HAINEY I tend to hoard

papers. I don’t hoard clothes, but
I keep letters that people write me
and all my notebooks—anything I’ve
written. Ifyou wrote me a note, I’d
keep it.

MICHAEL WILLIAMS Bags. A bag is

so utilitarian it’s like a tool in a way:
The right bag for the right situation
or the right trip. If I’m going out to
(I probably have fifty), Calvin Klein
Maine, I'll always pack my Filson
underwear, and Paul Smith socks.
bags. If I'm going to Tokyo, I'll pack
Maison Margiela denim shuts,
a black Porter bag. Notebooks are
J.Crew sweatshirts, and Acne sweat-
the same way. I have whole catego-
ers: my closet looks like a cartoon
ries of things that I will never need
character’s—same outfit everyday
to buy in my life. When I go to
Japan I tell myself, Don’t buy any
WESLEY STACE I collect way too
bags, don’t buy any notebooks, you
many things. I collect lots. I have
don’t need any fucking notebooks, lots and lots of records, and lots
you don’t need any bags. of books about and by Laurence

“I can’t name anything that | don’t have a lot of”

—Nick Wooster

Sterne. I have lots of first editions,

ROB ZANGARDI Right now, I own particularly of Patrick Hamilton,
about sixteen pairs of Saint Lau- Edward Lear, Angela Carter, L.P.
rent jeans. I go through phases with Hartley, and Anthony Powell. I have
jeans. Before Saint Laurent, it was lots of copies of the Fortean Times,
A.P.C. I'll find a pair I absolutely but you can have them if you like.
love and then buy as many as I can.
Same goes for James Perse T-shirts
Canvas Sneakers, David Coggins (the author's father)

115
 Scarves: Wrapped in Meaning

Many years ago I was a student in Paris. It was fall, I was twenty, and as the
weather turned cooler I began to consider what scarf to wear. But I didn’t
want to look too eager and be the first person strolling down the rue du Bac
in advance of the season. I need not have worried. On the first cool day,
men, women, and children were all draped in a brilliant array of scarves.
Brightly colored, nonchalantly wrapped, inevitably elegant—this was acces-
sorizing as high expression.
The scarf does more than keep us warm. It shows the world a flash
of color, a blaze of pattern. In the proper hands it can even be a stroke
of genius. I’ve learned this firsthand: My family feels very strongly about
scarves. My sister, mother, and father wear them religiously and generously
give them to each other. But then they “borrow” them back, sometimes
without asking and for extended periods. It’s not uncommon for my dad to
say to my sister, “That’s a great scarf, is it mine?”
This leads to good-natured accusations—and some less so. I suspect
Dries Van Noten has started more fights in our family than any other sub-
ject. I roll my eyes, but I understand the connection people have to their
scarves. Why is that? You develop an attachment to something you wear
every day. While the rest of your wardrobe rotates, the perfect scarf cap-
tures your feelings for the season, and you feel oddly naked without it.
I am partial to short scarves, those you can wear under a sport coat.
This trend, alas, hasn’t taken off. I've tried to convince designers who are
friends to make a short scarf just for me. I’m still waiting.
Ultimately, a scarf offers a change of pace from our habit of dressing.
It’s a well-earned point of interest, something optical, something warm,
something close to the heart of anybody who cares about style. Just ask a
Parisian.
SE Sin
116
 Great Detail: The Pocket Square

There’s a reason there’s a pocket on the front of all your sport coats: You’re
meant to adorn your ensemble with a pocket square. It’s been that way for
more than a century, and it’s one sartorial tradition you should proudly
carry on.
If a suit represents your adherence to classical style, then the pocket
Square is a chance to express your individuality, one that should not be
passed up. Once you dive into the pleasures of the pocket square, a coat
that lacks one looks somehow unfulfilled, like a Porsche that never breaks
the speed limit.
The easiest way to sport the pocket square is the Don Draper approach—
straight and white as an index card. This no-nonsense approach works
best with a narrow-lapel coat, an ice-cold martini, and a worldview that
takes no prisoners. An added benefit is that most white silk pocket squares
arrive folded in just this manner. Simply insert in the pocket and prepare
for ad-world domination.
The tuxedo is also a good chance to dip your toe in—you’re dealing in
stark black-and-white contrasts. It’s one part of the ensemble that allows
you to be more expressive, to show you're the master of your uniform.
Then, critically, forget all about it. You don’t want to be beholden to the
thing. When you’re in a tuxedo you’ve got better things to worry about,
like accepting your Lifetime Achievement Award at the Daytime Emmys.
The pocket square is your chance to add dynamism to any suit. And
though you may pass your pocket square to your date at the opera when
she tears up during La Bohéme, under no circumstances do you blow your
nose into silk. That, my dear fellow, is why you also carry a handkerchief.

— 117
|
 ie
bapa
ae
 Southern Exposure: Men Without Socks

When you meet a man, you observe certain sartorial and social cues. You
notice a firm handshake, perhaps a whimsical Hermés tie, or maybe a
watch the size of a coaster. But if you're really to take the measure of the
modern man head to toe, you are increasingly likely to discover something
else: He’s not wearing socks.
We’re not talking about Vans on the beach, ‘Top-Siders aboard a sail-
boat, or espadrilles on the side streets of Saint‘Tropez. We’re not even
talking about bmilliantly colored driving mocs as you step onto a Vespa. No,
we're talking about a man in the city, in a suit, with nothing beneath his
brogues. More and more, the ankle is where men are empowered to flash a
little flesh. Where once a man wore vibrant Paul Smith socks to introduce
a sense of play into his wardrobe, now men are inclined to trot out their
ankles, au naturel.
How did we arrive at this pomt? What began as a relaxed summertime
tradition migrated to the city with the cleaner lines of modern tailoring.
And by clean lines we mean shorter trousers that show off shoes. But short
sometimes means really short—like culottes. It’s likely that today’s young
man has never even uttered the phrase “a good break” to his tailor, whose
trousers are probably pooled around his own ankles.
This trend can be attributed to the immense influence of Thom
Browne: the maestro of schoolboy dress, whose suits look exquisite on him
but may appear slightly shrunken on anybody not fully indoctrinated in his
sensibility or not built in good, concise proportions. Mr. Browne wears his
trousers just below mid-calf (when he’s not wearing shorts, that is) and pairs
them with substantial wing tips. He’s taken the businessman’s uniform and
turned it inside out, undermined the system from within.
Just because Mr. Browne has mastered the art of ankle exposure, does
that mean you should too? Those who are not consummate fashion insid-
ers are embracing this with a fervor that leaves others uneasy. ‘The bare
ankles strike some as unprofessional and have led certain companies to
introduce a mandatory sock-wearing policy during non-summer months.
It should be said, however, that many men are now going sockless in
name only. In fact, beneath their beautiful shoes they’re wearing “footies”—
little slip-on socks that allow them to invoke the nonchalant air of the sock-

John Wayne and Gary Cooper

119
less while keeping their hygienic prerogatives intact. At a recent Midtown
cocktail party with some men in the fashion industry, I realized that of the
half-dozen men I was with, I was the only one chaste enough to be fully
socked.
Each of the dapper fellows had his own strategy for his footies: Some
bought high-end versions at the country club pro shop; others found
acceptable three-dollar substitutes that they bought in bulk in a California
grocery store. Some prefer a size too large, because they tend to shrink;
some wear them a few times and toss them out. But I found that they all
were well versed in the trade-offs around the toes. And I realized that I, in
striped socks and uninitiated in these matters, was the most conservative
man from the knee down.
One young friend wears socks less than five days a year. As a firsthand
witness of this behavior, I went through a swing of emotional phases in my
response. It began with curiosity and veered into a form of mild aggrava-
tion at the utter indifference to the elements, bordering on willfulness. In
the end, however, I settled into grudging admiration, with slight concern
about the sock abstainer’s disregard for the long view. It’s like the morbid
fascination you feel for the Polar Bear Club members, who plunge in the
ocean every New Year’s Day.
Ultimately, what’s striking about this flash of flesh is how something
that began as a sign of relaxation now signifies a sort of formal rigor; to
look offhand and relaxed now takes considerable strategizing. This is, in
the end, a sign of the modern man’s evolving view of fashion. He’s not
a strict minimalist who’s sworn off accessories or bursts of color. In fact,
many of the sock apostates delight in vivid pocket squares or the dramatic
seasonal scarf. The sockless dandy is not afraid to experiment, to express,
even to slightly enrage. And, perhaps as important, it helps him to better
understand the fair sex: When a woman remarks that her feet hurt, now
he can feel her pain.

120
 In Praise of White Shoes

When warm weather finally arrives there’s a natural desire to get into the
optimism of the season. You drink Negronis with a vengeance, dust off
the fly rod even though the fishing hasn’t picked up yet, you even watch
your local baseball team before they take their annual swan dive in the
standings. Spring is a time to express yourself, and that’s a very fine case
for white shoes. Real shoes, mind you, not Vans or something straight from
the court: bucks, cap-toe oxfords, cricket shoes, even wing tips. A few years
ago, Crockett & Jones released an elegant pair made of deerskin—they were
practically criminal.
When worn properly, white shoes go beyond the country club, and
they have nothing to do with nonsense about “redefining what prep means
today.” Like Belgian Shoes, they veer toward dandyism but return to a
position of strength. If not quite subversive, they still impart a sense of
exhilaration, like eating steak tartare with a raw egg cracked onto it.
Fred Astaire wore them so filmgoers could follow his terrific foot-
work. Our friend JP Williams wears them year-round, in part because of
his Southern upbringing but also because of his iconoclastic streak. White
shoes won’t stay white for long, nor should they. Their imperfections are
rightly seen as a badge of honor; like a frayed collar or a coat’s thinned
elbows, they’re a form of sartorial scar. A man in white shoes asserts his
individuality, conveying a sense of liberation. He appreciates the seasons
but isn’t constrained by them. He understands uncertainty and welcomes it.
And, most important, he asks, When can we celebrate, if not today?

es al
121
 360 part

360
Group of Seven Pairs of Shoes
Comprising a pair of brown suede la
Dover Street, London, W; pair of blac |
indistinctly; pair of brown calf pull o
Cleverley, 79, St. Joseph's Road, London, n
tassel slippers; pair of brown calf slippers; pair
zip up ankle boots; and a pair of black and whit:

$200-300
See Illustration of Part
361
Two Pairs of John Lobb Shoes; Together with a John Lobb Bes
The box with paper label John Lobb, Ltd, Bootm. a
pair of brown lace up oxfords, la fed John L
York, and a pair of black calf slip ons, labeled John
Paris, New York
.S
$100-150
See Illustration of Part
362
Two Pairs of Italian Shoes
Comprising a pair of cordovan leather ankle boots. labele
Bologna-ltaly, Made for L :
pair of brown suede Gucci loafers, one stamped Gucc
Cc
$100-150
363
Pair of Monogrammed Evening Slippers
Midnight blue velvet with gold bouillon DF monog
Dover Street, London W.

a 6 3

Collection of Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.'s Shoehorns

Approximately thirty-four pieces
C
$50-75

116 DOYLE New YORK THE ESTATE OF DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS, JR. septemser 13, 2011
 Man of Auction: Bidding Wars

A few years back the Hollywood effects of Douglas Fairbanks Jr. went
to auction at Doyle on the Upper East Side. Old Doug was a committed
Anglophile and a bold dresser, though he had an unfortunate penchant
for caftans in his later years. But if you can handle being married to Joan
Crawford, you can handle a dinner jacket in brown velvet.
My target was a lot comprising seven pairs of shoes, in particular a pair
of suede Henry Maxwells, at that time based on Dover Street in London. I
adhere to the Neapolitan tradition of wearing suede shoes year-round—and
the catalog said they were 91, exactly my size. But it was still a gamble
since you couldn’t try them on. If they fit they would be a coup for all time;
if not, they would become reluctant gifts for taller friends who may or may
not deserve them.
The bidding was surprisingly robust for Doug’s monogrammed gold
sock garters, which went for a cool three thousand dollars. When my lot
came up I just found myself wielding a paddle as nonchalantly as I could,
though I’d never done it before (bidding on eBay in pajamas is not quite
the same thing). Biood rushed to my ears as I kept waving away. I couldn’t
even hear the final price. Around three hundred dollars or so—either a boon
or an amount that would nag at me until the story became enjoyable to tell,
which I estimated as five years hence.
When I gathered my lot the next day, I couldn’t wait to try a pair on. In
the back of the cab downtown, I practically screamed. The slightly alarmed
driver turned around to make sure everything was all right, he couldn’t tell
that they were screams of joy.

Jr.
Page from Doyle’s auction catalog for the estate of Douglas Fairbanks

—_
123
 Interview

MAJOR
ACQUISITIONS AND
INDULGENCES
“My first pair of bespoke shoes was at George
Cleverley in the early nineties. | read about this
shipment of leather that had been recovered
from the Baltic—it had sunk in the mid-
nineteenth century, and somehow these tanned
hides had survived. As soon as | read about it |
thought, | have to have these. Whatever it cost,
it seemed like an awful lot, and | remember
that | was just buying an apartment and | was
thinking, | can’t do this, | can’t do this. | went to
London-—there was another excuse, but | went
almost specifically to get these shoes.’
—Jay McInerney

BRUCE PASK For the longest time early naughts, I was working as a
I have loved Volvos, especially that stylist with Annie Leibovitz doing
really boxy 240 station wagon that numerous Vanity Fair shoots and
often appears in movies, driven commercial projects; and we did
by characters like a liberal college The Sopranos ad campaign, one of
professor or the slightly bohemian my biggest gigs at the time. After we
sibling at a family gathering. It wrapped, as a treat to myself, I went
just has so much personality and out and bought a ‘93 hunter green
looks so sturdy. At the time, the 240 wagon with caramel interior,

124
 Major Acquistitions and Indulgences

in Philadelphia. It was described

as a tattoo chest that’s in Jack Tar,
Welles’s collection book. I bought
that in Portsmouth, New Hamp-
shire, at Northeast Auctions. That
was the most expensive thing that
a real shoebox on wheels. It was I ever bought. Unwittingly, I was
love at first sight. I still have her bidding against the museum, which
and she’s always been dependable. I’ve now loaned the object to.
We’ve been through a lot together
over the years. NICK SULLIVAN I bought a lot of my
favorite things on eBay. I'll find a
HIROFUMI KURINO I mainly wear genre I’m interested in, I will look at
just one pair of glasses. My first pair fifty examples of that as they come
is from 1977, by Hakusan opticians. up, and I'll hold off. By that time I'll
It cost forty thousand yen, about know when I see a picture of one,
four hundred dollars, quite expen- that’s the one I want. Yesterday I
sive at the time. It was more than bought a 1950s French workers’
half my salary, but no other people shirt jacket. It’s a little gnarly, seems
were making these one-of-a-kind to be the right size, maybe a little
glasses. So when I got my first sal- short in the sleeve, but I can do
ary I went directly to the shop and something about that. But I looked
bought them. at fifty before I got to that one.
For twenty years I’ve had
another pair that was made to order, JAY McINERNEY The first time I ever
which were based originally on my went to a real tailor was in the early
wife’s glasses. I found these glasses nineties. I went to Huntsman, and
that she wore as a teenager. I found it was intimidating because I felt
them by chance when we started like you had to dress up just to go
living together. They needed some there. I thought, I wonder if actu-
adjusting, so I brought them to a ally this suit doesn’t fit perfectly. I
store and they fixed them just right was very self-conscious the first few
for me, and I wore them for about times I went to a bespoke tailor. I
ten years. I liked the model so much went to Huntsman, to Anderson &
that eventually I made a replica of it, Sheppard. It’s very intimidating.
and I’ve been wearing it ever since. Suddenly you feel like your accent
is particularly crude. This wasn’t
NICK SCHONBERGER After grad- that long ago.
uate school I bought, at auction,
a chest owned by J. Welles Hen- MICHAEL HAINEY When I moved
derson, who was the founder of to New York, there used to be this
the Independence Seaport Museum place on Broadway, I think between
Hirofumi Kurino’s glasses

126
 Major Acquistitions and Indulgences

“The first time | went to England, | had just

graduated from college. | was twenty-one. |
took the summer to bum around Europe. | got a
cheap flight, | slept on beaches, and | hitchhiked.
| went from Ireland to Amsterdam, all the way
across to Italy and back, and ended up in
England. | went to a tailor: It was then on Regent
Street, it was Bailey and Weatherill—absolutely
authentic. | got a three-piece, single-breasted,
gray flannel suit. This was really British: side
vents up to the waist. In a week you could get
three fittings in, and it was beautiful. And the
buttonholes on the sleeve opened. | thought, Oh
man, this is it. My life was never going to get
better than this. And it may not have!”
—G. Bruce Boyer
Thirteenth and Fourteenth, called these IWCs and loved them and
Cheap Jack’s or something like really wanted one. I felt like one
that. I didn’t have much money, I day I was going to own one of these
was making fifty bucks a week at watches. So I ended up going back
Spy magazine. But this place was and buying an IWC Portuguese, the
near the office, so I went there and watch that I looked at years earlier.
I bought this great houndstooth It wasn’t about the flash of it, it was
sport coat. I wore it for years; it was about having something nice—and it
secondhand (you see the pattern was the first time I had a real watch,
here, a guy comfortable in hand- and that was pretty symbolic for me.
me-downs?) and I always got a ton
of compliments. GUY TREBAY The strangest thing
I tend to get attached to clothes. I’ve bought at auction was a pair of
Nostalgic. If it has served me well, eight-foot teakwood pillars from a
I have a hard time letting go of it. Chettiar mansion in South India. I
So, with this coat, I kept it for years. bought them by phone from a Palm
When I started dating my wife, she Beach auction. I’d spotted them
found it in the back of my closet and cataloged incorrectly and thought
was like, “What is this?” they were a find. Now, of course, I
realize that is where I should have
MICHAEL WILLIAMS When I was left them—in the catalog.
twenty-five, I went and looked at

127
 Interview

PEAS is TROUBLED
AND OTHERWISE

Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda

128
 Phases: Troubled and Otherwise

ANDY SPADE When my mother and ’81, when I was going down to
married my stepfather, they moved the discos in New York, maxed out.
us to a town called Casa Grande,
between Tucson and Phoenix. He G. BRUCE BOYER | wore zoot suits—
was into hunting, and so I would get if an average suit takes four yards of
up in the morning and wear skeet cloth, a zoot suit had about six or
jackets and shoot clay pigeons. He seven. The trousers went from just
gave me Frye boots, and I would under your armpits to vast folds of
wear them with shorts because it pegged pants at your cuff, and then
was so hot. My real father once said, the coats went down to mid-thigh.
“T pulled up to come visit you and I
saw how poorly you were dressed. STEPHEN COATES I became a cross-
I turned around and went home, dresser for a while. In London, in
because I couldn’t take you out with Soho, in the early nineties I dressed
me that way.” like Iwas a woman. It wasn’t full-on
drag, I think just started with very

“I’ve had some bad haircuts in my day. | had one

that looked like Prince Valiant that wasn’t doing
me any favors. | think | was trying to look like
Keith Emerson, but it just didn’t quite work out
right” —Duncan Hannah

WALTER KIRN I had a David Bowie long hair, started using makeup. I
period, a glam period. In 1980 with loved that kind of glamour look, a
Studio 54 still open in New York, I New York Dolls thing. I was living
had a bunch of girlfriends who liked in Ladbroke Grove and was going
to put makeup on their guys. So I out in Soho a lot. I’ve thought
would “Bowie out” with makeup about it since, but I don’t quite
and go down to New York City. We know what was going on because
knew these rich girls in New York, it was a phase that lasted and then
and we’d do it at their apartment. stopped. It wasn’t an erotic thing,
It often involved drugs, and often it didn’t feel related to sexuality or
you never really got out that night. gender, but I definitely had strong
It was a period when guys were feelings to dress as a girl. There was
piercing their ears and there was a glamour club scene. But I wasn’t
a definite kind of androgyny, and doing it during the daytime; it was
you'd be wearing eye shadow. You a nighttime thing.
had to wear a T-shirt and just sort
of be minimal in your dress. But RANDY GOLDBERG I have a pic-
that was about two years there, 80 ture with Sandra Day O’Connor,

129
 Phases: Troubled and Otherwise

and I’m wearing purple jeans and a sailor’s hat and a cigar in his mouth.
really ugly rugby shirt. It probably At some point my father gave me
came from Structure. I can’t show his green army jacket—like a simple
the photograph to anybody. Carhartt-type jacket today—with his
name over the pocket, and I wore
J. C. MacKENZIE I loved women’s that for years. I went to my high
clothing for a year when I was school graduation in my father’s
eleven. I spent afternoons in my dress-white navy uniform.
mother’s closet looking for pink
taffeta and stockings. My father, a TOM SCHILLER Antoine Doinel in
repressed pharmacist, came home The 400 Blows. I was fifteen and I
early one afternoon and found me absolutely wanted to be this French
in nylons, a blonde wig, pumps, and kid. I was growing up in LA, which
an erection. He quickly arranged for didn’t seem very European, so I
a psychiatric evaluation at the Royal wore these black turtleneck sweaters
Ottawa Mental Health Centre, and and would go to cafés and drink
my “Bowie phase” soon ended. espresso.
I do see pictures of me at Satur-
GUY TREBAY I had a very distinct day Night Live functions, and I was
super-hippie phase, hair down to getting a little toward the big col-
the middle of my back in a braid. lars. I didn’t go that far, but I was
approaching that and fortunately
DUNCAN HANNAH In the early eight- didn’t go all the way.
ies I started making a little money,
and I was buying jackets with shoul- ENOC PEREZ I didn’t realize I was
der pads, which are just horrible. a Puerto Rican until I came here. I
grew up in Puerto Rico, so everyone
MARKLEY BOYER In New England was Puerto Rican. But by coming
in the seventies, there was a real here I realized that when you go to
aesthetic of slight shabbiness—the Barneys, you have a security guard
fanciest families in town would following you. So after college my
drive beat-up old Volvos, and if reaction to that was to play it up. I
your sweater didn’t have holes at started to wear a gold watch. Noth-
the elbows, it was considered a little ing’s more Latino than a gold watch.
flashy. So I think that some of that I was twenty-three. I graduated from
same attitude colored the acquisi- school and then I went to Hunter
tion of thrift store clothes. College to study for my master’s.
So I went through a big army At that point I started to embrace
surplus phase. My father had been the guayabera, with some ridiculous
a Navy SEAL, although back then it Dolce & Gabbana pants that I would
was called Underwater Demolition buy at Century 21.
Team, and its logo was a slightly I was in this circle of people,
ridiculous pugnacious frog with a and we were poor and fashionable.

130
 Phases: Troubled and Otherwise

You can be fashionable and be poor. NICK SULLIVAN The most forma-
That’s the nice thing about style. tive clothing period was when my
great-uncle’s clothes became useful
MARK McNAIRY I think the most to me, when I was just about fifteen
embarrassing period was the end or sixteen, and Brideshead Revisited
of high school and first few years of came out and it informed an entire
college. It was the New Wave thing: new generation of thrift store pur-
peg-leg jeans, Capezio jazz oxfords. chases. At that time you could buy
‘That was the worst. 1950s and 1940s clothes quite eas-
ily. It inspired this whole nightlife
NICK SCHONBERGER Everything of people wearing granddad shirts
before I was twenty-five. Between and white tie to a nightclub.
twenty-five and thirty you figure
out who you are. And after that JAY McINERNEY When I moved
you wear the same shit for the rest to New York I moved downtown,
of your life. and it just didn’t really feel quite
right wearing Harris tweeds and
RICHARD CHRISTIANSEN When I chinos and Docksides. It was the
was at Benetton, Oliverio Toscani, waning years of punk, and I eventu-
who was such a lunatic in the best ally picked up black leather jackets
way, made us wear white jump- and black jeans. I had this uneasy
suits. A Bond-girl-type jumpsuit. transition—the gap was pretty stark
Everyone, without exception. It was between olive green and tan and the
made of a fabric that’s like paper, black-and-white uniform of down-
and if we ripped them we would town New York.
just get another one. He called it a
laboratory of ideas. All personality THOMAS BELLER In Wise Blood by
came through work, which was so Flannery O’Connor, this Southern
interesting.

NICK WOOSTER I moved to New

York in 1983 and still dressed like
I did in college, which was on the
preppy side. I remember wanting
to have New York clothes. Para-
chute was big at the time, and I
really wanted to look like an upside-
down triangle. But the reality was
I couldn’t afford it, so I worked in
advertising. I didn’t work in fash-
ion for a few years. I had a failed
advertising career.
Jay MciInerney’s 1980s author photo

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 Phases: Troubled and Otherwise

Baptist milieu, the guy drops out, he Up Against the Wall, a mid-Atlantic
rebels, but his means of rebellion is chain of what would now be referred
to start a Church Without Christ. to as urban fashion. I started work-
He couldn’t reject the world he was ing there because I really wanted
in, in terms other than that world. Polo sweatpants and couldn’t afford
I had a very weird period in my them. They were eighty-five dollars,
life where I was very into finance. and Stussy T-shirts were thirty dol-
I went from wearing Frye boots lars. Now I was getting paid, and I
and an army jacket to a suit and was getting a discount.
carrying a briefcase and being a pre- The predominant feeling I
tend financier. In high school at St. get when I look back at photos of
Ann’s, my first rebellion against that myself is, Wow, look how skinny
religion was to become a stockbro- I was! That’s the main thing. But
ker and walk around with the Wall the majority of the things in my
Street Journal, reading the options wardrobe tie directly back to what
tables. Now that I think about this, I wore in high school.
where did I get that suit? It must’ve
been my dad’s suit. GLENN O’BRIEN I first lived on the
Upper West Side. I was in college
MARKLEY BOYER In 1977, “God during the hippie years, so I was
Save the Queen” by the Sex Pis- like a hippie in preppy clothing. I
tols came out, and a friend came had hair down to here and a beard
back from London talking about it. down to here and a tweed jacket.
Somehow I got the 45 and started
playing it on the countertop record FRANK MUYTJENS When I moved
player in the science lab, and for to New York, I checked out malls. I
the next five or six years I was very was curious about everything, even
interested in the punk scene. There junk food. People said, “You don’t
was a club in Boston called the Rat— know what an Oreo cookie is?” I
the Rathskeller—that I spent a lot of went to all the clubs too. Clubs were
time at, and there were great Boston big at that point. I was so impressed
bands that we all used to see all the by restaurants. I always went to the
time. So a lot of my style choices Odeon.
only really made sense from the
obviously ridiculous position of the CHRIS BLACK If anyone says they
upper-middle-class suburban punk didn’t have a bad phase, they’re
rocker. But still, I loved it. Leather lying. My teenage look was mostly
jackets, earrings, purple hair. big pants, hardcore/punk T-shirts,
and a wide variety of ridiculous
JOSH PESKOWITZ I remember beaded necklaces.
working as a bagel baker illegally
when I was fifteen. On the day I EUAN RELLIE We would go there to
turned sixteen, I started working at these secondhand shops in Clapham

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 Phases: Troubled and Otherwise

“| saw a purple suit in a store and | said, ‘Well,

that would stand out at synagogue: | wanted to
wear it because | thought it would be rebellious.
| only wore a suit to synagogue, and that was
twice a year” —Randy Goldberg

Junction where you could buy what you get all this great vintage stuff
were more or less zoot suits, and for ten bucks!”
demob suits were what the soldiers
would get if you survived the war BRIAN AWITAN Honestly, I feel like
and came home. They’d give you my whole life is a bad-dressing
a suit to readjust to civilian life, in phase. At forty-five years old I do
demobilization. They were called feel less and less remorse when
demob suits, and you’d get these I look back as the years go by.
ill-fitting, inelegant suits of checks. Regrets, however, I have few, as
even my questionable choices were
DUNCAN HANNAH When I became reflections of my head space. It’s a
a late sixties, marljuana-smoking, time stamp.
countercultural misfit, my dad was
just crushed because up to that point WALTER KIRN My dad went from a
I'd been following in his wake. Sud- very conservative dresser to a very
denly I was wearing pink corduroy mod dresser in the early seventies.
pants and sailor suits, but that was He suddenly grew a mustache; he
because of T. Rex, David Bowie, started wearing turtlenecks. He was
Roxy Music—none of which he one of the earliest gym members I
found to be a good influence on me. knew. He belonged to something
One night he was getting called the European Health Spa.
dressed to go to a party, and I was Its logo was an Atlas-like muscle
getting dressed to go to a party. I figure holding up a globe. I look
was waiting for my ride and he was back, and he may not have known
waiting for my mother, and we were that he was in a vanguard of gay
both sitting in the living room star- culture. He was wearing these very
ing at each other. I was wearing a tight synthetic turtlenecks. It was
sailor suit. I was about eighteen. He the first time I’ve been conscious of
had been a naval officer, so he found my dad trying to be sexy.
that to be extremely inappropriate. So I thought I would try becom-
He said, “Where'd you even get ing a turtleneck person. It was the
that?” I said, “The Goodwill.” He seventies; turtlenecks were in colors
said, “Why are you shopping where like burnt orange—bad-appliance
poor people go?” I said, “Because colors. I had a bunch that were yel-

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 Phases: Troubled and Otherwise

“When | was thirteen or fourteen | wanted to

express myself. There was something called
Winkle Pickers, that all of the boys of my gener-
ation wanted. We would go down to Kensington
Market on High Street, and you could buy Winkle
Pickers, very pointy leather shoes, or you could
buy Bottle Creepers, which were usually suede.
| wanted Winkle Pickers and Bottle Creep-
ers, and my mother said to me, ‘Absolutely
not? She wouldn’t buy me these abysmal, gray
leather, awful shoes. It was a huge trauma”
—Euan Rellie

low. They were very stretchy and friend Kip Kotzen, a literary agent
bad for your skin, but I wore them at the time, was in it. I still remem-
for a long time. There’s something ber his quote: “I’m touching it right
about having your neck and face now.
”

framed in the way that turtlenecks

do. It makes you very conscious of ROB ZANGARDI Iwo words: leather
your hair. So even in the days of pants. When I first moved to New
very natural, fluffy, early eighties York and was working in fashion, I
hair, I was into hair products. Vitalis felt compelled to dress more...fash-
and strange Brylcreem. ion-y. This resulted in all the things
early 2000s nightmares are made of:
THOMAS BELLER I liked this idea pairing a navy blue turtleneck with
of being a kind of subterranean navy blue leather pants, snakeskin
person, an off-the-grid character. I cowboy boots, and more styling
got around on a bicycle. In a way experiments that should have never
it’s the antithesis of the uniform. left the pages of Teen People. No
The bicycle thing was kind of a big matter how much I try, I always go
deal for me, because that was how back to the classics. Trying to be a
I got around. Not that you could fashion kid never felt right.
be wearing anything on a bicycle.
In fact, there was a moment there MARK McNAIRY Reminiscence was
where bicycles were explicitly writ- the big thing. Do you remember?
ten about as this twee accessory. It’s still around, it was sort of like
Candace Bushnell did a piece on Basco but shitty quality, but still
boys and their bikes in the Observer. cool. Copies of military chinos—it
Plimpton, Rick Hertzberg—my was always in GQ. It was the first

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 Phases: Troubled and Otherwise

place we went when we were here, TOM SCHILLER I moved to back

right around the corner on Eighth to New York in the mid-seventies,
Street. I bought a pair of Kenneth which was like Saturday Night Fever.
Cole black boots, and they had six Everyone was in white suits with
buckles on each boot, and they jin- those big black lapels. I thought
gled when I walked. I thought I was that looked silly, so I just stayed in
so fucking cool. my uniform: jeans, white shirt, a
corduroy jacket. A little lapel pin.
FRANK MUYTJENS When I was in
art school I went on vacation with EUAN RELLIE I somehow got the
friends, and they were horrified by idea of wearing my pajamas. I had
what I was wearing at the beach: these paisley pajamas, and I would
orange-and-red shirt, red pants, go everywhere in paisley pajamas,
pirate boots. on the Tube.”

“| probably had a few bad years in the nineties.

That’s when we had big-shouldered Italian suits.
I’m still blaming Pat Riley”
—Glenn O’Brien

RICHARD CHRISTIANSEN Iwas liv- RUSSELL KELLY I was the band geek
ing in London and all these guys who drew the big signs that the foot-
were outside a bar by King’s Cross. ball players would run through. I
I thought, There are the guys that I was a tuba player in the marching
want to be around. I walked in the band—the skinniest tuba player ever.
bar and I asked for a
job. I was tall, Then I played baritone sax in the
I was blond, I was in great shape. marching band, upright and electric
After a while a couple men took bass in jazz band.
their shirts off, then their pants
off, and all of a sudden we’re all BRUCE PASK In college during the
working out in our underpants, so late 80s, I had three sets of shoulder
that went on four nights a week. I pads I wore in my jackets: day, eve-
used to stuff Wonder bread in my ning, and night, each progressively
pants, because I was just working more statement-y than the last. I
for my tips. One of the younger had this vintage dinner jacket that
girls working the bar said that she I would wear with the sleeves rolled
heard that stylists used to stuff sliced up, very Bananarama. For days, I
white bread, scrunch it up, and stuff would use the more subtle set, but
it down people’s tighty whities. So for nights out I’d really amp the
I said, “Let’s do it!” look with the hefty pads.

135
 Phases: Troubled and Otherwise

“The first time | went to Area, | was wearing a

black-and-white Harris tweed jacket that | would
get at Brooks Brothers when | graduated from
high school. | just realized that | was kind of
out of place. I’m not sure why they let me in.’
—Jay Mclnerney

TAAVO SOMER In high school, SHAWN BRYDGES Ihad one ofhis-

in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, tory’s worst phases. It was the era
everyone was preppy and kind of a of the “male” Bolero jacket. Need
Deadhead. They wore frayed base- I say more?
ball hats, they skied, they’d have
beat-up Volvo station wagons and WESLEY STACE I may or may not
Range Rovers with Dead stickers on have had bad phases—I think I did
them. I basically faked it—I would pretty well for the difficult times—
put Dead stickers on my car even but I certainly had some woeful
though I hated the Dead. I remem- haircuts, including a semi-mohawk.
ber taking a sander to my baseball
hat and bleaching it and trying to
accelerate the aging of these clothes,
even though I didn’t spend the
summer in Nantucket. At parties
I remember girls that I was in love
with saying, “J.Crew is my favorite
magazine!” And I said, “You know
it’s not a magazine, it’s a catalog,
that’s not real, those photo shoots
aren’t like a documentary of some-
one’s life,” and they said, “I don’t
care, it’s my favorite magazine.”

136
 Considerations
a ee
ADRIAN DANNATT: “I AM VERY CHEAP INDEED”

A Monologue on Secondhand Clothes, Dressing Gowns

and Thrift

I never wash clothes—well, I very rarely wash clothes.

I have a set of shirts that I can’t wear because they are far too big for
me. But if you see a five-pound shirt by Charvet or Sulka, you simply must
buy it, regardless of size or even style. I’ve got a hideous Sulka shirt that’s
five times too big for me. I have some shirts that I bought just because of
the label. I have Nightwalker for Men—I don’t know where it comes from,
but it’s got these huge letters: “NIGHTWALKER?” and “for men” under it.
I have another one that is “Old Man,” and I just had to buy it.
I go to a charity shop and sort through the labels. I can do it really
quickly. I am wild cheap—I am very cheap indeed. In London recently I saw
something and said, “Now, that is interesting.” But I didn’t want to spend
the five pounds without checking into it. So I jotted down what it was and
then investigated, but went and checked it out and decided it wasn’t quite
good enough.

137
 I just got a shirt—did you see me wearing it?—it’s got crazy hand stitch-
ing from India, and it’s by someone who has the same name as this Surre-
alist American artist, Robert Graham. I thought the shirt was really beau-
tiful, and then I went and checked on it, and I couldn’t find one for less
than what they were on his website—350 pounds! So I thought, Hmm, ten
pounds for that. So I raced back and got it. Though on occasion they’ll be
gone, which is really annoying.
I have one particular favorite charity store in London, which I never
reveal. I never go to the preselected store—I hate to shop anything so-called
vintage. I strictly go to charity shops and thrift stores. I wouldn’t go to
Housing Works, because it’s already too upmarket-they look at what
they’ve got. I want no preselection whatsoever. I hate preselection.
So the Salvation Army, in Portsmouth, somewhere up in New Hamp-
shire, that was really good. That’s where I got my Prince Oleg Cassini
shirt—maybe he wasn’t a prince, but he should have been. It’s pure seven-
ties, and it’s this monstrous but fabulous thing, made out of 200 percent
acrylic. When you wear it, you have little sparks of strange things steaming
off you.
Do I wash these things before I wear them? Never! Are you mad?
That’s part of the heritage! It costs money to get things washed. I’m wor-
ried they'll fray. But a third of my collection are really seriously frayed.
Having said that, I took my Kilgour shirt to be dry-cleaned on Mott Street,
and I suddenly realized that it isn’t so expensive after all. It was nine dollars.
I thought, My god, I can get other things cleaned. So I took in my other
Cassini classic, and I had another nasty adventure. They handed it nght
back to me with a funny little expression and pointed to the label. It said:
Interior lining: 100 percent Rayon, Exterior: 50 percent Polyester, and 50
percent something I’d never even heard of—a chemical compound. ‘They
must have abandoned it; it’s probably illegal.
So there are three parts to my clothing. This is so much fun, talking
about this. First, there’s the charity shop, which is a big thing. Second,
then there are things from famous people (or famous-in-my-world people),
which I love. Many of whom I’ve written obituaries about—which I get
given by their families, or by an associate. Finally, there’s another source of
my shirt collection, a shop on Jermyn Street. In the back they have an entire
section—a vast row, in a kind of alcove—of all of these Turnbull & Asser
shirts. It’s on the completely opposite end of Jermyn Street from Turnbull
& Asser itself.

William Nicholson

139
 I said to them, “What’s this?” They said, “These are all the things that
were made for people at Turnbull & Asser, people who were so rich and
erand that they never bothered picking them up.” And these shirts were all
five pounds. So I probably have forty shirts from them. And then I real-
ized—the genius of it—that I could go to Turnbull & Asser, get them made
for me, not pick them up, and then go pick them up at the other shop and
pay five pounds.
Unfortunately, it didn’t work. I went in to Turnbull & Asser to try it
out, and they were very excited about it. I said, “What’s the setup? They
said, “Well, you pay 75 percent up front, with a five-shirt minimum.” I said,
“What?” And, of course, 75 percent up front was rather more than my
usual five pounds.
But my collection of five-pound shirts—some have elaborate crests and
weird globes and the best initials. One of them has the craziest crest: It has
to be some kind of royalty, but I’ve never worked out from where. The
crest is on my nipple—right on the point of my nipple there’s a weird crest,
which could be from some neo-Nazi movement or very grand Romanian
royalty. I’m waiting for the day—I’m almost praying for the day—I’m going
to be in some bar and Prince Zog is going to shout out, “My friend! Why
are you wearing my grandfather’s shirt?” Either that or I could be taken
hostage in a coup. It could go either way!
Some of the best things I inherited came from Miguel Abreu’s father,
Jean Claude Abreu, who was one of the most impeccable figures ever. He
lived in absolute discretion. And this guayabera was made in Latin America
for the sugarcane workers. He took this classic guayabera and had them
made for him by his tailor in Paris.
I have several of these guayaberas, and this one that I’m actually wear-
ing is in the Sim Aarons book on Portofino, and it’s got the best picture
of Jean Claude wearing this exact one. The picture is so good. He’s even
carrying a brand-new Concorde bag.
One other thing I inherited from Jean Claude is the summer suit from
H. Harris. And H. Harris was very famous—he was JFK’s tailor. The suit,
when you have it on—you’re not even aware that you’re wearing it. This
suit is older than I am. It was made in 1961, and the incredible thing is, at
the time when he had it made for him, it cost four thousand dollars. Which
is an insane amount-—I think a house was seven thousand dollars.
My grandfather was the Welsh science fiction writer Howell Davis. I
have his Sam Browne belt from when he was in the Royal Welsh Fusiliers,

140
in the First World War. I have a beautiful photograph of him when he
became an officer. He’s in Good-Bye to All That, in a section where Rob-
ert Graves had also been wounded. He’s in Wales and he talks about my
grandfather, who then became his editor. I love these connections between
clothes and the past.
I particularly love old-fashioned comfort. I wrote a poem and the first
line is something like, “Too much of my life has been devoted to dressing
gowns.” And I do indeed spend far too much time in them. That poem is
called “On a NY Balcony,” and I love balconies and I love dressing gowns,
especially when combined. The balcony is an extension of the house that is
part of the outside world, but it is also part of the house. So you're both in
a domestic setting and engaged with the street. Likewise, the notion of this
dressing gown is that you’re most relaxed at home, but you can go out in it.
The first time I went out in something like that, I remember wearing
pajama bottoms—you had to get yourself into it, slowly but surely. In my
pretentious youth, I had my mother have her tailor make me a James Bond
black-and-gold kimono. God, that was embarrassing. And I did go out in
that, because I so loved it then.
Every summer when I’m in Walberswick, the cottage is a seven-minute
walk from the beach, so I'd walk in my dressing gown down to the water to
swim, usually with my coffee cup. And I had a particularly thick old dress-
ing gown, and I loved coming out of the North Sea, or the German Ocean,
as we used to call it, before anyone is even awake.
All of my clothes are used, so I had to ask myself, Do I feel all right
wearing someone else’s dressing gown? Yes. But you know, I do just draw
the line at underwear. But I am prepared to wear somebody else’s under-
wear if it was a really, really good person!

141
e
 Interview

THEORIES OF DRESS
“Il love madras. I’m wearing a madras shirt
tonight. | remember these wonderful madras
jackets from ’62. | finally threw it out, but one
of the places | was buying clothes—it was
downtown but I’m a total cheapskate, so | don’t
want to spend any money—and they had a Ralph
Lauren down there, and they would have these
sales that would go on all summer, and it would
be like the fourth reduction, things they really
couldn’t give away. | got this cool madras jacket,
and | thought, Why doesn’t anybody want this?”
—Whit Stillman on Madras

ALEX BILMES on The English Scene the nightclub, so you'd get this mix.
England has a rich, diverse, tribal It was regional. You’d have
history. Fashion moved very quickly a guy in Leeds who would never
throughout the seventies, eighties, wear what a guy in Liverpool was
even into the nineties. I don’t think wearing, and they would have ways
it happens so fast now. Brit-Pop was of telling. You could teil: Oh, he’s
the last of it. You’d buy something from Manchester, because of a cer-
one week and you wore it the next tain label that he was wearing that
week and it was done. You'd say, would’ve not been cool in London.
“Oh fuck, I’m wearing last week’s The Northerners always looked
clothes.” Two things that connected down at Londoners, who thought
them: football and nightclubs. Peo- they were too flash. And the Lon-
ple move around a lot on Saturdays doners think the Northerners look
because of going to the different like fools. But even people in Leeds
games. You’d go to Liverpool for think that people in Sheffield have
football and then you'd stay to go to it totally wrong.

Marcel Proust Deciding What to Wear, Hugo Guinness

143
 Theories of Dress

DUNCAN HANNAH on Dandies only place to go for something like

I think of a dandy as someone who’s that. This was years ago. My friend
stepping out of the norm, someone got in a fight with Jude Law about
you raise an eyebrow at when he our costumes. It was a weird night.
gets on the subway. It’s ballsy to do
that, to draw that much attention WHIT STILLMAN on Church
to yourself. Dandies are outsiders, There’s this beautiful church I go
because there’s no immediate gain, to downtown, French speaking,
except over time. You get used to mostly Haitian, and they have this
it so that’s who you are. Initially it absolutely traditional immaculate
feels funny, because you realize most service that is so perfect. A lot of
people dress to conform to what’s people that go there are Haitian—
happening. A dandy doesn’t con- elderly and really well dressed. I
cern himself with that. He’s stepping worry about what I’m going to wear
into his fantasy or the way things because they’re really formal there.
used to be. Even now, when I wear I feel there’s something theological
a tweed suit around, I get called about clothes, something correct,
nostalgic. But in 1935 a painter in democratic, and meritocratic about
London would always wear a tweed traditional clothing.
suit; the poorest bohemian would
wear a tweed suit. I’m not making HIROFUMI KURINO on Japanese Style
a big statement about being fancy In the late seventies and eighties
or affluent or anything like that, I’m there was a blooming of Japanese
just thinking of the way a painter designer clothing: Kenzo, Yohji
would dress back when painters Yamamoto, Issey Miyake, Comme
dressed moderately well. des Garcons. Until I went abroad
as a buyer, I didn’t feel like these
RANDY GOLDBERG on Halloween clothes spoke to me. When I went to
I like Halloween a lot. Iknow most Paris in the 1980s, I found out just
sane men, especially in New York, how independent Japanese fashion
despise Halloween. I think it’s fun was; it felt so new. European fashion
to put on a costume if it’s done well. culture refers to history—even the
I like that idea of the sanctioned creative people like Jean Paul Gault-
moment to dress in a ridiculous way. ier and Giorgio Armani are based
Once I dressed like Cats. Not on classic history. But Japanese
the animal but costumes from the designers are usually totally differ-
stage production of the Broadway ent, and that’s what makes such
musical Cats. We rented four of these an impact on fashion history. I was
things and they came in huge boxes; interested in the balance between
there were wigs and spandex. My tradition and invention. So I started
ex-girlfriend did the makeup. We mixing designer clothes with classic
went to a couple parties—we went to tailoring. I keep wearing both sides.
the Box, because it seemed like the There are so many choices now. You

144
 Theories of Dress

“You have a housemaster; you’re in groups

of ten per year in a house of fifty boys. The
housemaster, Martin Whitely, had been in the
army with my dad. | was put down for Eton at
Marty’s house when | was six months old. Martin
said to my dad, “You’ve been very irresponsible,
Alex, at this late date to put your son down, but
since you’re an old friend, we'll find a place” My
sisters were both put down for Eton before they
were born and crossed off the list when they
turned out to be girls.” —Euan Rellie on Eton

can wear a suit not as a uniform MICHAEL HILL on Wearing Tails

but by choice. You can buy in a We thought the concept of wearing
store, online, on eBay. It’s a deci- tails was strange for five minutes.
sion decade. Japanese men are free ‘That was it. After that it was a case
of social hierarchies when it comes of feeling strange not to be wearing
to fashion. They are free to choose tails. My brother’s came from New
whatever they wish to wear. & Lingwood, mine from Billings k
This style of Western dressing Edmonds. I also had to wear a hat.
is still very new. We opened our It was a bit like a straw boater but
country 150 years ago. We put away with a deeper crown. We would sit
our kimonos and started wearing in our rooms of an evening, var-
Western clothes not long ago. After nishing this thing with Araldite to
the Second World War we opened reinforce it and make it stronger, so
up further to foreign cultures and that it lasted the five years you’d be
changed our society. It meant con- at school. It does seem a bit austere
sumers had to think about why the and British, thinking about it now.
new Styles of tailored suits were so My mother was forever buying me
expensive or why the lapel has a cer- clothes three sizes too big so they’d
tain shape or why linen is good for last me, and it was the same with my
spring and summer or why tweed is hat. Thankfully it did fit me prop-
good for winter. For Western people erly come my last year or so, but
this may be common knowledge, I still joke with my brother about
but for us it is still new. Also, Japa- how we never ultimately grew big
nese people like to “study.” enough for many of the clothes my
mother bought us.
JOHN BRODIE on Topcoats
Your topcoat in New York is like FRANK MUYTJENS on American Prep
your car in LA. I didn’t grow up here so I was look-

145
 Theories of Dress

ing for culture references. I was you had to wear a coat and tie to
never preppy, but I was always able dinner. Girls had to wear dresses.
to look at it from the outside and You had an assigned table, and the
take it with a grain of salt. It’s such master sat at the head of the table.
a part of the culture that you can It was practice for being at a din-
play with it a little. ner party, to a degree. After seated
meal, there was an area outside
EUAN RELLIE on Discretion of the common room, where kids
Even though it’s Britain and you're had smoking permission—which
supposed to be understated, Savile fourteen-year-old or fifteen-year-
Row tailors would have the suits of old boys had permission from their
the most famous customers strate- parents to smoke. I wasn’t a smoker
gically placed with the name, so in so it wasn’t really appealing.
those days it would be the Duke of There was a group of us, a
Westminster, the Prince of Wales, secret society called the Black ‘Tong.
and Claus von Bulow. The idea would be we would put on
black tie before seated meal, rather
JAY McINERNEY on His Tailor than coat and tie. We would do a
My current favorite is Cifonelli. I couple bong hits, maybe have a
really like British tailoring, but I can drink, and then go down to seated
be a little more flamboyant than an meal. And those in the know knew
investment banker can—and at the the guys wearing black ties were
same time, I’m always going to be there under the influence.
less flamboyant than hip-hop.
WHIT STILLMAN on His Tailor
EUAN RELLIE on The Barber My father had a tailor from Lon-
As a young boy Id go to the bar- don who'd come over: Wilson May-
ber at Harrods who cut boys’ hair, fair. They would be in town, and
but when I was twelve years old, it my father said I could buy a suit.
merited promotion to a trip to Mr. ‘There was a wonderful version of
Holgate at Truefitt & Hill on Old the Dorothy Sayers books, with Ian
Bond Street. My dad would buy Carmichael playing Peter Wimsey,
the hair oil, and Mr. Holgate would set in 1920s London. There was
say, “May I tend to your nose and one called Murder Must Advertise. He
your ears, Mr. Rellie?” And my dad wore a three-piece suit and the vest
would say, “Thank you very much, had a collar. I just thought that was
Mr. Holgate.” They were both on the coolest thing I’d ever seen, so
last-name terms. I loved it. I started I got that first. It was some sort of
to recognize the rituals of being an brown check. And then I got serious
Englishman. and got a charcoal pinstripe and
a blue suit. It looked really, really
JOHN BRODIE on The Black Tong sharp.
At our school for four nights a week,

146
 Evidence: Levi’s

as Western « N as the West itself...

LEVIS
AMERICAS FINEST
OVERALL

OVERALL

147
 The classic Persol 649, a.k.a. “the Steve
Real tortoiseshell, unbranded, from the 1960s. McQueen,” with a twist. Eighties designers
Totally illegal to produce today. This is espe- took more risks, making this version in dark
cially cool to me because it’s inscribed “Made red with proprietary Persolmatic photochro-
in Germany”—but written in French. mic lenses.

Persol made too many white versions of this

design in the 1980s. Opticians around the Late 1970s Ray-Ban with Ambermatic lenses.
world got creative and dyed them black as I’m not normally a fan of layered acetates, but
best they could. The result is the purple Persol. this layering and faceting of brown, tortoise,
This is one of my all-time favorite shapes, and white give this frame the appearance of
made by Persol in various versions for over buffalo horn.
two decades.

These are 1960s Persols I acquired from Art I knew Vuarnet mostly as a brand that utilized
Optic, which was the first US distributor nylon for frame material, but this acetate frame
of Persol. I love that these might have been is one of my favorite shapes anywhere. I've
among the first Persols sold in the United always been drawn to these frames, where the
States. They are so bold and futuristic, with lenses are shaped differently than the frame.
bubble-like lenses.

Porsche Design with Carrera made many of

Serengeti Kilimanjaro, 1980s Italy, with propm-
the most iconic aviators with interchangeable
etary glass lenses from Corning Optics. The
lenses. These lesser-known ones are far more
epitome of classic aviator.
interesting to me because of the lens shape.

148
Glasses: Selected by Fordan Silver

149
 Mitch Epstein: Dad’s Briefcase 2000

My dad ritually settled into his easy chair after dinner to watch ball games
and the local news on television. His briefcase sat on his lap. The dull
thump of its unlatching meant that he was back at work, even though he
was among us all in the family den. Dad carried home as much paperwork
as he could cram in there: accounts payable and recetvable documents,
all kinds of furniture and appliance product catalogs, and customer and
tenant correspondence. My father was born into a generation of men who
believed that if you worked hard, you would do well. Work insulated him
from the emotional demands of family.

Dad’s Briefcase was photographed in one of the vacant showrooms of

Epstein Furniture shortly after it was liquidated in the year 2000. The
picture became a part of a project I call Family Business.

150
Clockwise, from top left: Robert Becker’s father’s watch, Jay Fielden’s Ray Bans, Russell Black-
more’s father’s sunglasses, Robert Becker’s father’s pocket watch, JP Williams’s father’s shoe
trees, Patrick Grant’s father’s dinner jacket, Russell Kelly’s grandfather’s dog tag, Robert Becker’s
father’s watch (back)
152
 More Inheritance

TROPICANA

Clockwise, from top left: Jay Mcinerney’s father’s velvet jacket, Matt Hranek’s father’s hunting
jacket, Randy Goldberg’s father’s casino VIP cards

153
2010 IWC Portuguese Pure Classic This special 1939 Universal Geneve Compax This is an excep-
edition of the iconic Portuguese was so rare it tionally rare oversized chronograph dating to
never made it into the catalog, and its 43mm, the early wartime period. These enormous for
ultra-thin, nothing but hours and minutes pro- the day timepieces were made for two groups
file has made it a coveted modern classic meant of people-fighter pilots and gentleman racers,
to revive the same purist sentiment found in the both of whom wore these watches on the outside
original Portuguese from the 1940s. of their suits.

1931 Jaeger-LeCoultre Reverso Believed to be the

1976 Rolex Submariner Issued to the British
original sportsman’s watch, the Reverso first
Ministry of Defense—a so-called “MilSub”—
gained notoriety on the wrist of colonial polo
represents the very finest in Rolex technology in
players in India, who would reverse the face of
the mid 20th century, featuring the most robust
their watches mid-match. Eventually the other
self-winding movements, the most rugged cases,
side of the case, a blank canvas, would receive
and remarkably legible dials and hands not
the family crests of many of Europe’s royal
found on consumer-oriented dive watches.
families and bon vivants.

1963 Heuer Carrera The Carrera, named after

2005 A. Lange & Sohne 1815 Chronograph Argu- the famed south American rally on which the
ably the finest chronograph ever produced by chronograph cut its teeth, became the wristwear
anyone. A. Lange & Sohne set about an revolu- of choice for all Formula 1 drivers for decades.
tion in watchmaking by building a mechanism It was launched alongside another watch that
so fine and beautiful that all of Switzerland would come to shape racing—Rolex’s Daytona-—
would soon follow. and the two can still be found on racers’ wrists
the world over.

154
Watches .
°
Selected by Ben Clymer

155
 PART III
Manners and Misbehavior: Fine Distinctions

159 A Lot to Learn: The Gentleman’s Directory /

160 Playboy: Heightened Anticipation /
162 Finding Playboy / 166 Who Was Your
First Crush? / 168 Proms and Noble Errors /
170 What Did You Wear to Your Prom? /
173 Library by Richard Baker / 174 What
Did You Wear to Your Wedding? / 176 Women:
Another Party Heard From / 185 Acquired
Tastes: Time Will Tell / 187 Formal Aspirations /
189 Fire: Elemental Attraction / 191 What
- Do You Cook? / 193 Civilized Drinking /
- 195 Hangover Cures / 196 Laid Low /
_ 198 Happiness Is a Warm Bun / 200 Drinking
_ and Dive Bars

157
 Mra. Usultste, Tt has five lady:€
boarders.
"No. 1f6 W. 26th St_is.< parlor |
hostte ‘kept by Sarah Wilbur, #i
this house-. is most elegantly
furnished, the proprietess |
is 38 very pleasant and
agreeable lady, and of a fun loving
disposition. She~ has. seven lady
Hiss Sarah Wilbur,
| boarders, who are very affectionate “116 West 202 Sead
and agreeable. Gentlemen seeking
for pleasure, will be very agreeable A First Class House
entertained. This is a ‘first class
house.
0. 119. W. 26th strest is a
Jadies--boarding .hoase. with _five_
; lady boarders, kept by Mrs
©| Conklin. .
No. 121 W. 26th street isa:
Jadies boarding house, kept by”
 A Lot To Learn: The Gentleman’s Directory

Modern media documents so much graphic misbehavior that it’s surpris-

ing to discover a small book still has the capacity to shock. The volume in
question, profiled by the New York Times a while back, is an 1870 guidebook
of the ins and outs of Manhattan’s brothels. The Gentleman’s Directory was
an indispensable tome for those who required details about the houses of
ill repute in our good borough. It couldn’t be more discreet—yet there’s
an implicit appreciation of worldly topics that should be known but not
discussed.
The Directory makes special mention of Harry Hill’s on Houston
Street, where “an hour cannot be spent more pleasantly,’ while Greene
Street is dismissed as “a complete sink of iniquity.” There’s a map that
allows you to learn whether you reside in a former house of ill repute.
Unless you live on West ‘Twenty-seventh, Houston, or a few select blocks
of Soho, you’re out of luck. And even if you do, most of the buildings were
torn down long ago.
It all seems very far away, but recalls an event from one of my early
evenings in Manhattan, almost two decades ago. For a variety of reasons
I was drinking with purpose in Sardi’s—the legendary restaurant and
watering hole near Times Square—and entered into conversation with
two women who couldn’t have been nicer. In fact, they may have been
too polite. Slightly suspicious, I asked what their professions were. ‘They
paused, looked at each other, and laughed, and answered in unison: “We’re
nurses.”
The look in their eyes couldn’t have been any more knowing, and the
silence that followed communicated clearly: “Welcome to the city, kid.”

Pages from The Gentleman’s Directory

159
 Playboy: Heightened Anticipation

i ce ania

ee

When you were a boy, Playboy, perhaps more than anything else, specifically
enticed you and slightly frightened you. Like all illicit things, it balanced
excitement and danger. In this case it was coming to terms with something -
wildly seductive that you didn’t fully understand. You schemed to find it, if
~-you inherited one (oh blessed day!) you schemed to hide it, and at that age
the articles were just getting in the way.
en There’s not a verb, as far as I’m aware, for inserting an adult magazine
| inside a respectable one, though maybe there is in French. This happened

Hugh Hefner’s Little Black Book

160
 in the corner store in my neighborhood, and countless times across the
country. After some deft sleight of hand, you found a Playboy that was not
"in the infuriating plastic wrapper, a gift from a neighborhood collaborator. -
It would often be well worn and hidden in an unexpected place, though not
unexpected to you since you heard unverified rumors about where it might
be, like the address of a speakeasy during Prohibition. So there it was,
behind a copy of Midwest Bass Fishing.
_Then you slipped it into a magazine that could handle its dimensions.
Part of the art of it was using an external magazine that was believable—you
couldn’t just slide it inside the Economist, it had to me more like the Sport--
ing News or Inside Sports, two titles. that have, alas, ascended to newsprint
heaven. The centerfolds were a challenge that had to be enjoyed in stages.
That was a challenge we were prepared to meet. If you went with a friend,
then if there was trouble you could hope to scatter and escape to view
another day. The problemi was that it was very difficult to enjoy a Playboy
with another thirteen-year-old without breaking into hysterical aean or
downright laughter.
‘Technology changes even if the cites remains diessame. In 1996, at
summer school in Providence, I finally connected to the barely understood
Internet, in a moment that was, if you'll excuse me, providential. I don’t
think I had an e-mail address. But I had heard about the Internet, which
had access to all sorts of visual material, much of it erotic, nearly all of it
focusing on Pamela Anderson. I remember landline access, which made an
‘audible screech before connecting. I stared at that black-and-white screen
of an IBM ThinkPad as each row of pixelated imagery appeared on the o
screen. There, line by line, appeared topless Pamela as I squinted at a screen
that had the resolution of the first dot matrix printer. It took about fifteen
minutes to download.
Now, of course, you can call up anything on demand. And most kids
_ have seen Pamela, and dozens more. I’m not here to moralize, but I am -
here to say that not everything should arrive at once, accessible all the time
(the same perils exist for adults—just observe any party with an open bar).
It’s true that a huge amount of mental capacity was spent by thirteen-year-
olds trying to predict the hiding places of male relatives. ‘That’s no longer
the case, and it may be a good thing. But there’s something vital missing
from the current lax access to what we lucked into so rarely as kids. As
any good burlesque dancer can tell you, what matters most is the sense of
anticipation.

161
 Interview

FINDING PLAYBOY

“| was brought up to believe porn was the

devil’s work. So naturally | was fascinated.”
—Dan Rookwood

MARK McNAIRY I can remember I'd just buy some gum and leave. I
when we first found Playboys hid- didn’t have the nerve to ask for a
den in my dad’s drawer. Then you copy of Playboy. Now you've got the
started driving and you could go to Internet and whatever you want.
the store and buy them, but it was
so embarrassing. I remember driv- G. BRUCE BOYER I remember the
ing by this 7-Eleven and chickening first one with Marilyn Monroe.
out—I went inside and there’d be a There were those two nude pho-
woman working at the counter, and tos of her, and she was gorgeous.

162
 Finding Playboy

I outgrew Playboy pretty early on, dad’s old Playboys. He was obsessed
for the same reason that I outgrew with Batman figures and making
burlesque shows and stripteases: I sure you never opened the package.
never really got the point of looking It was unopened Batman figures
at nude women that you weren’t and Playboys.
gonna go to bed with.
GUY TREBAY It didn’t turn out to be
RANDY GOLDBERG My dad did my thing, but it was very exciting.
not get Playboy. It was not in my Looking back, I think what was
house. I searched and I searched most appealing about it was the
every corner of that house—if Playboy textures—everyone so smooth and
was there I would’ve found it. I was plastic. I think subliminally it pro-
intrigued by it. Your brain explodes vided the basis for Photoshop and
when you see something like that. Instagram culture, the Kardashians.

THOMAS BELLER Mr. Hines on the TOM SCHILLER We didn’t have them
eighth floor had a subscription. in our house. But another writer
There was no permission; there on J Love Lucy, named Bob Carroll,
was a kind of borrowing. His sub- we got to go to his house and he
scription arrived a little later than was a real bachelor. He had these
everyone else’s. women by the pool in these really
tight ‘I-shirts with nothing under-
WHIT STILLMAN Playboy was hugely neath. For me, as a seven-year-old,
important when I was fourteen and it was very exciting. He also had
fifteen—that was the Playboy age. I stacks of Playboys in the bathroom,
don’t know how we had them, but so I'd sneak away and read.
we had a ton of them. We were still
playing with toy soldiers at Muill- ENOC PEREZ My dad had a stash in
brook, rolling dice and pretending the closet. That’s completely forma-
to be Winston Churchill, so our tive for any person, any straight or
development was a bit retarded. even not straight male in America.
The line between childhood and
sex and adolescence was so thin. NICK SCHONBERGER I bought it
for my brother when he was seven
AARON LEVINE We had to go to an years old. I think we were in Crested
outside household for this. Two of Butte, Colorado. And we went toa
my friends’ parents, Jimmy Cos- convenience store, and my brother
tanza and Alex Puchur, their fathers came back with the College Girls
both had Playboys. And I remem- issue that comes out in March. He
ber specifically Alex Puchur going held it for a decade.
up into the attic above this garage
where we had made this makeshift MICHAEL WILLIAMS I think that I
fort and plowing through all of his could always find my dad’s Playboy

163
 Finding Playboy

“Early Playboy exposure fixed my erotic tastes

for good. | think Joey Heatherton still might be
my ideal woman?’ —Walter Kirn

magazines, he had a lot in the attic. father got it and he tried to hide it,
But I’m sure he knew that I was and we tried to find it. It was a big
finding them, because I was such an game. My mother was appalled. It’s
idiot. Iwould go through everyone’s hard to believe that that stuff really
shit, even my dad’s—I went through mattered. By the time my kids came
everything he owned, I swear to along, I just couldn’t be bothered to
God. tell them not to do this.

NICK WOOSTER My dad used to TIM SCHIFTER I distinctly remem-

keep it next to the toilet until I was ber the first Playboy I saw. Doesn't
of age when it started to mean some- everyone? Once a month my father
thing then they started to hide it. and I would go to the barbershop
Though, of course, I would find it. on the second floor of the Carlyle
hotel, and under the seats in the
JAY McINERNEY Playboy was big in waiting area there were stacks of
a lot of ways. Playboy helped you old Playboys, and I would sneak a
to know what a man should be, peek while my father was getting
what he should look like, what he his hair cut. Happiness!
should smoke. The first thing you
look at is the girls, and the joke is GLENN O'BRIEN I found it in my
“I buy it for the interviews”—but grandfather’s closet, and we used
you do read the interviews, because to go to the drugstore and try to
you want to know what some of steal it. Playboy was a big influence.
those accomplished guys thought Hef was a big influence on me—
about life and style, women. My TVParty was in a lot of ways based

164
 Finding Playboy

on his TV shows. In the sixties it the neighborhood boys gathered

was Called Playboy’s Penthouse, and ‘round, and there was this stash of
then it was in color, it was called Playboys that I think one of the boys
Playboy after Dark, and basically it had gotten from his older brother.
was driven off television by crazy I remember everyone was mesmer-
Christians who would threaten the ized. It was interesting that it was a
local television stations that would group activity. We hid them there
pick up the show. Did you ever see and they stayed there as this sort
it? He would have Lenny Bruce on. of collective.
It was a party format, so it wasn’t a
desk and a guest talking about their JAY FIELDEN My uncles subscribed
new book. It was Hef, a comedian, to Playboy. They are all three big
and some jazz musicians and Ella personalities who love to tease peo-
Fitzgerald. It was really incredible. ple and tell jokes and laugh and get
into a reasonable amount of trouble.
ROB ZANGARD! They belonged to Playboy was kind of like that itself,
my friend’s older brother. He hid as I recall. It had a stylish aesthetic
them under his waterbed in the and an urbane tone. I could still tell
basement. you with photographic recall all the
silly things the Playmates said on
MICHAEL HAINEY It was the seven- those questionnaires: “I like to read
ties, so |remember my brother had Trollope.” “I’m studying to be an
them in his bedroom and I found it. aeronautics engineer.” “I don’t like
to wear clothes around the house.”
ALEX BILMES I didn’t look at Playboy
growing up in London. Here there’s SHAWN BRYDGES I was ten years
the Sun. You’d have a girl with her old and my big brother had a stash
tits on page three of Britain’s biggest in a loft above the garage. There
newspaper and with a silly caption was a massive pile he and his friends
related to what was happening in had been stealing from a divorced
that day’s news. My dad did not dad in the neighborhood.
read it, he read the Times, but at
school a kid brought in the Sun and TUNDE OYEWOLE I have one word
we went into the loo, and Michael for you: Overwhelmed.
Bedmond had got a copy of it. They
only stopped it last year, which was
a huge thing. It’s amazing it lasted
this long.

TAAVO SOMER It was probably

fifth grade, and we lived in Penn-
sylvania next to a farm that had an
abandoned barn. In that barn all

165
 Interview

WHO WAS YOUR

FIRST CRUSH?

“| like moody French girls and brunettes. Those

two groups are not mutually exclusive”
—Euan Rellie

The British Invasion, Duncan Hannah

166
 Who Was Your First Crush?

ARMANDO CABRAL Helena Chris- But then it would’ve been Linda

tensen, of course. Evans in The Big Valley. My main
heartthrob was Inger Stevens, and
ALEX BILMES I think Madonna was of course Diana Rigg.
the first aggressively sexual woman
in pop culture that we were aware GLENN O’BRIEN I always thought
of, and I absolutely loved Madonna Ursula Andress was pretty major.
and still do. All of the actresses in What’s New
Pussycat?, mostly the European ones.
JOSH PESKOWITZ The first woman And Tuesday Weld.
I remember having a for real, like, I
know this is a crush, was on Mary AARON LEVINE Actually, her name
J. Blige in the “Real Love” video. was Anne Simmer. She was not an
That was 1990; I was eleven. actress. She was four years older
than me and she lived up the street.
JOHN BRODIE I was always more of
a realist than a fantasist. Iwas never MARK McNAIRY I think it was Cher
the kid with the Farrah Fawcett at a very early age. I remember see-
poster or the Playboy pinups on my ing the Sonny & Cher show. They
wall. I could just never imagine how were so bad at prime-time variety
to get from A to B. So I was always shows, music and comedy. I’m still
more having these infatuations with waiting for those kind of shows to
somebody who would have been come back.
the girl in the John Hughes movie,
but my local variety of that. NICK SCHONBERGER Sophia Loren.

WALTER KIRN Angie Dickinson. I JAY FIELDEN Farrah Fawcett.

realized that the “cigarette voice”
was a big part of what turned me on MICHAEL WILLIAMS I always
about women, after I realized what thought Audrey Hepburn was so
cigarettes did to your voice. I liked beautiful. She was very much my
tough blondes: Angie Dickinson, type.

Joey Heatherton, Julie Christie. I

never liked the big, healthy, eight-
ies supermodel look. I liked those
harrowed, late seventies women.

WHIT STILLMAN I considered the

Hepburns so uninteresting and so
sexless, and it’s interesting that as a
boy, I only responded to very sexy
women. Now I can see the charm
of Katharine and Audrey Hepburn.

167
 Proms and Noble Errors

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Many well-meaning, misguided sartorial mistakes start out with the prem-
ise that society has simply not caught up with us. If only the public knew
that a tuxedo jacket looked great with jeans, then they would know that
what I wore to prom in 1991 was a definitive cultural moment. I consulted
a remarkably well-dressed man in the preparations for this event and he
encouraged me. He may have been able to pull it off. My date looked me
up and down, paused, and said, “Jeans? Nice.” Her derision seemed to echo
from her house to the venue, an upscale department store that shut down
a few recessions ago.
Those of us who've experimented with sartorial daring that we fancied
was ahead of its time are left to sound like failed political candidates who
claim the fault was with the voters, not the message. Incidentally, that’s the
same thinking that leads people to embrace bad avant-garde art. When
somebody comes up with a new idea, be reluctant if they assure you it will
sweep the nation.

Chan Poling

28)
168
 On the contrary, the best-dressed men often do things that they under-
stand will suit themselves and nobody else. It was a solution, a singular
moment of inspiration, that led them to mix plaids, to wear shoes even if
they get paint on them, or to wear a Western shirt with a double-breasted
suit. Those that get it right don’t look like the idea just occurred to them—
they knew it all along or, more likely, grew into it. That’s why you shouldn’t
buy your clothes all at once, any more than you should appoint a room all
at the same time. Live with a jacket, add a shirt, later a tie, season to taste.
Don't seek inspiration. Let it come to you. If it doesn’t, there’s no shame in
that, just master the basics. There are restaurants that just serve an expertly
prepared steak and nothing more. When I see men reluctantly buying bold
shirts and daring ties that salesmen are holding up optimistically, it’s a bad
sign.
Of course, there are very well turned-out men who are far ahead of
society, and they make you reassess your assumptions. Borges said that
when he read the first line of Kafka’s Metamorphosis, he set it down with
astonishment and said that he didn’t know that sort of writing was even
allowed. It changed his life. Dressing doesn’t reach that level of magnitude,
but the best-dressed men can still make you wonder what you know about
society. They make you ask questions you didn’t think existed. ‘They’re
familiar with classicism but not beholden to it; they feel free to rearrange it
on their own terms. The results can feel downright dangerous.
They’re not coming to any idea when they’re seventeen. They know
enough about the world to know what they want to communicate to it. In
a way, it’s a sense of generosity. They’re not merely saying, “This is what I
can afford to get away with.” They’re saying, “This is how I wish the world
was.” A little more irreverent, a little more improbable, a little more ideal-
ized. And you know what? They made mistakes when they went to prom
too. They’re smart enough to bury the evidence.

169
 Interview

WHAT BE»
YOU WEARS
YOUR PROM:

“| wore a kilt, a plaid kilt. | tracked it down in an

Irish motel in town that actually had a gift shop
with weird souvenirs from Ireland and | guess
Scotland. | rented the kilt from them and | think
my mom altered a short blazer—it may have
been a women’s blazer.’ —Taavo Somer

170
 What Did You Wear to Your Prom?

AARON LEVINE A rented tuxedo during the week, so I had a lot of

from a bridal shop in the Fair Oaks clip-on ties and a lot of dark poly-
Mall. It was terrible. Lots of gel. ester suits.
What conveyed me to prom was my
dad’s 1991 Mazda RX7 convertible. WHIT STILLMAN The only social
It was a big deal that I got to drive outlets were mixers, so the key for
that thing—a dig deal. The next year us was the Masters School, Dobbs
was a more conventional neon-lit Ferry mixers, and the Farmington
limousine situation. mixers. I went to a Farmington
mixer and we paired off with differ-

| “Ican’t believe | wore a ruffled shirt!’"—Jay McInerney |

CHRIS BLACK I wore a basic black ent people, but I was able to dance
tuxedo, but I drove a Mercedes with a Marilyn Monroe type, and
$600, a loaner from an older cousin I started writing her letters and she
who was a Mercedes dealer. They became my obsession.
delivered it on a flatbed truck to my
parents’ house. J. C. MacKENZIE | was held back a
year at school and missed my offi-
RANDY GOLDBERG Oh God. I wore cial prom. I did go to the junior
a tuxedo to my prom and it was prom, reserved for juniors and
horrible, it was aggressively bad. I apparently juvenile delinquents.
didn’t wear a bow tie, I had a jewel The only uninvited girl left was a
instead—my decision. I’m telling Jehovah’s Witness named Susan. I
you, I made a lot of mistakes. I picked her up, wearing a lime-green,
rented it in the mall. One of the rented formal suit, with a match-
options instead of a bow tie was this ing lime-green corsage on a lapel
jewel; I thought it was fancy and large enough to drive a car down.
awesome so I wore that. We rented Her mother opened the door and
a limo, rented a tuxedo, rented a I learned very quickly that “God
girlfriend. Her name was—I’m draw- is not the Trinity, the doctrine is
ing a blank—I can see her face. . . I inspired by the devil, heaven is only
was talking about this the other day limited to 144,000 people, and most
with somebody. It’s not like this is importantly, her daughter is forbid-
a repressed memory. den to have friends or marry anyone
who is not a Jehovah’s Witness. Oh,
WALTER KIRN I looked like Napo- and have fun, kids.” Susan, bless her
leon Dynamite. My tuxedo was heart, was clearly looking to rebel,
powder blue—I was a Mormon in even if it was with an idiot in a bad
those years. Sunday service took suit. As we arrived, groups of kids
all day, and you were also in church parted and we quickly moved to the

171
 What Did You Wear to Your Prom?

“I went to prom in 1996; you had to look like you

were in Jodeci.” —Josh Peskowitz

back in the corner—and in silence the outfit was embarrassing, but

for two hours. luckily it’s lost in time. No evidence.

MARK McNAIRY A white rental tux- MICHAEL HAINEY I wore a black

edo with white Capezio jazz oxfords. tuxedo with a red bow tie and red
Converse high tops with green laces.
ROB ZANGARDI A free—“rented”— This was 1982, my New Wave/
ill-fitted tuxedo. In Columbus, there punk phase.
was a tuxedo rental shop that would
hire a select few senior boys to actu- SID MASHBURN I wore a double-
ally wear a tux to high school and breasted suit—blue pincord from
hand out coupons to the students. Country Britches—and it was really
In exchange, we'd get a free tux for wrinkled by the time I arrived. With
prom. I was one of the chosen ones. tan canvas crepe sole shoes with
tassels on the shoestrings from Polo
MICHAEL WILLIAMS I wore a rented (they were cool) and a red tie from
tuxedo with a vest and it was very Reis of New Haven with a collar
ill-fitting, and the vest might’ve been bar.
a color.
RUSSELL KELLY I[ had a really bad
ANDY SPADE I rented a suit from long hair, all one length. I had a
the mall. bad rental tux with the typical cum-
merbund and tie that matched the
JAY McINERNEY I rented a tuxedo. girlfriend’s red sequin dress. This
I went with an Irish Catholic girl. was in Fordyce, Arkansas.
She turned out to be not so nice. I
rented a probably relatively hideous ERIC DAYTON An ill-advised
tuxedo. I haven’t seen any pictures band-collared tuxedo; I looked like
since but given the fact that it was a member of Boyz II Men. But my
1972, it must have been pretty bad. date that night is now my wife, so
Imagine really wide lapels. I’m sure it all worked out.

“| remember seriously disappointing my girl-

friend’s mother, who had her camera all ready
on a tripod to take a photograph. | arrived to
pick up her daughter, who was wearing a little
black dress. And instead of a tuxedo | was wear-
ing a leather jacket” —Dan Rookwood

172
 Evidence: Library by Richard Baker

PENGUIN BOOK

KeM,A FORSTER
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Dauino Elegies

173
 Interview

VV EEA Tease)
YOU WEAR TO YOUR
WEDDING?

G. BRUCE BOYER Well, I’ve had traditional classic tuxedo. I like that.
two. The first one, I wore a sin- The second marriage was consider-
gle-breasted, shawl-collar, tradi- ably less formal. It was just a private
tional tuxedo in a tropical worsted, wedding, so I wore a navy double-
because I got married in May. Very breasted blazer and gray flannel

John D. Rockefeller II (Eric Dayton’s grandfather) and his wife Blanchette

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 What Did You Wear to Your Wedding?

slacks, because this marriage was in

November. That worked out nicely.

AARON LEVINE Ralph Lauren sport

coat and some jeans, because my
wife and I eloped and got married
while she was seven months preg-
nant, at City Hall, and then ran
away to Cape May for the weekend.
My wife’s sister was the witness. It
was pouring rain. My wife cried. I
remember some coworkers taking
me to Tao on Fifty-seventh Street,
because it was the closest, and tak-
ing a shot of tequila and then run-
ning down to the wedding. That ANDY SPADE I wore a charcoal-gray
was it. Then we were parents. suit with a striped repp tie and a
white dress shirt.
JAY BATLLE A three-piece, cus-
tom-made, white-and-gray seer- NICK SULLIVAN I wore morning
sucker suit with pink Paul Smith dress; it was the thing to do. It
oxford shirt and Paul Smith canvas made it more of an occasion and
shoes with pink rubber soles. No tie. everyone joined in. I had this very
narrow Saxon taper down the sides
HIROFUMI KURINO I wore a kim- to make it a little bit more Victorian.
ono. For me, a classic hakama. But No hat. I look stupid in a top hat.
I was so thin I looked like a kid. I thought it was very fun. People
My wife was very suntanned, so enjoyed it. People still dress up like
they had to paint her white for the that in England.
traditional wedding ceremony.
GLENN O’BRIEN I wore a bespoke
TOM SCHILLER A shawl-collar Ralph natural linen suit from Anderson &
Lauren tuxedo with purple lining. Sheppard. My first wedding, I think
It was at Bill’s Gay Nineties, when I got married by accident.
it was still Bill’s. Mayor Dinkins
married us. MICHAEL HAINEY My dear friend
Thom Browne custom-made my
MARK McNAIRY My first wedding, I tuxedo. He also made my wife’s
have no idea. My second wedding, dress. . . . Her dress was the first
a black tuxedo that I had bought wedding dress Thom ever made,
in Japan. and it inspired him to launch his
women’s line.

James and Margaret Sullivan (Nick’s parents)

175
 Women

ANOTHER PAKS
HEARD FROM

NITIRFYEV_.
EER BR, ‘ = [EE

“A prominent hotelier once picked me up for a

first date wearing square-toed shoes. | was so
surprised that | was intrigued.”
—Susanna Howe

Claude Jean and Jean-Pierre Léaud in Bed and Board

176
 Women: Another Party Heard From
SSS a a ee ee

Sloane Crosley

I once went out with a too-cool- only privy to the evidence. I never
for-me guy who wore a gray suit said anything, but I do recall think-
and high-top red sneakers, the ing, “I can’t wait until it’s spring.”
hem of his pants tucked behind I bought my boyfriend a beau-
the tongue. I suppose I found this tiful cotton and cashmere checked
surprising in that I found it intim- button-down at Budd in London,
idating. It’s a stylish outfit but one and it turns out it was way too
that also says, “I’m going out after preppy for him. I could see him
this, with or without you.” struggling in the mirror, trying to
For the most part, I think every- think of when and where he’d pos-
thing looks good on someone I care sibly wear it. It was very expensive,
about. Though I once dated a guy and so I let us both off the hook and
who found a newsboy cap in the returned it. Also years ago I dated
back of a cab and wore it all winter. a guy who was a sneaker fanatic,
And backward. I think he was in and so I bought him these vintage
love with the story of how he came burlap Nike sneakers. He didn’t
into possession of the hat, but, of object, but he also didn’t want to
course, the rest of the world was “get them dirty.”

Cintra Wilson

When I was younger I was much glasses frames, I will cringe every
more strict and orthodox about my time I look at your face until I pick
own airtight fashion laws. I had a big out your new frames. Men often
crush on this beautiful guy who was have appalling tastes and/or very
in a band in San Francisco. Through particular ideas when it comes to
friends we managed to actually what women should wear—and his-
go out on a couple of dates, and torically, this is somethingI enjoy.
everything seemed to be heading I have always enjoyed dressing
for romance—until one evening he up in silly outfits to stoke a boy-
got in my car and he was wearing friend’s fantasy: nurse, cheerleader,
a pair of suede slouch boots. I just latex, what have you. That is fun.
couldn’t see him the same way after But when it comes to mundane fash-
that. I could only think about how ion choices that I’d have to wear out
mortified I was about the slouch of the house, I will not be moved, no
boots. I was strictly a steel-toed girl— matter how much they beg. I vehe-
they may as well have been ballet mently refused an earnest request
slippers. I dumped him immediately. that I wear sleeveless turtlenecks—
If you are my date, and you because these are obviously the stu-
have dumb-looking, outdated pidest garment on earth. I was also

177
 Women: Another Party Heard From

given some vanilla perfume once—I studded crossbones under Darth,

tried to wear it for the guy but gave which made him look even cooler,
myself a Silkwood shower in the I thought.
restaurant ladies’ lounge mideve- The guy I was dating at the
ning because it was making me gag. time couldn’t get behind it—you
I am a big thrift store maven, have to possess a certain type of
and I sometimes find amazing “Fuck you, Elvis” in you to pull
things. I once found a black hoodie off such a garment. So I dumped
sweatshirt that some up-and-coming that guy and I gave the sweatshirt
designer had painstakingly bedaz- to my friend Alex Roy, who will
zled a portrait of Darth Vader on in wear anything as long as it might
silver mini-studs. I did it one better, piss someone off.
got out my own stud setter, and

Madeline Weeks

I grew up in Virginia and my dad in it, and he would always play a

was a very stylish man. He had James Bond sound track or Dionne
really beautiful Brooks Brothers Warwick or Glen Campbell. We
couldn’t eat in his car, but in my
shirts, and he always wore a Cart-
mom’s car we could do whatever
ier watch, a brown one with a white
we wanted.
face and black strap, that was very
Vodka and tonic was his drink
refined. He had a very refined taste. of choice. I remember, as a little
He never wore jeans. Growing up, kid, he’d be mowing the lawn and
I didn’t really have a pair of jeans he’d say, “Oh, can you go inside
until my mom got designer Calvin and make me a vodka tonic?” Just
Klein jeans into her store, and I was the way he liked it. He wore a lot
absolutely determined to get them of Ralph Lauren, and his favorite
store in New York was Paul Stuart.
on my body.
I moved to the city when I was sev-
My dad had an opinion about
enteen, and he would always say,
the way we looked, and he had his
“Just go in there and take a look
own dressing room, and to go in
around for me.”
there was really exciting. He liked
Men shouldn't be afraid to wear
this crewneck sweater and cordu-
a well-fitted suit. A common prob-
roys. He wasn’t preppy at all; he was
lem is pants that are too long. When
from Brooklyn, and even though he
the Oscars come around, people
grew up in Pennsylvania, he was
much more of a New Yorker in taste.
sometimes look in their mirror—they
don’t look in a full-length mirror,
He had a dark green Monte
or they would see that the hem of
Carlo with an eight-track player

178
 Women: Another Party Heard From

the pants is practically around their clothes in a way where his person-
ankles. ality comes through. I like that. I
When I meet a man I don’t also like if he has a nice touch and
always notice one thing in partic- does something that’s clearly very
ular, but I notice if he wears his personal and reflects himself.

Anna Sui

My father was always meticulously for Christmas, Dad?” And he’d say,
dressed, usually in a suit. He had “Just a white silk scarf.”
perfectly coiffed hair, slicked back. I like either very classic—and it
In the summer he wore beautiful could be blue jeans and a T-shirt—
white suits. He looked like he had or the whole dandy look. It’s one
been taught how to pose, like he extreme or the other. The middle
knew how he looked good, and he part is not interesting to me.
went through his whole life that way. I would advise a man that
He wore Brylcreem; his hair was doesn’t really know how to dress
classic, with short sides and back, well to get a uniform and stick to
longer on the top. I don’t think I it. Then they’ll always look good.
ever saw it messed up, except when Figure out a really nice shirt and a
he went in the water, but then he’d really nice pants and stick with it.
just comb it again. Do you know who John Ahearn
He had a platinum Rolex watch. is? He’s an artist, and he invited
His father bought it for him when he me to the movies. I was so excited,
went back to visit when my grand- because I thought, Oh my God,
father was very elderly. Because my he’s so handsome, I can’t believe
father grew up in boarding school he asked me out. So he shows up at
and hardly lived at home, I think my house—and he’s got makeup on
he really treasured that. to make him look like an old man.
He was very classic; he liked He had just come from a theater
herringbone jackets. I remember in class, and they taught him how to do
the eighties, when it was Christmas- makeup to make himself look old.
time, I’d ask, “What do you want And he wore it to go to the movies.

“| have come to blows with men over polar

fleece. Some fashion crimes simply may not be
tolerated” —Cintra Wilson

179
 Women: Another Party Heard From

Susanna Howe

I think fear is the big problem, seeming effeminate. But the most
confidence the saving grace. What confident—and interesting—straight
are they afraid of? I think mostly men are the ones who like to play
seeming gay. I tell you, there is noth- with that line in presentation. It’s
ing hotter than a guy in a striped all context. I mean, the horrible
maillot shirt, gay or straight. Or frat boys in the South only wear
a tuxedo with a fat bow tie. But pink, green, and madras, whereas
most American men feel gay wear- the popular gay look in Brooklyn
ing them. The thing is, thin men, is a bearded lumberjack ensemble.
like my husband, are often afraid of

Erin Cressida Wilson

When I look back at the fifteen the same thing every day and costs
years with John [J. C. MacKenzie], nothing, it’s still a choice. It doesn’t
I can tell you what he was wearing need to be expensive or beautiful; it
for every big moment of our life. just needs to meet the personality of
He is a total clothesaholic. When the man in a way that says, “This is
he is anxious, he buys clothing, who I really am, this is who I want
and one of the things we like to to be, this is who I’m pretending
do together most is go into vintage to be.” It is a statement, a lure, a
clothing stores, take off in differ- game; it is part of our dance of life
ent directions, and bring each other and seduction.
what we've found. Inevitably he has When my mother died, two
found better clothing for me than I young men climbed our stairs to
have found for myself. zip her body into a bag and carry
I remember the T-shirt and her away. One of them asked me
painter pants he was wearing which direction to her bedroom,
when I first saw him, the V-neck but my eyes were stuck on his tie—it
he wore when Liam was born, the was polyester, faded and ripped.
costumes he wore with me every The filth on it was an entire layer of
time we dressed up. It’s interest- fabric itself. I looked him straight in
ing to remember a person and an the eye and said, “Please don’t take
event by what they wore; I notice my mother away with that tie on.”
clothing like I notice things in a He laughed, and I said, “Can I get
home, and if the clothing is off, I you another?” He laughed again. I
can’t love this person—they are not went to one of my drawers, where
home. Clothing is what a person I had rolled up all my father’s ties
chooses to wear, and even if it’s and kept them when he had died.

180
 Women: Another Party Heard From

I chose the red-and-black silk pais- bodies. I helped the young man put
ley from the 1960s. I wanted my on my father’s tie as he shoved the
mother taken away by someone old one in his pocket, and then I
wearing a nice tie, not one that had locked myself in the living room as
picked up a thousand other dead they took my mother away.

Maureen O’Connor

I have never really objected to or pany that dips each fiber in indigo
had a strong negative reaction to thirty times before weaving it into
something a man wore. (The clos- a 14.5-ounce denim famous for its
est, I think, is when a guy has terri- tate-ochi, “vertically falling fade.”
ble underwear, but if that’s the case The first time I slept over, under
I just focus on removing them.) But the guise of looking for a T-shirt to
I have had some overwhelming reac- sleep in, I rifled through his closet
tions to beautiful men’s clothing. stocked with Band of Outsider tees
There’s something wildly romantic and ‘Thom Browne button-downs.
about a beautifully worn-in pair of He was a squarely built size 36, and
jeans, which over time fades into a six-foot-five, which meant his pants
map of the body of the man who would always be useless to me, but
wears them and the way he moves. I when I came across an astonish-
consider the acquisition of a perfect ingly luxurious sweatshirt from a
pair of literal boyfriend jeans wor- Canadian brand I’d never heard
thy of any amount of heartache, to of, I put it on and announced that
the point that I routinely fall in love I would remove it only under threat
with men who wear the same pair of breakup. Two months later, I’m
ofjeans. (Slim-cut Made & Crafted still wearing it.
Levi's in size 28, a style favored by As you would expect, the man
my first live-in boyfriend as well as with extravagant taste in Japanese
the last man who broke my heart. denim also has alarmingly sexy
Last year, when a gay friend purged grooming habits. I have stood in
his closet of clothes from his “skinny the door while he shaved with a
phase,” I acquired two more pairs.) heavy double-edged Merkur razor,
Once, on a date, a man flipped and marveled that the utensil was
the pocket of jeans inside out to as angular as his jaw.
reveal that he’d had a tailor extend Leather goods also have an
the pocket two inches to accommo- effect on me. I vividly recall walk-
date his new phone, and I found ing into a bar for a first date and
myself swooning at his attention to watching, in slow motion, as a
detail. The jeans in question were stormy, dark-haired man turned on
manufactured in the Okayama pre- his bar stool toward me, his black
fecture of Honshu, Japan, by a com- motorcycle jacket falling open to

181
 Women: Another Party Heard From

reveal a vibrant silk lining patterned next year, we would go on to take

with purple flowers, worn over a turns rejecting and falling for each
Supreme sweatshirt patterned with other, with varying levels of sweet-
pink roses. Over the course of the ness and brutality.

Hannah Elliott

I don’t know many women who I want to date a man who

want to be with a man who puts knows his own mind—not a boy
more thought into his wardrobe who needs me to tell him how to
than they do. It’s great when a man dress. He should already know what
has a good closet of clothes and he wants to say with his clothing,
thinks about style for about ten even if he processes the message on
minutes in the morning when he a subconscious level. If I actually
gets dressed, and then moves on have to say anything to him at all,
with his life. it means the case has progressed to
One man I dated would wear a very bad place, possibly beyond
these really beautiful button-down repair. [hat said, last year I casually
shirts made of brushed silk. I think bought a pair of slim, black Levi's
they were Saint Laurent. They had jeans for the man I was dating at
prints of flowers or birds on them, the time because I didn’t care at all
and they had short sleeves. Now, if for the dark drop-crotch slouchy
anyone had described these shirts Dickies he had been wearing for
to me, I would have laughed or run three weeks straight. He made the
away. But he pulled it off amazingly. switch just fine.
He paired them with tight black I now possess two perfectly
jeans and cool city boots, sometimes soft, perfectly oversized J.Crew
with a hat and always with a super- flannel shirts (one red, one green)
slim vintage Rolex with a beautiful that I bought for a boyfriend years
black crocodile band. ago for Christmas. He never wore
I once went out with a per- them. I loved them, and told him
sonal trainer who wore a purple occasionally that I would love him
vintage Anaheim Ducks hockey in them. They stayed with me when
jersey with slim camo pants on a he moved out.
date to a basketball game. It actually Most men could stand to have
worked great for him—but I would their jeans taken in an inch or two.
never suggest someone else should Ladies like slim legs, fellas. Show
attempt that look. us what you’ve got!

“As Soon as you see a man’s shoes, you know

what he’s about? —Anna Sui

182
 Women: Another Party Heard From

Hollister Hovey

On a very blind Internet date, my work shoes and sneakers to velvet

first and the worst, the man wore anything borders on torture. In the
‘Tevas. With chipped metallic blue end, he was a great sport and went
toenail polish. He felt no shame over through with the foot costuming
those toes or sandals. We made it for the party (with only a little fear
through one coffee. I never agreed in his eyes). The next day he even
to a coffee date again. seemed a bit giddy that he got com-
Another man had a magnetic pliments on them all night. When
attraction to all things that were my cousin’s wedding rolled around
shiny turquoise. I launched a passive- a couple months later, they were on
aggressive mission, dragging him his feet, no questions asked. Victory
on shopping trips and showering again!
him with compliments about his In the early aughts, I felt as if
complete handsomeness in navy I was waging and generally losing
and white cotton and linen. That a war over the soles of every man
and some old-fashioned honesty around me. I was pro-leather and
eventually worked, and we got to they were defiantly not! I’d pull
the point where he let me weed out coworkers into the annual Paul Stu-
his closet. You can’t change a man, art and Brooks Brothers sales just
but you can get him out of the shiny so they could experience a properly
turquoise. Victory! soled shoe, but was met with so
I gave a boyfriend Ralph Lau- much whining. Ew, they don’t bend!
ren Purple Label velvet slippers Ew, they’re so slippery! I’d plead
with gold crests. I was throwing a that the firmness and slipperiness
big black-tie event and really forced would abate after ten minutes on
them on him. I squealed with joy the sidewalk . . . as they slipped
when he put them on, and the their feet back into their square-toed
moment I turned away he kicked rubber-soled Kenneth Coles and
them off. To force a guy to make the breathed a sigh of relief. Fail.
leap from sensible (at best), casual

Lesley M. M. Blume

One time I was supposed to have There may have been some sort of
lunch with musician Kenyon Phil- extraordinary fur hat involved too.
lips at Sant Ambroeus in the West Anyway, I was speechless, and for a
Village, and he showed up with a second I didn’t know whether I was
naked chest and a fur coat, chest embarrassed or felt like the luckiest
tats and necklaces on full display. girl in the room. The then-manager

183
 Women: Another Party Heard From

of the restaurant, an elegant man it was more Sopranos than Hedi

named Enzo, came over to the table, Slimane. He never wore it—it had
and I thought he was going to kick been a gift—but felt bad about get-
us out. But instead he gently com- ting rid of it. I finally took matters
plimented Kenyon on his look and into my own hands and whisked it
asked politely about some of the off to Housing Works one day.
accessories. I was so filled with love I once bought him a very fash-
for both of them at that moment. ion-forward ‘Tom Ford tie—heavy
We both had Bolognese. twine or tweed, and quite wide. It
My husband’s taste is classic was awesome. I think he was bewil-
and there is little in his wardrobe dered by it at first, but he wore it
that would offend anyone. There bravely and looked very goddamn
was, however, briefly a black Bruno hot in it.
Magli bomber jacket in his closet I also think men look beauti-
that caused a kerfuffle. It sounds ful in pink shirts, especially deep
like it should have been cool, but shades. Gatsby was right.

184
 Acquired Tastes: Time Will Tell

Puff Puff

A while ago I sat at the bar of a smart Danish restaurant on Canal Street.
It was an attractive place—clean Scandinavian design, appealing staff, with
requisite jars of homemade aquavit lining the wall.
Prominently featured on the menu was a herring platter, the strongly
flavored staple fish. When in Denmark, or at least our version of it here
in Manhattan, I figured I should do as the Danes do and took the herring
plunge. It was not until I finished—it was perfectly good—that I thought of
asking myself, Do I even like herring? Yes, I suppose I do, but never quite
as much as I wish I did. It’s as if I think if I keep ordering it, P’ll learn to like
it and finally attain a level of dining enlightenment.

185
 Essentially, I was in an acquired-taste holding pattern, neither loving
nor rejecting the potential object of desire. I didn’t know who to blame: the
very singular fish or my own lack of worldliness? I certainly wanted to give
my heart to herring, but herring does not give itself to love so easily.
Acquired tastes are a curious consideration, whether dining or music,
clothing or film. Some foods become appreciated over time, like coffee,
mushrooms, squid, and whiskey, which are generally at odds with youthful
taste buds. In these cases, familiarity doesn’t breed contempt; over time it
evolves and brings pleasure, and an enjoyment of complication and nuance.
Others you resist before arriving suddenly with a full-form adoration.
Like when you’re fifteen years old and all at once every Smiths song makes
perfect sense. Morrissey’s voice doesn’t sound mannered, it sounds as if it’s
singing just to you about a bucktoothed girl from Luxembourg.
It doesn’t end with artful teenage angst. When I began reading Anthony
Powell’s series of novels, 4 Dance to the Music of Time, it felt as if they were
meant for me at exactly that time. I was in my late twenties, traveling reg-
ularly to London, and the sensibility suited me perfectly. The fact that the
books were written decades earlier by an author who had since passed on
didn’t deter me. It felt like there was a connection between us that was
intimate.
Powell’s novels, it should be said, are not for everybody—in fact, they
veer dangerously close to being boring. You have to enjoy the fine dis-
tinctions of a certain sort of English social milieu. In fact, many people
loathe them. But if they fit you right, good Lord, they’re incredible. It’s like
natto, the fermented Japanese soybeans that have an absolutely vile smell.
Though I can’t stand natto myself, despite many Japanese friends remind-
ing me how wonderful it is.
That’s the interesting thing about acquired tastes: It’s not just that
sometimes you develop them and sometimes you don’t; you have to
decide when you're going to trust your first instinct and give up the hunt
altogether. Have you had enough Philip Glass to know he’s not for you?
Or Kombucha? Or Eric Rohmer films? Sometimes conversion happens by
chance: You’re visiting friends who insist on serving aged rum in the sum-
mer (a pretty good problem, for sure). The first may be a bit rough, but
soon enough you're buying it by the case.
So give yourself a second chance to form a first impression. And fear
not when offered orange wine, shad roe, or duck hearts—it may be the
beginning of a beautiful friendship.

186
 Formal Aspirations

When Prune opened in the late nineties, it didn’t have a liquor license.
The waitress (and they were all waitresses then) directed you to a gritty
wine store on Fourth Street where you bought a bottle of nondescript white
from a Korean man through an opening in a plate of bulletproof glass. You
walked back and set it on your table, covered with a sheet of brown paper,
and your branzino arrived presently. Nice.
We’ve been devoted to Prune ever since—now you can enjoy a defin-
itive Negroni without leaving your seat—and it’s gone on to conquer its
corner of the world. And we respond to other restaurants that share an
appreciation of immediate pleasures and little pretension. ‘They’re direct,
they get your attention, they’re elemental in the best sense.
There were probably more changes in the last decade in New York
dining than in the fifty years before that, and that evolution has been great.
You know: market-driven, genre-defying, artisanal within an inch of its life,
orange wine, and the rest. And a few not so good: booming sound tracks,
Jean-Louis Trintignant in The Conformist

187
small plates, waiters deferentially referring to “Chef? and a certain indif-
ference to physical discomfort. Wait an hour and sit on a stool—sometimes
that’s simply not the answer.
There are occasions when one wants chamber music, someplace
hushed. You want to slide into a banquette. Like A. J. Liebling, sometimes
you require la cuisine classique. It’s getting harder to find: Adieu, La Car-
avelle; au revoir, Lutéce. There’s still something to be said for a vase of
flowers, ironed linen, a silver knife that weighs a ton, and service from a
man in a tuxedo, not a sleeve of tattoos. When it’s done well it’s not about
snobbery, it’s about enabling the great pleasures of civilized life. The terrific
London chef Fergus Henderson (who would never be accused of support-
ing ornament for ornament’s sake) has said his favorite feeling is the antic-
ipation when walking across the Palais-Royal toward the incomparable Le
Grand Véfour for lunch. Amen, brother Fergus.
The incongruity of a four-hour lunch in today’s world makes it more
transcendent, not less. It’s a withdrawal from news cycles, market updates,
and the social media hum. If it was once a sign of high society, it can now
rightly be called contrarian. It’s an engagement with sensory pleasure and,
just as crucially, the pleasure of another’s company. The intimacy of a lan-
guorous meal can be rivaled by few things—at least in public.
Does a leather-bound wine list running north of thirty pages strike you
as too much? Does a waiter who takes pride in his French seem a little too,
comment tu dis, aspirational? Does the fourth fork in a row hint of overkill?
Point taken. But there’s a place in the world, and always should be, for that
type of elegant experience. The same way there’s still room for a painter
who knows how do draw. Rules may be learned and then broken, tech-
nique mastered and disavowed—but there’s a purity in the expert execution
of an omelet or a soufflé. That learning results in a taste that feels inevitable,
and, like the line in a Matisse drawing, it only looks easy.
Serving sole meuniere on fine china doesn’t make a restaurant, just like
wearing a tuxedo doesn’t mean you're well dressed. Formality for the sake
of formality is banal. But let us say this: There are times when the ambi-
tion of a talented chef in a superior setting is ennobling. Luxury has been
hijacked by marketers selling handbags in China—about expanding a brand
in the name of profit. Not this. This experience is local. The right restaurant
may ask you to wear a tie, but it demands even more of itself. High culture
has its place. Maybe not every day. But there remains a need for veneration,
an increasingly rare reminder of the better nature in all of us.

188
a
ee

Fire: Elemental Attraction

It’s in our nature to cook over fire. Brillat-Savarin wrote, “Once fire was
recognized, man’s instinct for self-improvement led him to subject meat to
it.” And subject meat to it we do, because “Meat thus treated was found to
taste much better.”
In the enduring interest of self-improvement we employ a fieldstone
grill, a lakeside campfire, an ancient hibachi, or the blessed Weber (praise
this glorious, spherical American invention!). Maybe it’s because grilling
is the easiest way to cook while holding a drink. But it’s more than that:
When you're grilling you’re outside, and for men (and often it is men at the
grill) it fulfills some sort of primal instinct that’s distinct from the technical-
ities of the kitchen.
Grilling recalls the joys of summer, the sun setting late. But I remember
my dad bursting into the kitchen along with a gust of cold air on Christmas
in Minnesota, holding a beautiful grilled céte de boeuf, the size of a piece of
firewood. Yes, grilling in an overcoat has its place.
These memories are not limited to the food. I’m curious about the man
illustrated on the side of the Kingsford charcoal bag. Recently he seems to

aia :
189
have grown stubble (though that may be me projecting—my beard tim
feels more verdant when I’m grilling). He looks like he drives a Jeep and
lives a rewarding life somewhere in rural Colorado.
Everything is better with a grill, but not all grilling is created equal. In
general, I prefer things cooked over high heat for a short time. ‘That is to
say, seared dark on the outside and rare within. Those of us who cook this
way are united in a bond, and we raise a collective eyebrow at anybody
who asks for meat well done.
Cooking over fire satisfies because it’s visual. Is the salmon finished?
Just cut into it. If not, put it back on. I like a fire that’s just difficult enough
to start (no gas, please). I enjoy the exactitude, drawing the line at any-
thing clinical that tells you the precise temperature of what’s happening
under the hood. It’s more art than science, and really more improvisation
than art.
Of course, some have raised grilling to a high art. That would include
the great Francis Mallmann, the Argentine chef and author of Seven Fires:
Grilling the Argentine Way (along with favorite food and fly-fishing writer
Peter Kaminsky). Mallmann cooks under coals, between fires, and is per-
fectly comfortable splaying a lamb on the riverside in Patagonia. We salute
you, sir.
Other master practitioners are the Japanese chefs at yakitori joimts
from Midtown to Tokyo. They are on intimate terms with all parts of the
chicken, which they grill on small skewers (don’t forget the knee bone or
the seductive skin). The chefs are stylistically distinguished by their differ-
ent bandannas. They are meticulous with their water bottles, which they
use to control the flames, while they season their shiitakes and peppers
just so.
At our family cabin in Wisconsin we have a fieldstone grill and have
branched out into everything from eggplants to peaches. It takes more time
to burn down the wood to get the coals you need, but that’s why you drink
one mediocre local beer after another while you tend to it.
Last summer, in a fit of carnivorous ambition, I decided to tackle a large
brisket, carefully following a Times recipe. Six hours later I had sweated
through my shirt, gone for a swim, and then presented the beautiful slab to
my family. It looked perfect, inside and out, but something was wrong, very
wrong. The charred exterior was impossibly salty. Woe to the slow cooker
who over-seasons his brisket! These things happen—though I cursed the
Times for months. Fire remains the elemental part of an ongoing education.

190
__
 Interview

WHAT DO YOU
COOK?
RANDY GOLDBERG I cook for you get extra points for pulling off
myself, generally not very exotic, something like a cheese soufflé,
but you take care with it. I think when in fact it is very easy to make.
cooking is about taking an extra A very social lady of my acquain-
second before you start to really tance gave me her recipe for caviar
think about what you're doing, and soufflé, which I make but only with
then it’s easier to do a good job. American paddlefish roe. You don’t
cook the roe, of course. You just
WHIT STILLMAN Anything in the blob it on top at the end. It’s just a
Harry Cipriani cookbook. My tr- caviar delivery system.
umphant meal, from which I courted
a lot of good friends, was sautéed ARMANDO CABRAL My summers are
beef liver with tons of butter. always spent in Portugal, where you
can never complain about the food.
AARON LEVINE I’m great grilling The only thing I’m really good at is
a steak. I want to make sure that called beshuare. It’s basically a stew
everyone is aware of how perfectly of mixed vegetables, and you put
I cooked that steak; though, it’s the chorizo, chicken, and pork in there
most simple process in the world. and beans in there and you season
“Did everyone like their steak? How it all well. It’s really good.
it’s cooked—is it perfect?” There are
six side dishes that my wife slaved MARK McNAIRY Steak. I like to get
over, but I ask, “How’s the steak?” them from the butcher shop down
in Hoboken, but it’s not organic and
JAY BATLLE Usually French classics so my wife moans. I do ‘I-bones,
like blanquette de veau, cassoulet, porterhouse filets, cover them up
steak frites—part Richard Olney, part with olive oil, salt, and pepper.
Elizabeth David, with a little dash
of Mark Bittman for good measure. ANDY SPADE My specialty is grilled
cheese.
GUY TREBAY My party trick is a
soufflé. If you are a weekend guest,

191
 Civilized Drinking

Bars have survived Prohibition, gentrification, and amplification. They

have endured because people want to drink. You can do this at home, of
course, but most prefer to drink in the company of others—some of whom,
ideally, are good-looking. Now that we’ve got the truth out of the way, let’s
consider what distinguishes the good boite from the bad.
The most important thing about a bar is that it suggests the better
nature of drinking: conviviality, civility, with a lack of inhibition and a basic
surge of optimism and solidarity. It should not remind you of imbibing’s
downside with an atmosphere of cloudiness, regret, and morose Willie Nel-
son songs. A good bar feels like the first crisp sip of champagne; a bad bar
feels like the last slug of tepid beer. You want the bar where somebody goes
to celebrate a new job, not to forget he just got fired.
The perfect bar formula is hard to master, so when you’ve found the
right one, it’s wise to stick to it. And there are many rewards for becoming
a regular, although it’s always a curious sensation when you’re first recog-
nized by the bar’s staff. You have to confront just how much time you’ve
spent on the rail devoted to the drinking endeavor. In that time you could
have watched every episode of a critically praised cable drama—twice. Or
finally have read all four of the Neopolitan Novels.
It came as a surprise to me when the owner of a bar I once frequented
told me about his initial speculation about my presence there. “We would
be having our weekly meeting,” he confessed, “and you’d be sitting in the
booth by the door, and I asked them, “Who is that guy? Does he work here?
Are we even open?”
The relationship between a bar and a regular is an intimate one. Bar-
tenders know as much about you as your analyst, your accountant, or your
ex-girlfriend. They’ve seen you with your guard down but hopefully not
with your fists up. Good bartenders understand human frailty—that is, after
all, what drives their trade—and they use that bracing familiarity to found a
professional but not superficial relationship. So good bartenders should be
tipped generously, in cash, and don’t insult their craft by ordering a pink
drink. The good bartender also understands when you're taking a break
from the hard stuff and opt for a club soda; you've earned it.

Tray Gray, Richard Baker

Fe
193
 ;
Bars with themes are generally not good. They’re facile and distract-
ing. Though there is a bar in London with a fierce Austrian alpine ethic that
is an utterly compelling place if you’re in the very specific mood to hear
“Edelweiss” sung by the elderly owner in his lederhosen, accompanied by
synthesizer and cowbells.
Televisions are not good. They attract grown men wearing the jerseys
of sports teams—which is not a good direction for civilization. (If it’s show-
ing cable news, then don’t even bother.) Of course, there are ttmes when
you must watch a game. That’s fine, but order carefully if they serve food.
If there’s a TV in any establishment, then don’t order fish.
What else? A bar without women feels dangerously like a locker room.
Better to head someplace where the fair sex feels at home. Even if women
aren’t in your plan, they radiate atmosphere. Conviviality is good, but no
bar should be so loud that you have to shout. You should not be afraid to
order a glass of wine in a bar, but if a huge bottle of plonk is visible, it’s not
a promising sign. And snacks should not turn your fingers orange.
I’ve always preferred small bars, like those you find in old European
hotels. Eight seats is good, five seats even better. At a smart bar in Florence,
not only do they serve the rarely seen classic bullshot, they bring the beef
broth (don’t be frightened!) straight from the kitchen to mix the drink—
now, that’s how to do it. At Harry’s Bar in Venice they might bring you a
little grilled cheese from the kitchen between cocktails. At the Orchid Bar, a
favorite bar in Tokyo (now tragically dismantled), they know that a martini
should be gin and stirred until it’s fiercely cold, the way God intended.
With a twist of lemon.
A good bar is usually dimly lit—yet it doesn’t suggest that the darkness
obscures anything. In the end, a good bar is a place of refuge, a respite
from a world moving too fast. Humphrey Bogart famously said the world
is three drinks behind. A good bar gives you a chance to catch up, and the
strength to venture forth.

194
 Interview

HANGOVER CURES
NICK SULLIVAN The best solution AARON LEVINE A beer and a sau-
for feeling like shit is to put on a sage, egg, and cheese sandwich.
suit and tie.
MICHAEL WILLIAMS Generally, you
DUNCAN HANNAH Beer for break- Just need to eat something bad. A
fast. Actually, several beers. couple Advils and four or five hours
of lying around will generally solve
JAY McINERNEY Chocolate milk- it for me.
shake. When any of the women
in my life see me with a chocolate HIROFUMI KURINO Each country
milkshake, they know what it’s for. has a hangover cure. Americans
drink a lot of coffee, right? Japa-
RANDY GOLDBERG My hangover nese people will take a hot bath and
cure used to be a cheese pizza; now drink miso soup.
it’s a workout and a green juice.
Going in the ocean is always the MICHAEL HILL If I’m hung over I
best hangover cure. look in the mirror, briefly berate
myself for taking a liberty, and tell
WALTER KIRN I had a recipe that myself it’s now time to pay for it
involved baked beans, pork chop, with a hard day’s work. A produc-
spinach, and tomato sauce. I’d just tive forfeit, if you will!
boil it in a pot until the pork chop
came off the bone. I would freeze NICK SCHONBERGER [wo Valiums
it—I don’t know why, I was a bach- and another drink.
elor at the time. I would eat it first
thing in the morning. MICHAEL HAINEY I wish I had one.
My problem with hangovers is that
WHIT STILLMAN If it comes to a I refuse to boot. I hold my liquor.
hangover, it’s already too late. Unfortunately, then, the only cure
is time.
JAY BATLLE A long walk and then
Trippa alla Toscana with an extra ANDY SPADE A beer. Everybody
fried egg for lunch. says that, right?

195
 Laid Low: Dive Bars

Everybody has a favorite dive bar. How could they not? Though the most
venerated have often closed, like unappreciated TV shows that have gone
off the air. You have to be im a certain mood for a certain show, and you
definitely have to be in a certain mood for a dive. Dive bars seem to have
some specific eccentricity unique to itself, but they share a great deal in
common. What are they? Dark, frequented at opening time, a refuge from
moderation, and unfamiliar with good luck.
We’re all tired of bars that seem to take pride in how long it takes them
to make your drink. There’s a place for expertise, but sometimes it’s nice
just to have something poured into a glass. You can stride into a place that
has only one kind of gin and it’s served in a way that borders on indiffer-
ence. When you're going to get down to it, you really just need one kind
of gin, any kind will do—none that were made in the style of nineteenth-
century Amsterdam, none that were made upstate by some agriculture
majors who dropped out of Barnard, none that come from such a small
batch that they’ve never been in a store—just gin. For four bucks.
Boat Bar, Sarah Malakoff

196
 The funny thing about New York, however, is that for a city that can
hold its liquor, there are fewer and fewer dive bars. You know the usual
reasons: real estate, the bankers, the flight of the artists, a bunch of women
wearing high heels in the Meatpacking District. But bankers like a good
drink as much as anyone, and there continues to be a desire in some quar-
ters to get down to the heart of the matter and get wrecked for a twenty.
It wasn’t too long ago that Billymark’s had certain dive credentials. It
has a down-at-heel quality that conveys a welcome disregard for decor. One
of the last times we went was for a book release party. We were greeted by a
great-looking PR gurl, and the whole event was sponsored by some dreadful
vodka in a skull-shaped bottle. Billymark’s gone corporate? What the hell
is going on in this town?
Most dives have a weird tradition—at a favorite in Wisconsin they give
you a free shot of peach schnapps every time the Packers score a touch-
down. This is on Sunday afternoon, mind you. Now, that’s a tradition!
You want a bar where you know somebody will be worse off than you are,
more likely to be able to quote Dylan Thomas, even if they can’t remember
their own name. You want a dive bar where the motto is the opposite of the
Green Berets’: You don’t want to be the first in and the last out.
In the end, the best dive is welcoming because it understands the nature
of low intentions—it knows what we want and provides it without judg-
ment. Dives endure because while the landscape of the city may change, the
human element never does.

197
 Happiness Is a Warm Bun: Hangover Tactics

Years ago an English girl, who I’m no longer speaking to, was sitting across
from me at the Waverly Restaurant, a definitive twenty-four-hour diner of
the old school. ‘This was before they needlessly renovated it, updating the
mediocre 1950s décor, which was somewhat charming, to mediocre 1970s
decor, which was not. It was a lazy morning after a night of drinking, and
I ordered a fried egg sandwich. She had never had one, but thought it

Graham Greene

198
fisounded good. Great, I said, but felt a need to explain: It doesn’t really taste
like what you expect. Once it goes through the diner process it becomes a
new, unique entity that bears little resemblance to its founding elements—
indeed, to logic itself. She took a bite and understood: It was on a whole
different plane. This was one of the last things we agreed on.
In a way, this divine gift invokes the revelation of a martini: You can
like gin and vermouth, but you’re not prepared for what you're getting into
when they’re combined and served forth. A revelation, beyond the sum of
its parts. But a martini embodies refined elegance—a coat and tie, The Thin
Man, wry urbanity. It’s a Platonic ideal, the drink of the gods. The fried egg
sandwich is none of those things; in fact, it is often eaten the morning after
drinking martinis when you are swearing at God and everybody else. It’s
still a winner, like a team of baseball misfits that plays beautifully together
and overachieves to win the World Series. But that implies glory on a grand
scale, when here the pleasures are more local, immediate, and fleeting.
The egg sandwich is a staple of the breakfast boudoir and a curious
cultural phenomenon. The appeal is wide-ranging, differing from devotee
to devotee. For some it’s the rare instance of indulging in processed cheese
without guilt—a veritable don’t ask, don’t tell policy of what’s what inside
the bun. Most of us, however, associate it with recovering from hangovers
and have transferred our affection to what delivered us from our plight, like
a gastronomic Florence Nightingale Syndrome.
Certain things aren’t meant to be classed up, like light beer or canvas
shoes. A key to enjoying the fried egg sandwich is context. ‘That’s to say, eat
it in a diner. Attempts to re-create the dish in one’s own kitchen invariably
come up short. What matters is setting (and the accumulation of years of
who knows what on the diner’s griddle, a thought that can’t bear too much
scrutiny). A diner is for considering the previous night’s excesses, for con-
templation, for recovery. Kingsley Amis said the hangover is a unique route
to self-knowledge. The fried egg sandwich rides shotgun on the highway
to revival.
In the end, we return to the fried egg sandwich because of its stmplicity,
its lack of pretense, its surprising goodness. We don’t have to have it all the
time—indeed, even more than once a month may be too often. But like an
unfilled prescription or a hip flask, it’s good to know it’s there, at the corner
diner, available twenty-four hours a day.

199
 Interview

DRINKING
AND DIVE BARS

MICHAEL HAINEY My grandfa- They used to say that the Lion’s

ther in Chicago, he drank Miller Head was for writers with drink-
High Life. I remember being five ing problems and the 55 was for
or six and seeing “the champagne drinkers with writing problems. It
of beers.” I was always thinking, had a great jukebox and one table.
What did that mean? I’d ask my I think Budweisers were a dollar.
grandpa and he would say, “This If you ordered a glass of whiskey,
is the best beer you can get.” And they just gave you a juice glass and
on summer nights he’d pour it in filled it to the top.
a tall glass and sit in the backyard
under a big maple tree. JOHN BRODIE When I was growing
up, the drinking age was eighteen.
DUNCAN HANNAH The 55 on Chris- There was a bar you would get
topher Street, which is still there. served at if you were fourteen, on

200
 Drinking and Dive Bars

Second Avenue and Eighty-fourth were, broadly speaking, diplomats

Street. Picture a railroad car with a in the way that their job was what
bar in it. It was run by a bunch of you try to do, you’re cultivating
Czech immigrants. All the boarding people—and the best way to culti-
school kids could get served there, vate people is to get them drunk.
and you'd go in the disgusting bath- He had malt whiskey. He would
room and there’d be graffiti on the always have eight or twelve bottles
wall, like “Flush hard, it’s a long of malt whiskey in his sideboard.
way to Salisbury school,” or like
“Duncan Kennedy sucks.” Duncan MICHAEL WILLIAMS I’m more of
Kennedy is a friend of mine. a wine person than a beer person,
but I have weirdly covered both
WALTER KIRN My grandfather ends of the beer spectrum, and the
loved manhattans. My father was one I really love the most, and I
the same. When he would come to drink a lot of, is Miller High Life. A
our house from Ohio in the sum- lot of people just really hate it and
mer, having driven seven hundred think it’s an abomination. That’s the
miles, you weren't allowed to talk tacky, terrible end of the spectrum,
to him unless he had taken his and on the good end of things is
briefcase-like bar and put it on the the Great Lakes Brewing Company
counter, and opened it up. It had all Christmas Ale from Cleveland. It’s
the silver shakers and manhattan something I grew up with and was
ingredients. Cherry juice, separate always drinking, and it’s really spe-
from the cherries. He’d mix a man- cial, independently owned, comes in
hattan and then things would be a bottle. It’s great.
OK. When I would go fishing with
my dad in the summers, we'd come MICHAEL HAINEY My father drank
out to the Bighorn River in Mon- Schlitz beer. People forget that
tana. It was the same. You hadn’t through the sixties, up until the
occupied your motel room until you seventies, Schlitz was the num-
had mixed a manhattan in it. That ber one beer in America. For my
was my drink too. father’s generation Schlitz was every
upper-middle-class person’s drink.
WHIT STILLMAN I generally order I didn’t start drinking until I was
the cheapest vodka on the rocks. twenty-one, so I worked very slowly
through it. But when I go back to
ANDY SPADE I drank a lot of Coors Chicago, I always go to Old Style,
growing up. Now I drink Heineken because itjust makes me feel good.
more than anything, and South Side
cocktails.

EUAN RELLIE My parents drank

a lot throughout their lives. They

201
Less
 PART IV
Gentlemanly Concerns: Received Wisdom
and New Interpretations

205 Beards: A Fierce Defense / 207 Do You

Have a Beard? Tattoo? Piercing? / 212 Local
Hero: Summer Beer / 214 Passing Lanes:
Behind the Wheel / 217 What Was Your
First Car? / 223 The Black List / 224 Standing
Room Only / 226 First Concerts / 232 Coin
of the Realm: The Case for Cash / 234 The
Power of Old Spice / 236 What Was Your
_ First Cologne? / 241 Be Careful What You Wish
For / 243 A Cautionary Tale / 246 The Angler’s
Ongoing Pursuit / 249 Fly-Fishing / 250 The
_ Sporting Life / 254 The Interior Life of Man /
256 Living Arrangements / 260 Afterword:
A Conversation with My Father

203
 Beards: A Fierce Defense

The beard has a noble tradition among French painters, Russian novelists,
and Union generals. It has a shoddier tradition among petty dictators, out-
of-work actors, and unstarred chefs. Beyond traditions, though, the beard is
an essential expression of man’s nature. But for best results, nature should
be carefully cultivated. The triumphant beard must tread the gallant side
of the line that separates the heroic growth of Edouard Manet from the
disheveled shrubbery of disgraced Brooklyn chocolatiers.
Above all things, the beard is a show of generous temperament. A man
has a face full of hair, and he rightly wants to share it with the world. Or
perhaps he just doesn’t feel like shaving. Regardless, a beard is something
that most feel compelled to try at least once, like vegetarianism. And some
find that, like going steak-less, one month is the right length of time. Others,
however, step into the bearded breach, let it prosper, and never look back.
A good beard suggests a man who’s comfortable with himself and his
achievements—perhaps he’s earned tenure, received a genius grant, or taken
up residence at Yaddo. Perhaps he’s a seafarer and just captained a ship
around the Cape of Good Hope. The reverse beard, of course, implies a
lack of focus and effort. This is the man still scrivening his dissertation on
Eastern philosophy, extolling the virtues of composting, or leading a minor
religious sect. In other cases the sudden arrival of a beard may imply an
unpleasant reversal of fortune, of a man going to seed after his girlfriend
has moved out and he’s living in a state of semi-squalor, subsisting on Chi-
nese takeout and watching Charlie Rose with the sound off because he
can’t find the remote.
Yet, regardless of type, bearded men are a band of brothers. They feel
an innate connection with Tolstoy, Matisse, and Melville. They may once
have resorted to swordplay, but now they’re more comfortable with word-
play. That’s important, because growing a beard inevitably involves heated
discussions with loved ones. This is the real reason bearded men are forced
together: the wanton judgments cast upon them, from wives and girlfriends
(gay men who have beards often share that taste with their beau) who do
not care to see or feel a man who, in their view, closely resembles a bear
emerging from hibernation. But the issue of beards is fundamentally an
issue of nature, and each man must ask himself if he should tame it, civilize
Man with Pipe, Edouard Manet

205
 it, or embrace it. A bearded man should look at home dining at an Uptown
restaurant, not like he killed his food with a bow and arrow.
And another question: How do you explain the beard’s arrival to your
mother? When my mom saw my beard, she smiled and asked how long
this was going to last. It was as if ’d brought a Rockette home for Christ-
mas. I made up an answer: three months. I’d forgotten about the exchange
when my phone rang three months later to the day. It was my sister who
got right to the point: “Mom wants to know if it’s gone yet.” It was not. My
mom, fearful of the truth, had forced my sister to make the call. ‘That was
more than five years ago. I have not bought shaving cream since.
Yes, the bearded man is brave—not because he lives in the woods,
though he is at home there, but because he resists the tender voice of the
woman in his life when she whispers, “Please shave. I want to see your
face.” Disregard this! The bearded man is too astute for such false flattery.
But a beard must have time to establish itself and earn its sense of authority.
To be safe, the beard is best grown far from the company of the fair sex.
Like on fishing trips to Montana. Or aboard the Fequod.
Lesser men crumble under the withering daily insinuations about
whether it makes you look old (nonsense! just sage-like) or larger than
before (fie! a man in full). Do not underestimate what people will do to
keep you from fulfilling your bearded destiny. Better to trek across Nepal
without your razor and return home in grizzled triumph.
The fully bearded man tends to be tolerant. He knows that not all men
can acquire sufficient beard density to partake in Civil War reenactments.
He understands that some men sprout but a modest facial garden of wispy
grasses while he boasts a thriving forest of lush grandeur. But even in the
fervor of his growth, the bearded man should not leave his pride unkempt.
On the contrary, he must cultivate a shape that suits his personality while
paying homage to his bearded heroes. He is not averse to shampoo to keep
his facial flock in order, and he knows that having his beard trimmed pro-
fessionally is a fine pleasure. Above all, he aspires to a beard that conveys
the easy sense of formality, which he rightly views a cultural victory against
long odds.
The beard may present the appearance of certitude, but it also rep-
resents wisdom and the long view. The bearded man is fearless, but he
never forgets that he is more than his beard—it frames his face but never
defines the man. He knows it is there not to hide his flaws but to reveal his
character. ‘That’s why he’s never afraid to go under the blade. He’s reas-
ve by the fact that, like the tide, the beard always returns.

206
 Interview

DO YOU HAVE
Je IEA IDS IAI EIKOXO}e
PIERCING?

“| had pierced ears. | had a pierced tongue.

Junior year in college, | remember my mom
disinviting me from Thanksgiving. There was a
delightfully shady tattoo parlor where | got my
first tattoo in Virginia, and | trusted this guy with
a curb ’stache and really thick glasses to not
only pierce my tongue but also permanently ink
my skin.’ —Aaron Levine

Taylor Tehan

207
 Do You Have a Beard? Tattoo? Piercing?

“| had both my ears pierced, when | entered high

school. | think my mom pierced one, actually,
and | pierced one at a party when | was drunk”
—Michael Williams

GUY TREBAY For two weeks in high little grayer than I expected. It turns
school I had a pierced ear. Of all of out it was brushy instead of fine. I
the things I put my parents through, love William Powell’s mustache and
that was the one thing that made David Niven’s and Clark Gable’s—I
my mother cry. She could live with, love those pencil mustaches. But I
like, the long hippie hair. She could don’t have the right kind of mus-
live with the platinum crew cut. But tache hair for that. Otherwise, I’d
the pierced ear was too much. So I have one. It’s the Scottish in me.
took it out.
G. BRUCE BOYER I went right to
MARK McNAIRY I always wanted a the beard. I think it was around the
tattoo but I hate needles, so I was time of my first marriage. I would
afraid. I think I’m over it now, but have been about twenty-five. I’ve
until very recently, when I was had it ever since.
about to get a shot or have my blood
taken, I would literally pass out. I RANDY GOLDBERG | had the worst
was in Vegas at a trade show and facial hair. I had a goatee and an
said, “Fuck it, I’m going to do it.” earring at the same time. There was
It was a daisy, my first one. I was one semester, sophomore year of
in my forties. college, and I had an earring in the
top part of my ear, and I thought
NICK SCHONBERGER | got my first it was awesome, obviously—and it
tattoo a week before I graduated was not. And it was the same time
from high school. It was a crap- I also got stitches from a food fight,
looking lion that I just covered. It so there was a moment where I had
was on my shoulder, done in the stitches in my face, an earring in my
south end of Hartford. My father ear, and a goatee, and it was a very
knew the guy who owned the bad version of my physical self.
shop, and he took me and he took
a friend. The guy said, “How much WALTER KIRN I was forty, living on
money do you have?” I said, “Forty Venice Beach. I was divorced. I was
dollars.” He said, “The tattoo’s forty working on a book. Every day I’d
dollars.” pass tattoo parlor after tattoo parlor
on the boardwalk. I had wanted
DUNCAN HANNAH I grew a mustache a tattoo my whole life, but OCD
about fifteen years ago. It came ina had prevented me from getting one

208
 Do You Have a Beard? Tattoo? Piercing ?

because I couldn’t decide what it My father had a beard my

should be. So one day, on a whim, whole life, until five years ago. It
I walked into a tattoo parlor and was strange. Everyone has those
told the tattoo artist that I would moments where you ’ve accidentally
tattoo any tarot card she drew at trimmed it too short, but this was
random from the deck, on my arm. a full shave. He said that his wife
I had given up trying to choose. So was instrumental in it. But I don’t
we went next door to some head know the circumstances.
shop and bought a tarot deck and
pulled a tarot card. I said, “I don’t ANDY SPADE I tried to grow a beard
care if it’s the devil, or hangman, one summer in France. I grew it
whatever.” It was the wheel of for- out halfway, and my daughter said,
tune, so she tattooed that on my “Daddy, shave it off.” It was so
arm. I looked at it and said it wasn’t spotty. I'd love to, though.
quite big enough, it’s not taking up
enough space, Ill pull another one— NICK SULLIVAN I had an earring. It
and that was the knight of swords. looked a bit like a napkin ring, but a
So that’s tattooed above that. And tiny one, and it clipped on. I wore it
so I committed myself to random- about a week. I didn’t really like it
ness and magic in my tattooing. but I thought it was a thing that was
cool, and then it got ripped off in a
TOM SCHILLER Iused to draw ona fight that I wasn’t really involved in.
mustache sometimes. The strange
thing is that as I grow older my JAY McINERNEY I grew a beard
mustache comes in the strongest and for two years when I was living
darkest, a sort of hairline mustache. in Japan. All the expatriates in
It’s like a gangster or a sleazy person Japan had beards. I was blending
from 1940. in, although all the Japanese didn’t
understand it.
ENOC PEREZ I had a mustache
when I was fifteen. It was in Puerto JOSH PESKOWITZ Everyone in my
Rico, and I had bushy eyebrows, family has a beard: My brother has
and people would say, “Oh you a beard, I have a beard, my father’s
have three mustaches.” So I shaved. father had a beard, my mother’s
father had a big bushy mustache,
NICK SCHONBERGER en years ago my uncle has a big bushy mustache,
I went to the Whaling Museum in and my father has a beard.
New Bedford—the first trip after
graduate school. I hadn’t shaved GLENN O’BRIEN This is the first
for two days, and I went to a board time I’ve been without a beard in
meeting and a woman said, “Are four or five years. When I started
you growing a beard?” I said sure. to lose weight I thought, I think Pd
I haven’t shaved fully since. look good without a beard now. I

209
 Do You Have a Beard? Tattoo? Piercing?

was thinking of a beard as makeup earrings, fluorescent triangles with

for men, like, covering my flaws. stripes. I pierced them myself. Three
But I noticed that when I shaved in this ear and one in the other.
I got a lot of compliments. So I When I started to work I took them
thought, Maybe [ll quit this for out.
a while.
MICHAEL HAINEY When I was
RANDY GOLDBERG I had my ear about fourteen my brother, who
pierced twice and neither one lasted was sixteen at the time, announced
very long, thankfully. The first time to my mother at dinner that he
I was in France on an exchange wanted to buy a motorcycle. She
program in high school, and I was slammed her hand on the table and
with a group of guys, and we saw said, “There are two things you are

“| had some superstition early on that a man

should not put a hole in his body. Maybe it
says that in the Old Testament somewhere.”
—Walter Kirn

Helena Christensen. We recognized never allowed to come home with:

her from the “Wicked Game” video, a motorcycle and a beard.” My
and we followed her for a while, brother never got the motorcycle.
and then my friend went up and And I don’t know if she put a hex
said, “Can we take our picture with on me, but to this day I am unable
you?” I took the picture so I wasn’t to grow a beard.
in the photo, but it was exciting.
We said let’s do something crazy MICHAEL WILLIAMS In my whole life
to celebrate, and we all went and I've never seen my father without
got our ears pierced. It didn’t last a beard. I never had a beard until
long—it got infected. I was thirty-five. I never thought it
would really look that good, and
FRANK MUYTJENS When I moved never had the opportunity to do it
to New York in 1996, I had my ears without looking ridiculous. That
pierced. I had friends who made period of ridiculousness of growing

“| don’t have any tattoos. | could never think

of anything that | wouldn’t get sick of. | finally
thought of something | thought would be a
good tattoo, which would be my anniversary
because | always forget” —Glenn O’Brien

210
 Do You Have a Beard? Tattoo? Piercing 2

“The beard just happened in the last ten years.

Now | can’t remember the last time | shaved”
—Frank Muytjens
it always prevented me from doing ENOC PEREZ That was a house
it. Then I had a really bad accident, rule: no tattoos and piercing. And
I was bedridden for a few months, it’s funny because I’ve been wanting
and at that point I thought, I have to get inked lately, but I don’t know
no interest in shaving and I won’t what I would write on myself, which
be seeing anyone, so this is the per- is weird. I love tattoos on women.
fect time to do it. I liked it a lot. Or if you’re playing an instrument,
And other people liked it and my it’s nice to have a tattoo.
wife was all for it—and then about
a year later I shaved it off for my TAAVO SOMER I’ve never owned an
wedding, because I generally didn’t actual razor.
wear a beard and thought that it
would make sense for me to be clean BRUCE PASK I remember when I
shaven. I didn’t want to look back first grew my beard. I was driving
and be, like, “Oh, that was the year along the coast of Maine for a week
I was wearing a beard.” But I started with my dear friend Mary during
to regrow it the next day. the off-season, right after Hallow-
een. We ended up in Bar Harbor
ROBERT BECKER On my way home for a couple of days, which can feel
from clubs I used to stop at the Bini- pretty remote during the fall and
bon on Fifth Street and Second Ave- winter. I had this old sweater with
nue for a slice of chocolate cake and a hole near the wrist that I would
a glass of milk. It was open twen- wear with my thumb poked through
ty-four hours and was the restaurant and Mary, laughing, said it was no
where Jack Abbott, the author of Jn wonder why people were staring
the Belly of the Beast, killed a waiter. at us, the strangers in town. I had
One night I sat down next to a girl stopped shaving for the trip and
my age with a beautiful eagle spread decided to continue to grow the
over her entire forearm. I’d never beard to better fit in up there. When
seen anything like it. It was bold I came back to NYG, the beard was
for 1980 and was shiny and fresh seen as a bit surprising on me, they
with a layer of Vaseline. She gave were certainly not as common as
me the artist’s number and I made they are today. I decided to keep
an appointment for a weck later. it, and it had the added bonus of
His name was Bob Roberts, and (sometimes) making it easier for
he worked in a parlor somewhere people to tell me and my brother
around Fourteenth street. He’s now apart.
considered one of the masters of
American tattooists.

211
 Local Hero: Summer Beer

Nobody sets out to be what Kingsley Amis refers to as a “beer bore.” When
you're a teenager you don’t drone on about Belgian lambics, how you only
drink Kélsch in Cologne, and mercifully you never utter the phrase “hand-
crafted.” No, when you're eighteen you drink what’s familiar, cheap, and
geographically appropriate. And that’s as it should be.
For me, summers in Wisconsin meant Leinenkugel’s, which came,
like Annie Hall, from nearby Chippewa Falls. The bottle declared that it’s
“brewed by 73 people who care,” which is reassuring. It’s been around since
1867 and has been run by many generations of Jacob Leinenkugel’s descen-
dants, which is good. Then it was bought by an international conglomerate
in 1988, which is not as good, but perhaps not surprising.
Even for those of us who are devoted to wine, it remains a very fine
beer. Well, perhaps not very fine, but certainly good enough. That’s one of
the funny things about the beer you grow up with: Your associations are so
strong that they can overwhelm your judgment about the taste. This comes
into sharp relief when you try your friend’s favorite beer from Washing-
ton or Maine and hint that it’s subpar (perhaps over the years you have
acquired a few habits of the beer bore). Your friend looks at you icily, as if
you’ve insulted his mother’s cooking.
Yes, it’s all highly subjective. Lemenkugel’s has gone through some
changes. They’ve introduced seasonal flavors for some reason, each one
more cloying and unnecessary than the next—you drink this beer for conti-
nuity, not novelty, for heaven’s sake! It’s like when Sting sets a really good
Police song to a pretentious jazz vibe. Please stick to the original.
This is a beer you drink on the shore of a lake and that costs less
than fifteen dollars for a case, sadly no longer in their returnable cardboard
case—I knew there was a reason I kept a few and forfeited my fifty-cent
deposit! ‘There’s also been some back-and-forth about the woman on the
bottle. For a while she had the look of a fierce Native American woman,
which I always found rousing as a kid, though in terms of corporate identity
that’s probably frowned upon these days. Perhaps not coincidentally her
ethnicity has changed, and now she’s of no specific culture, just a tanned
girl with a feather in her hair, possibly an environmental studies major from
a good family. Who can explain these things?

|
ee Pay
 On the wall of the Sapporo brewery in Hokkaido, where I once inex-
plicably took the guided tour (in Japanese), you'll find this saying written
(in English): “As long as man has been civilized, he has been brewing beer.”
Now, that’s downright inspiring. The equation for beer endures because
it can’t be improved upon. Most men want consistency in their beer, their
Scotch, and, for that matter, their clothes. Over the long run they don’t
want novelty flavors or strange new bottles developed for no reason. It’s
like baseball: It’s a great game, so just play it without endless music and
absurd contests on the video screen. In fact, the only thing you need at a
baseball game besides the baseball is beer. That’s nature, my friends, and
it’s as elemental as it gets.

|
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iy
1
Be!

R =e

NING Co. CHIPPEWA

213
 Passing Lanes: Behind the Wheel

ae
A family’s eccentricities are often invisible from the inside—how you grow
up often seems perfectly normal. Which is a way of saying that my family’s
first two cars were Peugeots. That is the automotive improbability of being
the child of a Mormon-Quaker marriage. The odds of owning a Peugeot
are rare, like being hit by lightning. But the way people who’ve been hit by
lightning supposedly have a better chance of being hit by lightning a second
time, the odds go up and make it more likely you'll own a second Peugeot.
My sister and I knew none of that as we sat in what we later realized
was a highly unusual French car in Minneapolis. After 1987 we said au
revoir to all that and settled in to two decades of a Swedish love affair with
Saabs that was sometimes bent but never broken. This is also true in Bos-
ton and other quarters of New England, and perhaps Oregon, but they’re
not that common. I saw a woman driving an old Saab once in Austin,
Texas, and nearly fell in love on sight.
When you enter your driving age in a Saab family, you don’t think
there’s anything odd about it. You’re used to the ignition on the lower con-
sole and the fact that the Swedes have a stoic, possibly moral, aversion to all
matters of what they consider design frivolity, like cup holders.

214
at.
2 ee
 We had a silver Saab that was an automatic and didn’t have a tape
player, then one whose color might be called Dark Mist, was a manual
transmission, and did. There were more Saabs. A dark blue one that I
learned to drive on (and that didn’t have too much drama) and a stick shift
where I learned the ways of the clutch (that did).
In a lot near our house I sat in the car next to my father. I had never
seen him in the passenger seat; he seemed enormous. He has his standards
and certain expectations for himself and others. I lowered my foot on the
gas, I thought with the requisite restraint. I didn’t stall on my first effort,
which was the best that could be said. Quite the opposite, in fact, and we
peeled out. “You might want to give it a little less gas,” he said, possibly the
most understated exchange we’ve had in our lives.
I did all right that afternoon and managed to drive up the hill to our
house. The next day, Sunday, I went out again in our neighborhood, on
my own. There was light snow, there was stalling, there were flashes of
anger. There was me pulling the car in front of the house, up onto the curb,
striding up to the house, tears of rage in my eyes, proclaiming I'd never
drive that car or any stick shift again. The snow stopped falling, and when
the roads were plowed I was sent out again. There was no debate: I would
know how to drive that car.
You know how this story ends: I’ve driven nothing but manual trans-
missions since, and would never drive anything else.

215
 Interview

WHAT WAS YOUR

PERSE CAR?
“A 1986 Camaro IROC-Z, brand-new, silver
spooned, and proud. | wrecked it three times
and had my license taken away for a year for
speeding,” —Brian Awitan

ALEX BILMES My first car was my people under the hood in front of
grandfather’s car: a 1985 green the radiator. It was a boat. Unfor-
Volvo 264 GLE. The least sexy car tunately I can’t remember exactly
that an eighteen-year-old boy could when-—though I do remember who—
have, but I loved it. I think it’s the but my first kiss must have been in
same car that Michael Douglas has that car, parked up near the cross
in Fatal Attraction. I had a girlfriend on Mt. Soledad.
called Julie, and she called the car
Mildred because she thought it was MATT HRANEK A 1971 BMW
the least sexy car that ever lived. Bavaria 2800 auto, with a burgundy-
I was the only one that had a car, tan interior, Blaupunkt cassette
and we'd have eight people packed player, and an eight-track under the
into that thing on a Saturday night. seat with Goats Head Soup from
I loved the car. It died in the end. the Rolling Stones stuck in it. Blew
the engine up once-—stuck gas
BYRON KIM My first car was a pedal—then rebuilt it. That car was
1969 Chrysler Newport. I loved handed down to my brother, who
that thing. I got it for $600 from a literally drove it into the ground. I
family friend up in Monterey. It was will always miss that car.
huge—it must have been the longest
two door car ever made. I think it EUAN RELLIE Rollo Fuller and I
was longer than a Fleetwood. We bought a Triumph Herald, probably
used to joke that you could hide two a 1969, for 250 pounds. We each

Tom Schiller and his Citroén

217
 What Was Your First Car?

paid 125 pounds for it, in 1986. car capable of accelerating from 0
It was a dull green. We wanted a to 60 mph in a good half hour. It
British racing green but couldn't barely moved.
afford it. It was eventually deemed
no longer roadworthy and scrapped. DUNCAN HANNAH It was a Chevro-
let Celebrity, and I bought it for one
DAN ROOKWOOD I have never thousand dollars. It was burgundy
owned a car, but for six years I rode and it was horrible. It was so not
a white 1961 Vespa 50cc around me. I also had some kind of Mazda
London. It had the engine of an station wagon that looked good. It
electric toothbrush, but it was per- cost fifteen hundred dollars, but it
fect. It was stolen by some local would just kind of die on the free-
hoodlums, who couldn’t work out way with quite frequent regularity.
how to ride it so they just trashed
it. That broke my heart. It would be STEPHEN COATES I had a Ford
worth a small fortune now. Escort. It was purely functional.
I’ve got an old camper van parked
J.C. MacKENZIE My first car was in London. It’s dearly loved, but
a 1965 orange Mustang, with it hasn’t moved for a worryingly
shiny mag wheels and a large- long time.

“A used Jeep Grand Cherokee that was a shade

of blue that I’ve honestly never seen on the
road other than that car. My friends called it the
Periwinkle Paradise.’ —Eric Dayton

displacement engine so loud it RANDY GOLDBERG My first car was

caused auditory dyslexia and the a “1964 and a half” Ford Mustang,
near daily attention of the local black, hardtop, red leather interior,
police department. I was a sixteen- V-8, 289, automatic (strangely),
year-old runaway at the time, living AM/FM radio. Amazing in the
in a halfway house in a place called straightaway, terrible on turns, can’t
Regina, Saskatchewan. drive it in the rain or the snow. It’s
After a brief stint in the local the first Mustang ever. The year
jail, I spent the summer working at they launched it, they launched in
a steel mill, coating massive pipes between late for ’64 and too early
with coal tar for the Alaska pipe- for °65. So they called it the 1964
line. One shift was the equivalent and a half.
of smoking 750 cigarettes a day. I The morning of my sixteenth
saved money from the mill and at birthday, my mom woke me up
the end of the summer bought a early, earlier than I’d usually get for

218
 What Was Your First Car?

school, and made me come outside, G. BRUCE BOYER A brand-new 1957

and there was a closed carrier truck, Ford Fairlane. I wouldn’t have any-
and they opened up the back—and thing like that now.
this car was on a shelf in the truck. It
was a real spectacle. It was amazing. GUY TREBAY I had a great MGB
convertible, fire-engine red with a
WHIT STILLMAN I worked in Bloom- black interior and roof. It was a
ington, Indiana, for one year. good car but had a slight tendency
‘To start there I needed a car, so to catch fire. I finally got rid of it.
I bought a very old Volkswagen No matter how cool the vehicle is,
Bug for about a thousand dollars. it’s no fun standing on the roadside
Yellow. I found it there. Then the alongside a car that’s in flames.
oil crisis struck and I’d driven it to

“My first car was a Chevy Impala, four-door. That

strange avocado green-it was like all those
cars: all power. It had major stereo speakers.
You basically carried around a living room
stereo in your car. That car was designed to be
a make-out pit. And there was a rumor in school
that, like Jovan Musk, if you got a girl in a car
and you were able to play ‘Whole Lotta Love’
by Led Zeppelin, she would be helpless before
your advances,” —Walter Kirn

New York and sold it to someone TOM SCHILLER This was the cool-
at a significant profit. Because sud- est car in the whole world. It was
denly economical cars became very a Citroén 11 CV, which is a long,
valuable. black gangster car—a limousine. I
was always the first one to drive
AARON LEVINE We were a Mazda to school, and I'd go in the back
house. My first car was a 1984 and play my guitar, thinking I was
Mazda 626, all blue. Sunroof. Man- so cool. It didn’t look like one of
ual transmission, four-cylinder. The those pneumatic Citroéns, which
stereo system was actually defunct, look like ducks.
but for my graduation my parents
kicked in for an Alpine receiver in ENOC PEREZ I always rode in the
the ’84 Mazda! The six buttons! family car. The first car was a Ford
Fairmont. It was a piece of shit, but
I never had to walk. Then there was

219
 What Was Your First Car?

a series of American cars. My dad NICK SULLIVAN It was a ‘Toyota

thought European cars were too Corolla. It had watercress growing
expensive and it had to be Amer- out of the windows when I bought
ican. it—it had been in a barn for ages. I
drove it into the ground. IJ didn’t
MARK McNAIRY I bought the Love drive until I was twenty-eight. I
Machine from my girlfriend’s didn’t get around to it.
father. It was a 1969 Chevy II. I
bought it for two hundred dollars. JAY McINERNEY I was given a Volk-
I named it that because it was such swagen Beetle. It was a present from
an unsexy car. It was a faded gold my parents. I drove that around
with a brown vinyl seat. It was the Pittsfield, Massachusetts, and then
cheapest Chevy you could buy. I drove it cross-country with my
roommate Gary Fiskachun, who
NICK SCHONBERGER An Oldsmo- went to Williams with me. We slept
bile Bravada. in it some nights. Cream, 1966 Volk-
swagen Beetle.
NICK WOOSTER A 1965 navy blue
Volkswagen Bug. I got it on Christ- JAY FIELDEN It was a car that had
mas of 1976. I had it through my been handed down to me from
freshman year of college, for two my uncle Larry. He had a Buick
years. When I was in college I got Regal that was gray with a T-top
a red Rabbit with sheepskin seat and velour seats. Totally decked
covers. out for that time. The thing had
been driven pretty hard by the time
ANDY SPADE My first car was a I got it, and the paint job had com-
Volkswagen Fastback, 1968. Beige. I pletely oxidized. I called it “the Gray
got it for nine hundred dollars, and Ghost.”
I drove that thing all over Arizona.
My first BMW 2002 broke down JOSH PESKOWITZ I had a 1996 Ford
all the time. I got the cheapest one ‘Taurus sedan with no hubcaps that
I could afford, because I loved the everyone called “the Jump Out,”
car. I met Katie because I started get- because when I came around a cor-
ting the late shift-we worked at the ner, people thought the cops were
same store together—and my car had going to be jumping out of the car.
broken down. She would see my car IfI pulled into a neighborhood, kids
in the parking lot, and she loved would just scatter. But I never got
this burgundy 1969 2002. She said, pulled over.
“Whose is that?” She saw it was me,
and I said, “Hey, I broke down.” GLENN O’BRIEN I would drive the
She said, “Pll take you home.” We family car, an Impala convertible.
started our relationship that way. But my grandfather would loan me
his Cadillac. My first car was a Pon-

220
 What Was Your First Car?

tiac Firebird, 1967. Red convertible,

400. I got rid of the car and became
a motorcyclist. I had two Triumph
motorcycles.

FRANK MUYTJENS A Peugeot.

MICHAEL HAINEY In high school my

brother and I shared a Chevy Che-
vette. It was a 1977, red, four-door
Chevy Chevette. It was an awesome
car. I had a lot of fun in that car.
Then the first car I took possession
of solo was my grandfather’s. After
college I bought it from him: a 1972
Chevy Malibu, a muscle car. It was CHRIS BLACK A white, four-door
brown with a black bench seat. Acura Legend. I covered the back
with stickers.
MICHAEL WILLIAMS My first car
was a 1985 Buick Century. My dad MARK McNAIRY I bought another
bought it for me, and I think it was Maserati. At that point I had two.
twenty-five hundred bucks. He was I had to put a lot of work into it.
smart enough to know I was going It broke down in the middle of the
to fuck it up in short order—which Lincoln Tunnel one winter. It was
happened, I think, the first night awful—they cleared out the whole
I drove it out by myself, with my tunnel; it took an hour. ‘Then they
friend, and I hit a curb and got a pushed me out, so I was in the tun-
flat tire. nel all by myself—which was kind
of cool.
ROBERT BECKER My first car was a
1968 Ford Mustang with a 302 V-8 SID MASHBURN 1955 Buick Special
and a three-speed manual transmis- with three on the tree.
sion. The undercarriage was so rot-
ted you could see the street through RUSSELL KELLY A very pale yellow
the floor. I owned it the summer of Buick Regal, 1973, that my aunt
1977, on the shore in Rhode Island, gave my brother and me, so we had
and sold it for a bag of grass before to share it. It had this, like, faux
I moved to New York that autumn. suede material; it was horrible.

HIROFUMI KURINO I don’t have a TAAVO SOMER A Porsche 912E,

driver’s license. which is basically a 911 with the
4 cylinder. It’s actually because

Donald Judd’s Land Rover

221
 What Was Your First Car?

“My first car was a Mercury Sable station wagon,

1987. The bumper was held on by masking tape,
it had gray leather seats, you could fit fourteen
dudes in there—which we found out pretty early
on” —Josh Peskowitz

my stepfather died of alcoholism We had twin cars. At one point, my

when I was in eighth grade, and family had four Volvos.
that car was one of the only things
that was left to my mom and I lived TIM SCHIFTER My first car was a
with her. So there was this car that used BMW 320i in metallic powder
wasn’t worth much so she just kept blue, which my father gave me in
it. At first it was silver but the silver my sophomore year at college. I
was falling apart, so we, at Maaco, went to the Claremont Colleges in
painted in black. Not the worst, just southern California so a car was a
a very inexpensive paint job. It was must. We’d pack it full and drive
a stick shift; I loved that car. It was a into LA to see Elvis Costello con-
fun car to drive. Tan leather interior certs, to the punk club Madame
with this tan carpet. I remember the Wong’s (a Chinese restaurant by
smell of the interior. day), and to Redondo Beach.

TUNDE OYEWOLE A big brown WESLEY STACE A green Jeep Chero-

BMW 7351 sedan/U-boat that I kee in San Francisco. That’s also where
used to drive up and down the East I passed my driving test at a relatively
Coast and through the mean streets advanced age. I got 100 out of 100
of Providence, Rhode Island’s dia- and the examiner told me my driv-
mond district. ing was perfect. There’s a punchline:
On my very first ever solo trip, to the
JEREMY HACKETT My first car was FedEx office to pick up tickets for the
a Triumph Herald that my parents World Cup Final (down in Pasadena
gave me when I passed my driving at the Rose Bowl) that weekend, I hit
test at age seventeen. A few days the gas in a moment of panic, when I
later I smashed it up. should have hit the brakes, and gently
smashed into the car in front of me on
ROB ZANGARDI It was a silver Volvo Duboce Street. Its driver must have
that used to be my dad’s. It had a been guilty of something, because he
fuzz buster and a built-in car phone said that everything was totally fine
that was for emergencies only— if he could just open the trunk of his
under no circumstances were we car, which he hardly could. He then
allowed to use it otherwise. When just drove off. It was totally my fault.
my brother and I turned eighteen, I then went to get the tickets.
they bought him the same exact car.

222
 Evidence: The Black List (1906)

GROTON SCHOOL
GROTON, MASS,

November 15th,06.

My dear Sir.

I beg to inform you that your

son is on the Black List of the) School for

the second week on account of misbehaviour.

Liem:

Yours
very truly,

223
 Standing Room Only: Teenage Fanclub

In November of 1989, I had been in high school for two months. ‘Then
something big happened and it had nothing to do with the football team,
which was one of the worst in the state, part of my pattern of attending
schools that are awful at football. No, it was the Rolling Stones. The Rolling
Stones, who rose to fame more than a decade before any of us were born,
were coming to the Metrodome.
At that time, the Metrodome was perhaps the highest-profile bad build-
ing of its era. It was less a building than a structure, the way a parking lot
is a structure, or a landfill. But it had hosted the Minnesota Twins’ 1987
World Series Game 7 victory over the St. Louis Cardinals—which my dad
and I attended in the last row of the upper deck. He hugged me when
Dan Gladden scored Tim Laudner in the bottom of the eighth and it was
clear victory was near, rightly knowing what it was going to mean to me, a
twelve-year-old devotee. The 1991 Game 7, 1-0, Jack Mormis, tenth-inning
win over the Atlanta Braves, which we were also at, this time slightly closer,
was just as satisfying and has overwhelmed any sporting emotion I’ve felt
(other than rage and injustice) since then.
But the Stones were coming. Most of us had never smoked marjjuana.
I’m not sure I knew what it was.
I remember Mick Jagger in the distance, in a T-shirt and tight black
pants, doing the things we all associate with Mick Jagger. I liked it. My
familiarity was based on their greatest-hits double cassette, which I lis-
tened to on an AIWA Walkman (with its graphic equalizer that I carefully
adjusted) on the bus to school. Living Colour was the opening act.
The next day, those of us who attended the show proudly wore our
concert ‘I-shirts to school, with the pride of an Olympian wearing a gold
medal. I had never been to a concert before, never spent a steep twenty
dollars (twenty dollars!) for a t-shirt, and never stepped into high school
announcing myself as part of a tribe. There were fellow travelers wandering
the halls like celebrities, we select few who had managed the crowds, had
stayed up late, had been driven home by our friends’ parents. But we had
seen the Rolling Stones. There was even more urgency because they were
playing at the Dome again the next night, and we had to plant our flag, as
it were, like Neil Armstrong, into the moon.

224
 The attendees of the second show would have their revenge. It was
my first exposure to revisionist history. It began with Ron, a friend who’d
been to the second show, casually saying, “Everybody agrees that the sec-
ond concert was better.” This infuriated me, though I now realize that I use
sumilar rhetorical devices when I’m defending some pronouncement I make
about prestige TV show. Arguments between people about the merits of
shows they hadn’t seen prepared me for my time in the art world.
Ron could not tarnish my experience. And I began a career of seeing
many concerts, thankfully none at the Metrodome. Young people have a
sense of ownership toward music. That’s why you buy shirts from the first
concerts you go to. It was a good run, with the exception of the Billy Joel
Storm Front tour, which I went to on consecutive nights (why, Lord, why?). I
saw many shows at First Avenue, the great club in downtown Minneapolis:
Dinosaur Jr., My Bloody Valentine, Sugar, Nirvana. Some have vanished
except for the occasional song in an ad: Material Issue, the La’s (five dol-
lars, with half the crowd leaving after “There She Goes”). Others I’m still
devoted to: the Cure, Morrissey, Depeche Mode. A separate category for a
Van Halen phase so blinding, so oblivious, that I tolerated Sammy Hagar
and bought guitar magazines when Eddie was on their covers.
I saw the Pixies sing “Where Is My Mind” and thought I would tour
with them. My dad said, “Who are the Pixies? Don’t you have an ortho-
donist appointment tomorrow?” And that was that. Made it into a private
Judybats show by winning tickets by being the first caller into the contest
line, which I made on my mother’s car phone. The DJ’s name was Tony and
he laughed as he said on the air, “David called in on his mom’s cell phone
and HE’S PSYCHED.” Tony, truer words were never spoken on the air of
KJ104, the self-described “hippest station in the nation.”
I’ve written about music over the years, going to South by Southwest.
It’s much maligned, but I loved seeing bands starting out playing small
shows, some that went on to greater things (Sharon Van Etten, Beach
House, Warpaint), and others that I liked even if the public never caught
on. At that point in their careers they drove themselves in minivans, carried
their own equipment, and would drink at the bar after the show.
I’ve interviewed people that were minor heroes to me. In hotel rooms
while they were sick (Aimee Mann), backstage though they stopped drink-
ing (David Lowery), in their trailer because they thought I was working for
a nonprofit organization (sorry, Stephen Malkmus!). Your taste evolves—of
course it does—but the attraction doesn’t. How could it? It’s a connection
that remains primal, long after you’ve been thrown out of the mosh pit.

225
 Interview

FIRST CONCERTS

“The first concert that | remember expressly

asking for tickets was Puff Daddy’s No Way Out
Extravaganza, which my father also attended
with a number of teens.” —Nick Schonberger

JAY FIELDEN My first concert was in tist. He loved the big-band ballads,
bad taste, but it comcides with the jazz, the great romantic singers of
costume thing: Kiss. My father took the past. Being a father now, I realize
me and a friend who at Halloween how much it must have killed him
had dressed up as Gene Simmons to let his son attend such a circus,
to my Ace Frehley. My mother much less serve as an escort. He was
was without doubt that Kiss was a probably wearing gray wool pants
demonic cult. I had to really beg to and a short-sleeve button-down, a
get my dad to take us. He was a den- uniform for him. I recall that we had

226
 First Concerts

mezzanine seats, not far from the exchange student in our rural public
stage. We got there early enough to school who turned me on to Elvis
really get a good look at what Kiss’s Costello at a time when everyone
other fans looked like, and they in my school was listening to Judas
didn’t look like us. My dad looked Priest, Nazareth. Not only was it the
very out of place, especially when first one I ever went to on my own,
he put cotton in his ears when the but it was the best concert I ever
lights went down and a blue cloud went to. The emanations of the new
quickly formed above our heads. coming off that guy were so intense
Whatever it was, it didn’t smell like for a Midwestern kid raised on your
cigarette smoke. prog-rock stadium shit. I felt like I
could feel history being made.
MICHAEL WILLIAMS I remember
seeing Bone Thugs-N-Harmony WHIT STILLMAN The Four ‘Tops.
in Cleveland in the mid-nineties, A Wellesley girl who hung out at
which was pretty amazing. our suite in Matthews North, she
knew that I liked soul music, and
BYRON KIM My first concert was the Four Tops were going to be at
James Taylor at the San Diego the Sugar Shack, so she arranged it
Sports Arena. I was a co-captain of all. It’s probably the only concert
the track team and was invited by I’ve ever been to in my life. No, in
my co-captain. We were so far back Paris I went to a lot of Chet Atkins
that I can’t remember much except concerts.
being passed joints by strangers and
Just the general haze of marijuana. AARON LEVINE It’s a little foggy.
I think it was Guns N’ Roses,
RANDY GOLDBERG The first one I Metallica, Faith No More—just had
was taken to was Kool and the Gang surgery on my ankle; my friend
in Las Vegas, by my parents, and and I took the subway to DC. “Mr.
Arsenio Hall was the opening act as Brownstone”—I mean, come on!
a stand-up comedian before he had
his show. I saw a lot of shows with ALEXANDER GILKES Michael Jack-
my parents in Atlantic City and Las son. Bad.
Vegas. Cher, Barry Manilow, Air
Supply in the Catskills. GUY TREBAY I had a band when I
was in high school; I have no musi-
WALTER KIRN I was dragged to a lot cal talent at all. My best friend then
of bad shit in big stadiums: Kansas was a very talented guitarist, and
and Kiss. But the first time I decided his father was, I think, head of AKR
to go on my own was Elvis Costello for CBS Records, which had all
in 1979 in downtown St. Paul, in the bands before anyone else knew
what must have been his first Amer- who they were. My friend and I,
ican tour. There had been a Danish still in our early teens, were taken

227
 First Concerts

to see Jimi Hendrix, whom no one all the concession stands and turn
had heard of. He said, “Oh, you on the popcorn machines and get
have to see this amazing guy. I just all the pizza crusts and turn on the
signed him.” pizza ovens and stock the Snickers
bars. I liked Snickers bars a lot, so
TOM SCHILLER Dimitri Tiomkin imagine being in Madison Square
conducting classical music for young Garden all by yourself in the after-
people, at El Rodeo Junior High noon with cases of Snickers bars.
School in Beverly Hills. Begrudg- I would always treat myself, and
ingly I went to the Monterey Pop I’d throw the wrappers behind the
Festival. I had a Volkswagen Vari- ice machine. I didn’t put them in
ant, which was a long Volkswagen the garbage; somebody would find
where you could sleep in the back. them. But then the guy came to fix
On this empty fairgrounds that I it and slid out the ice machine, and
drove on, I was helping my friends, there were like a hundred Snickers
the Whitney brothers, project an wrappers back there. And I blamed
abstract film with three screens for it on my coworker and he got fired.
the festival. I asked the guy, “Do I got to see all the concerts for free,
you mind if I sleep over in my car because my job would finish when
on the grounds?” He said, “No, go events started, so I saw everybody:
ahead.” So I slept over and when I Ted Nugent; Willie Nelson; Earth,
woke up, there were like ten thou- Wind & Fire.
sand hippies walking around smok-
ing dope, wearing beads, lighting RICHARD CHRISTIANSEN Dolly
incense .. . and then Jimi Hendrix Parton was the first concert I went
was on stage and lit his guitar on to. 1 must have been about five or
fire. I didn’t go for the hippie garb. six. I remember it vividly because
my brother and I were very dressed
ENOC PEREZ It was Siouxsie and up: We had long white socks on and
the Banshees. I remember it very black shoes. Then we heard Dolly
well; it was amazing. descending out of the back of this
I was into New Wave at the dark entertainment complex, with
time, even though my buddies in the spotlight, with a sea of normal
Puerto Rico would say it was gay people and farmers. This sparkling,
music—I would blast it in my room. magical, effervescent unicorn walks
They would come shouting from through who’s all sequined and glit-
out the window, “Aha! The gay tery. I was suddenly in some kind
music!” of epic crazy, unimaginably magical
visual place. I knew it was like eight-
MARK McNAIRY The Greensboro ies Dynasty and just like America, a
Coliseum is about the same size as confident, maximalist wonderland
Madison Square Garden, and it was that had to be explored.
my job to go out to the court and start

228
 First Concerts

NICK WOOSTER Earth, Wind & Fire. FRANK MUYTJENS I went to see Yes
In Kansas City. in Rotterdam. My mom let me go; I
took the train. But it turned out that
ANDY SPADE It was Deep Purple the band got stuck at the German
and Nazareth. ASU’s outdoor sta- border, they wouldn’t let them in,
dium. The first time I smoked pot. so the concert was delayed. I had to
catch the last train back, and I think
NICK SULLIVAN A band called Hair- I only saw five minutes of them, and
cut One Hundred. It was a jazz-funk then I missed the train and had to
band I didn’t really go to, because I stay in a hotel.
only caught the first song and then
I had to go home, which was really MICHAEL HAINEY Bruce Springsteen
embarrassing. Fortunately, it was at the Rosemont Horizon. I didn’t
their big hit so it was OK. go to many concerts as a kid, so this
was 1979; The River had just come
JAY McINERNEY I think it was the out. I saved up some money and got
Who performing Jommy at Taylor- tickets, I was a total Springsteen nut,
wood. Maybe ’74. and this show was just transcendent.
I still think about it.
EUAN RELLIE The Police and Rod
Stewart, at a very young age, both ROBERT BECKER Sly and the Fam-
of which were fucking cool. Both ily Stone was my first concert. We
at Wembley. were thirteen, and I’m surprised
that my girlfriend’s parents let us
JOSH PESKOWITZ I saw the Roots go on our Own.
at the 9:30 Club, in 1993.
BRIAN AWITAN Kiss, Animalize tour,
GLENN O’BRIEN I was really into Houston, Texas. I feel like it was
jazz at a young age. I remember around 1984.
making my parents drive me to
Cleveland Coliseum to go to the ALEX BILMES Prince, Sign o’ the
Cleveland Jazz Festival, where I saw Times tour. I was around fourteen
Cannonball Adderley, Nina Simone, and I loved Prince. But this makes
Jimmy Smith. I was twelve and was me sound cooler than I am.
one of the only white people there.
It was great. When I was a senior in DUNCAN HANNAH The Yardbirds
high school, we used to sneak into played in a department store in
Leo’s Casino to see Ray Charles. downtown Minneapolis. I didn’t
We used to go to the Howard The- go, and I was even downtown at the
ater to see James Brown. There was time with my mother. I saw them
a lot of great music. ‘There was a leaving a garage in a taxi, hanging
great jazz club called Salvadore’s; it out the windows with screaming
seemed like Roland Kirk lived there. girls chasing after. It was like a

229
 First Concerts

“When | was fifteen, | went to Greenbelt, which

was a Christian music festival in the UK. It was
even worse than it sounds.” —Dan Rookwood

swinging London vignette in my ERIC DAYTON Michael Jackson, Bad

hometown. Jeff Beck was hanging world tour, 1989.
out the back window, laughing his
head off. That is branded in my JEREMY HACKETT The very first
brain forever, and I still kick myself concert I went was to see Cream at

that I didn’t see that show, because the Colston Hall in Bristol, probably
they remain one of my favorite in 1967.
bands.
BRUCE PASK My mother drove me,
JOHN BRODIE There was a double my brother, and a friend two-and-a-
bill of the Specials and the Go-Go’s half-hours to San Diego to see the
that was big. Eurythmics. It was the ouch tour,
where Annie Lennox had that vivid
SID MASHBURN Three Dog Night, short red hair and she wore a black
when I was eight. mask on the concert T-shirt which,
of course, we bought. She waited
RUSSELL KELLY Pearl Jam. The with visiting friends at a restaurant
Alive tour. Little Rock, Arkansas. nearby to pass the time and then
I had to hitch a ride with my girl- drove us all the way back Yuma,
friend’s brother. She and I sat in Arizona, in the middle of the night.
the back and sipped Jim Beam all She is quite something, our mom.
the way from Fordyce, Arkansas,
population 5,178. TIM SCHIFTER My first concert was
Donovan at Madison Square Gar-
TUNDE OYEWOLE I had the advan- den. He sat on a pillow in the center
tage of growing up around the of an empty stage with his acoustic
music biz, since my father was guitar and played “Mellow Yellow”
an NPR and managed an affiliate and “Sunshine Superman” to twenty
in Amherst, Massachusetts, and thousand enraptured teenage fans.
then another in Washington, D.C. After that, the concerts came fast
(before changing gears to practice and furious—Jefferson Airplane at
law). So I started going to concerts Sheep Meadow in Central Park,
with my parents early on: King Santana at Central Park’s Bandshell,
Sunny Adé, Dizzy Gillespie, the and my father bought tickets for the
great Max Roach. Prince (Purple two of us to go to Woodstock, but
Rain vintage) was the first concert we didn’t end up going and I don’t
I went to on my own. recall why.
Duke Ellington

230
 Coin of the Realm: The Case for Cash

You remember cash, right? The greenback, graced by our forefathers, pos-
sibly marked with Masonic imagery. If you’re a carnivore it’s how you pay
for your porterhouse at Peter Luger; if you’re a petty dictator it’s what
you hoard for the day when you’re deservedly deposed. Yes, cash is many
things to many people. And yet, more and more, cash is rarely the coin of
the realm.
I recently stood behind three people who each paid for their coffee—
coffee—with credit cards. Or debit cards, or some card that had to be swiped
and signed for. Don’t introduce credit into what should be the easiest trans-
action of your day—order a coffee with no soy milk and hand over a few
singles, and tell the pretty girl behind the counter to keep the change, thank
you very much.
How did we arrive at this point where people walk around with noth-
ing in their pocket besides an ID paper-clipped to a credit card? Is it taxicabs
now accepting plastic? Is it evil financial corporations trying to encourage
us into deeper debt? Is it an aversion to ATMs charging ever-higher fees?
(You hear horror stories of fifteen-dollar fees at a strip club in Las Vegas—for
those of you who exceed your lap dance budget, consider yourself warned.)
Whatever the reason, let’s establish one thing: A man should have
enough cash for his evening on the town. Perhaps you go to a dive bar
where beer costs two dollars. ‘Then you can get by carrying a twenty, though
smart money means another twenty if you can’t find your way home and

232
require a cab. If your tastes are more extravagant, then plan accordingly.
That's not to say you need to drop five hundred dollars on your bill at 21,
but you should be prepared to tip the coat check woman, and the waiter—
and the bartender, for that matter, if you begin your evening with a martini
at 21’s standing bar, which is a very fine idea.
We're not talking about carrying a garish wad of bills here—you’re not
a gangster or a bookie. But you should be liquid at all times. Oh, and carry
it in a wallet. No cash clips, thank you, or anything that revels in how much
you can afford or how little you actually need to carry with you. Some of
us favor a narrow wallet that fits in the chest pocket of our coat, which is
perfect for the essentials, not a Costanza-like brick that will have you at the
chiropractor.
A wallet remains symbolic of the man, not as profound as handbags for
women but still revealing. How you carry cash says a lot about you—and it
pays to be discreet. You probably remember your first wallet, possibly given
by a male relative, or better yet, inherited. It’s an important step: Even if
you have very little to put into it, you feel like you’ve arrived. Mine was
a gift from my father: brown leather, small, from Dayton’s, the once great
Minneapolis department store that is, alas, no longer. I was young enough
that it contained a few bills, a library card, and a photo of my younger sis-
ter. It will not surprise you to know that I still own it.
Somewhere along the line, credit became king. But as a culture we’ve
moved beyond being impressed with exotic cards. Hers is gold, his is black,
yours is some metal that’s so rare that only you and Jack Donaghy have
it. We are unmoved by your limit or your minimum or your concierge
service that will get you backstage to the Rolling Stones. In fact, I suspect if
credit card companies came out with a simple credit card that looked like a
credit card—literally the classic Visa, striped with blue, white, and mustard—
people would be very happy. Maybe Discover has never changed its card,
but I can’t be sure since I’ve never seen a Discover card and don’t believe
they really exist.
Having money on your person imparts a sense of assurance—even con-
fidence to do what needs doing. Who can forget the scene in The Sting
when Paul Newman wins the poker game with four stealth jacks? Doyle
Lonnegan realizes his wallet is missing and Newman yells at him, eyes blaz-
ing: “Don’t hand me any of that crap, when you come to a game like this,
you bring your money!” That’s nght, you're in the big time. From coffee
to poker, be ready for the stakes of the day, a man ready to settle accounts.

oe
ee ee
233
 Scents and Sensibility: The Power of Old Spice

Proust wrote that memory informs the senses, but Old Spice confirms
it. The distinctive scent became synonymous with a classic mid-century
American sensibility. It’s like a sharper Bay Rum, which you know very
well even if you don’t know what Bay Rum is, or if you’ve never worn Old
Spice. It’s like knowing what a kiwi tastes like: You can’t remember the
last time you tried it, but you just know. Depending on your age, it could
remind you of your grandfather, your father, or a gym locker room that’s
decades behind the times.
I knew a man in college who wore Old Spice because he thought it
reassured women who were subliminally reminded of their fathers. ’m not
sure how far this got him. I remember he was the first person I ever met
from Wyoming. But it definitely has a powerful reach; just the shape of the
smooth porcelain bottle conjures strong memories. It may be surprising
Old Spice, Walter Robinson

234
to learn that it’s designed to recall a buoy, invoking the scent’s completely
fabricated nautical aspirations.
When Old Spice was introduced in 1934, it was meant to be an exotic
escape; the boats on the bottle were representations of the Grand Turk, the
Frendship, and other actual ships. It suggested naval leave in far-off lands,
sitting in tiki bars with women in straw dresses. These men weren’t wearing
it to be reassuring, they were wearing it to be daring. It was their Eau Sau-
vage, their Obsession, their, dare I say it, Drakkar Now.
Things evolve, of course, and what’s an outlier for one generation
comes center stage for the next. It’s with regret that when Old Spice changed
hands, their porcelain bottle became plastic. They now even engage in tele-
vision advertising! You don’t need more of an advertisement than seeing
Old Spice on the shelf of the locker room, next to a jar of combs sitting in
blue disinfectant. Sadly, that world has vanished where men didn’t even
know their skin could get dehydrated. Both of my grandfathers were fortu-
nate enough to never use the word “moisturize” in their entire lives. If one
of them saw a bottle of mister, he probably would have tried to spray it in
his mouth.
Now we have endless choices of scents that come out every season.
You see slick ads for them in magazines and stacks of them in a duty-free
shop. Think of a cologne as a bottle of Scotch: If it hasn’t been in existence
for a decade, you probably want to steer clear of it. Otherwise you'll have
to explain why you spent six months of your life doused in Cool Water.
Yes, a man should find an enduring scent or two and stick with them. Use
sensory power to your advantage—you should be the beacon that people
associate with. You don’t smell like a certain scent, other men who wear it
smell like you.
I remember standing next to my father as he shaved and put Old Spice
on his face—later Eau Sauvage. He would wince—“It’s supposed to hurt a
little” he would say. It was probably about 90 percent alcohol. I was given
my own silver razor and allowed to shave my smooth eight-year-old face. I
approached this process with utmost seriousness—I was careful not to nick
my cheek, blissfully unaware that there was no blade within.
Even at that tender age I learned something about how private routines
set the stage for public perception. You set out into the world knowing
you're presenting the best version of yourself. Just remember that in the
same way you shouldn’t laugh at your own jokes, you should never be able

ean
to smell your own scent.

235
 Interview

WHAT WAS YOUR

FIRST GOLOGNE?

pas ae

“I was so obsessed with Polo in high school |

used to iron my money with it. | would spray it
with water, iron it and then spray it with cologne”
—Mark McNairy

JOSH PESKOWITZ What I liked the DUNCAN HANNAH Eau Sauvage is

most was Versace Blue Jeans, and probably my favorite. I’ve worn
I did find that Fahrenheit was the that since the seventies. I moved to
one that covered the smell of weed New York in 1973, and sometimes
the best. I'll pass a man somewhere and it
Collage by John Gall

236
 What Was Your First Cologne ?

takes me right back to 1973 when can to seem cool or more attractive.
I was going to foreign movies by I don’t know how everyone knew
Bloomingdale’s, on Third Avenue about these colognes—it was like
and Sixtieth Street. Elegant men they had a representative in every
wore cologne then, and Eau Sau- high school.
vage 1s one of those smells. Vetiver
by Guerlain is one that I still wear. WALTER KIRN Iwas absolutely deter-
Some of them I don’t know, and mined to put Jovan musk all over
sometimes I'll stop a stranger and my body. And any early cologne
say, “Excuse me! I love that scent, wearer knows, you become immune
could you tell me what it is?” And to its smell. So I would get called out
they never remember-—or they think by girls on dates: “What happened?
you're trying to pick them up. It Did you spill something on your-
never works. self?” I think it probably smelled
more like Raid than anything else.

“When | was thirteen | went for it. If you didn’t

wear Drakkar, you were nothing.’ —Aaron Levine

G. BRUCE BOYER Every fifteen GUY TREBAY My dad created a com-

years I try a new cologne. It’s the pany that produced a cologne called
height of wildness for me. Hawauan Surf. In the sixties it was
the second or third most popular
JOHN BRODIE I associate certain cologne in the country. It was right
club scents with my father: Bay up there with Hai Karate, English
Rum, Lyme’s, there’s an Edouard Leather, Canoe. I was well into
Pinaud scent called Clubman, which adulthood before I could stand the
has a lot of spice to it. I associate smell of aftershave. But lately ve
that with my father as well as the started buying bottles of this stuff on
spray-on aerosol Right Guard. He eBay, where it’s very much sought
was not someone who wore cologne. after. And, you know, Hawaiian
Surf is an interesting product. ‘The
RANDY GOLDBERG In high school fragrance is still not my favorite, but
there were two choices, Drakkar the bottle, which was wrapped in
Noir or Cool Water, and I had them cork rings, is an artifact of proto-surf
both. I don’t know what it is that culture. It’s odd that we grew up
gets into adolescent boys’ heads steeped in surf culture, although no
about what cologne will do for you. one could surf. My parents went to
But there was just a desperation Hawaii all the time. We kids were
where you don’t realize you're fight- not interested.
ing a losing battle, and you sense it
and you grasp onto whatever you

237
 What Was Your First Cologne?

MATT HRANEK I would steal a splash bought very expensive suits and
of my dad’s Aramis or even Hai living in rather expensive homes,
Karate. But my first chosen scent owning significant pieces of art.
was Halston Z-14. He had no interest whatsoever in
consistency in grooming products.
MICHAEL HILL My father was always I think I’ve inherited that.
was very keen to impart on me that
a gentleman doesn’t wear scent. G. BRUCE BOYER One Christmas,
Nonetheless I could smell some- when I was maybe thirteen years
thing that I later came to realize was old, I had started to have an interest
sandalwood, which came from the in clothing, and my mother bought
soap he used, and, of course, that’s me a bottle of Old Spice. My grand-
now a very evocative scent for me. mother bought me a tin of talcum
powder, one of my aunts bought me
TOM SCHILLER When I was younger some kind of hair preparation, and
I experimented. I have to secretly another bought me an item of some-
admit that I tried Canoe. It was a thing else scented. I used every-
really horrible smell; it was a bad thing all at once in huge quantities.
seventies thing. I mean, the air was heavy with the
scent as I walked down the street.
ENOC PEREZ Drakkar Noir. That’s
the eighties. It had the reputation DAN ROOKWOOD It was called Brut,
that you could get laid. It worked. and it was in a dark green plastic
I felt like girls were more attracted bottle. It used to be advertised in the
to me when I wore Drakkar Noir. 1980s by a footballer with a perm
You have no idea: I had so many called Kevin Keegan. It was cheap
bottles, it took a while to get out of and it was nasty. I used to water it
that. Every time I smell coconut but- down to make it last longer, and
ter, it smells like people tanning on I think this greatly improved the
the beach in San Juan. I remember bouquet.
that vividly. I cannot wear a coco-
nut smell, I think it attracts bugs—I RICHARD CHRISTIANSEN I cycled
can’t wear it. through all the trendy gay colognes.
In college I dabbled in that awful
NICK SCHONBERGER My grand- Jean Paul Gaultier stuff when it
father and my father both had a first came out. Kenzo, Fahrenheit.
complete disregard for grooming It’s successful marketing. The most
products. My dad only bought stuff perfect example of it.
from dollar stores, despite having

“My dad never wore deodorant until 1976.

He didn’t believe in deodorant” —Euan Rellie

238
 What Was Your First Cologne?

JAY FIELDEN The gateway drug to between a lozenge and a sex toy.
a button-down Polo shirt, of course, The white lettering on the black in
is Polo cologne. When I smell that an interesting font. I guess you have
green bottle now, it brings fantas- to say it was a well-designed thing.

“There was a rumor that went around school,

around eighth grade, that Jovan Musk had some
kind of irresistible aphrodisiac effect on women.
| think | shoplifted a bottle, which will last you,
even with heavy use, seventeen years”
—Walter Kirn

tic memories back to me. I don’t GLENN O’BRIEN I love cologne.

know how I found it, but I also When I was a boy I probably wore
wore Romeo Gigli in that wacky something hideous like English
Memphis-style bottle. My twelve- Leather. Or Bay Rum, which I still
year-old son is getting into cologne like. My favorite is Melograno from
now. Sometimes he comes up to me, Santa Maria Novella.
and I say, “Whoa—what’d you do,
pour that over your head? All you MICHAEL HAINEY ‘lo this day, if
need is a splash!” you say, “Why do you smell so
good, what are you wearing?”
EUAN RELLIE We thought we were the sad secret is that since I was
incredibly sophisticated as fifteen- twelve, I’ve been putting on Old
year-old Etonians when we discov- Spice deodorant.
ered Eau Sauvage.
MICHAEL WILLIAMS The first
THOMAS BELLER I don’t think cologne I remember was Polo Safari.
my dad ever worn cologne, and I remember Woods, the Abercrom-
I’ve never worn cologne. I’m not bie cologne. I never wore Drakkar.
someone who wants to have too
much fragrance on me. But I did ROB ZANGARDI Neither my dad nor
once buy and wear cologne for a my grandfather wore cologne, but
period of time. It was called Drak- they did wear Mennen aftershave,
kar Notr. I’ve seen evidence that I the green liquid that burns your
was not alone. That tapped into my face.
generation, something about being
fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and it’s ROBERT BECKER My father never
the perfect starter cologne. The bot- wore cologne, but the scent of Cop-
tle was a kind of shape somewhere pertone does remind me of him

239
 What Was Your First Cologne?

“| do wear some Bay Rum, locally made”

—Tom Schiller

and the best days of childhood. I SID MASHBURN English Leather

wore something from Calvin Klein or Brut, both short-lived. I always
for a while in my early twenties. wanted Hai Karate though.
Andy Warhol gave all the men who
worked for him what I remember as JEREMY HACKETT I think Brut was
a fifth of that stuff one Christmas. the first cologne I wore—foul-smell-
ing stuff. I remember being given a
WESLEY STACE My first ever bottle of Eau Sauvage one Christ-
cologne was Pour Monsieur by mas and feeling very sophisticated.
Chanel. I wore it for one reason
only: My mentor, the songwriter, ERIC DAYTON I don’t remember the
Tom Robinson—with whom I toured brand, but it definitely had phero-
much of the UK in my early musi- mones in it and was guaranteed to
cianly days, and who taught me, work. Which it did not.
sometimes inadvertently, a great
many lessons about stagecraft and
audiences—pointed me the way of
it, and he always smelled very nice,
so I thought I should wear that too.
It simply hadn’t even occurred to
me to wear aftershave before then:
Why would you bother? Besides,
it was so expensive. I could hardly
believe how expensive it was. I
guess they probably still make it, but
it started to smell powdery to me at
some point and I gave up. And now
I’ve wound up with Blue Noir and
Wonderwood, and I basically wish
people would ask me these kinds
of questions much more, because I
really like talking about things like
this and never do.

240
 Eminence Grise: Be Careful What You Wish For

ORES
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*)

In the last few years my beard began slowly, but discernibly, to be flecked
with gray hairs. Actually, flecked sounds like a light dusting of snow that
may melt. It’s more than that, more like a determined blizzard that’s not
going away with the first sunshine. That is to say, it’s turning gray. I didn’t
overreact and start strategically clipping these foreign hairs, or worse, dye-
ing the beard. In fact, I welcomed the development.
It felt like this was an easy path toward being distinguished without
actually doing anything distinguished, like chairing the Eastern religions
department at a small liberal arts college or reimagining a Bertolt Brecht
play set to a Philip Glass score. I sensed my opinion on current affairs
would now be delivered with gravitas; I would take long pauses between
thoughts as if I was sifting the vast wisdom of my days.
In any event, I like old men: They’re direct, they’re good fishermen,
they wear tweed coats, they take naps. Smart ones can get away with flirt-
ing with waitresses. It doesn’t end there: J like gray hair on women, the
effects of age not hidden. From the streak (Mrs. Robinson, of course, and
Frankenstein’s bride) to the complete silver fox (Helen Mirren, first and
foremost). It’s the same with young women who begin to get gray hairs.

Henri Matisse

241
People who embrace a well-lived life are attractive, and, fundamentally, it’s
just nature’s way.
For a few wecks I was sailing along on a sea of tolerance, goodwill, and
self-satisfaction, content that I was taking the long view. Then I got over it.
Day after day it became less of a novelty and merely familiar. I was slightly
embarrassed that I was ever intrigued with the idea at all. I don’t go in for
reinvention and new looks, for men—it carries the faint air of desperation.
Find what makes sense and stick with it; most dapper men I know have
refined their sensibility and don’t stray far from it. I’ve essentially had the
same haircut as long as I can remember: Just cut it every few months and
forget about it. Maybe some youthful shifts in the altitude of my sideburns
(there was a little McCoggins era in college, but nothing convincing enough
that it looked like I could have been playing bagpipes).
Essentially, it’s hard to recognize change as we’re living through it. You
always seem to identify phases of your life after they've ended. Then you
realize that you listened to the Magnetic Fields all summer or that you’ve
moved apart from a certain set of friends, or you no longer frequent that
bar. All of which is to say, my beard will probably be entirely gray and I
won't even realize it until I look at photos long after the fact.
In the end, not surprisingly, I like the idea of being old in the abstract
more than the fact of it. But, of course, that’s not the end, that’s the new
reality. That soreness in the lower back, how it takes less to drink too much,
the wrinkles, and the rest. In my mind, the gray beard was supposed to be a
gesture, a brief acknowledgment of wisdom coming my way. But aging isn’t
a reference, it’s not a quote, it’s a novel that keeps going in real time—you
just hope the author knows what he’s doing.

242
 At Leisure: A Cautionary Tale

——
<*)
*

After some months of emotional turmoil, I decided to jog one Saturday

morning along Manhattan’s West Side Highway. The fact that I use the
word “jog” betrayed my novice status to a friend accustomed to hardcore
training. “Does anybody jog anymore?” she asked with derision. Point
taken. Yet what I do cannot technically be classified as running, after the
persuasive opening dash from my apartment, which is merely tactical: ’m
trying to get away from anybody I know as fast as I can. This torrid pace
lasts about a thousand yards, before settling in a perfectly respectable pace,
which lasts about fifteen minutes. It slows to the tragicomic for the final
painful, wheezing five minutes when I’ve been passed by older men push-
ing strollers. I’m in terrible shape.
Saturday mornings seem like the most strategic time for my newfound
outings. The West Village is not crowded, the streets freshly washed after
the previous evening’s vice. My virtuous morning doesn’t end with my

Ramon Casas and Pere Romeo on a Tandem, Ramon Casas

243
elaborate post-run walk down, which is really the only part of the process I
enjoy. No, I would continue, post-jog, to the Abingdon Square Greenmar-
ket. Here I would gather my micro-greens, free-range eggs, and other nat-
ural hyphenated goods, cost be damned. I was living the self-satisfied New
York life that most people can only dream of overpaying for.
And yet I didn’t want to be recognized. This seemed safe at Saturday
at 8:30 or 9 A.M., hours generally devoted to recovery. No girls waiting in
line for some awful brunch; no weekend shoppers migrating into the bou-
tiques enjoying favorable exchange rates. Who could I possibly run into?
Well, five minutes after my first venture I ran almost directly into my col-
lege girlfriend. Now happily married with children, she looked at me with
warmth, slight confusion, and a bit of alarm that I was not causing myself
considerable health strain.
Without breaking stride, I made a hand gesture that indicated that I
would call her, though it could have been interpreted that I was unable to
speak and jog at the same time (which was probably the case). At the green
market I was asked by the man who sells me eggs if I was all right. My vig-
orous post-workout sheen had veered from a winning glow to an unsettling
red. I assured him I was fine, never better in fact, and continued on my
way, convinced that some chemical was going to kick in and I would start
feeling good. Unfortunately, in the next stall was an editor at the New Yorker.
I would rather not run into an editor at the New Yorker while wearing shorts.
It feels diminishing, somehow, and I suspect she would agree.
Oh, did I mention I was wearing a bandanna around my head? I hadn’t
felt the need to admit that to anybody who didn’t ask. Yes, the virtuous life,
nobody said it would be easy. But if you see me jogging by, show some
decency and look the other way.

Reverend Robert Walker Skating on Duddingston Loch, Henry Raeburn

244
 Improbable Optimists: The Angler’s Ongoing Pursuit

Fishing is a curious pursuit. You set yourself up for failure again and again,
though the embarrassment comes in different forms, and still manages to
surprise you. Of course, there’s always a chance, however remote, of suc-
cess—but then when that happens, take a photo or nobody will believe you.
All of which is to say: Anglers remain, at heart, improbable optimists.
We hope against hope that this time it will be different. We try our
luck against the odds, but we also have to deal with metaphors. ‘Vhere are
simply too many, and these parallels never end. ‘Vhere’s the one that got
away, of course. But don’t worry, there’s another fish in the sea. Maybe it
goes back to Moby-Dick. But the metaphors are too much—sometimes, my
dear, a fish is just a fish.
As young kids we visited my grandparents’ house on a canal in south
‘Texas. My sister and I would run downstairs first thing each morning to
haul out the crab trap that hung off the dock. It was a big chicken-wire cube
with an opening at either end, with a cylinder in the center full of gnarly
chicken meat my grandmom stuck in there.
The crabs entered through the openings and fell down to the bottom
and couldn’t climb out. We never really understood the physics of the thing,
or even why crabs like chicken. But we loved to see the blue crabs when
we pulled the trap up out of the water, though we were frightened of their

Markley Boyer (Markley’s father)

246
ee and the strange way their color shifted in the sun, like gasoline. When
we had our crab dinner, my sister and I abstained; we didn’t like crabs (we
held out for fried shrimp). But the catch was the thing. Like scratching off
a lottery ticket—the anticipation gives you a high.
That does not really qualify as fishing; the trap does all the work, and
you just show up to check on it. But I was already obsessed. When I got
older I hung a lure over the edge of the dock and if I was lucky caught an
ugly gray catfish. They have sharp barbels that look like whiskers, and I
made my uncle take them off the hook before we threw them back in the
water.
At that age you simply like the possibility of catching something. These
days I don’t troll for catfish in Texas, but fly-fish for trout in Montana, yet
the impulse is the same. You like the mystery of what’s happening beneath
the surface and the first sight of the fish when it comes out of the water.
Not much changes as you get older; you still love the pursuit. You strategize
more, you understand your failures better—though you can’t always correct
them. Does that sound like ageing? Wait, is this another metaphor?
One remarkable thing about fishing is the incredible capacity—in spite
of all your experience—for you to feel like a novice. The more you know,
the more you realize you have to learn. But even after the endless disap-
pointment, there’s still another chance. That’s why we always make one
more cast.

247
Francis Boyer (Markley’s grandfather)

248
 Evidence: Fly-Fishing by Markley Boyer

My father grew up fishing with his father; a lot of his gear was handed
down. Rods and reels, but also small things—little tins that he kept flies
in, old cigar boxes with leaders that might still have some life left in them.
There were also a lot of supplies from old brands that I never knew whether
they still existed anymore-—the bits and pieces are really multigenerational.
I remember when I got my first fly rod, there was a very specific way
you put it together and took it apart. Back then the ferrules were metal and
they were a little fiddly. I remember my father always used to rub one end
of the ferrule against the side of his nose, where it would pick up a little
grease to go together smoothly.

249
 Interview

THE SPORTING Vie

“| think if you’re born in the seventies and grow

up in Cleveland, you don’t really know any other
way than the way of disaster and last-minute
misery. | think that that’s what I’m used to. When
Ohio State wins a national championship, it
feels weird, to be honest” —Michael Williams

ARMANDO CABRAL lo this day I am STEPHEN COATES Ijust played

a big fan of the Minnesota Timber- cross-country smoking. Well, it’s
wolves; don’t ask me why. For some cross-country running, which you
reason, when I was away and I’d were forced to do at my school.
never been to the United States, I We lived in northwestern England,
didn’t know where Minnesota was where it rained every day, so
but I just loved the name, and Kevin cross-country smoking was where
Garnett is my favorite player of all you ran far enough from the school
time. I played soccer; that was one to be able to smoke. And then ran
of the things I wanted to do. I also back. I remember going through a
wanted to be a basketball player. At phase of More cigarettes. I don’t
some point I played basketball too, think they make them anymore.
but I realized I wasn’t big enough. They were at least one and a half
There’s never been a Portuguese times as long as a normal cigarette
player in the NBA. I wanted to be and half the diameter. They gave
the one. you a sense of impossible glamour.

John L. Sullivan, the Boston Strongboy

250
 The Sporting Life

WALTER KIRN Iwas a baseball fan. probably don’t even know what
I was also a kid with a big vocab- that is—but it’s the Greensboro ABA
ulary who wanted to be a writer. I team. I was a ball boy and water boy
decided at some point that the most and got to be around ABA players
intellectual position, the most gen- and all the college teams—-NCAA
tlemanly position, on the baseball finals, David Thompson, Bill Wal-
team was the third baseman. And ton, and all that. I always worked
the best third baseman at the time in a sporting goods store in the
was Brooks Robinson of the Balti- summer, so that’s where I started
more Orioles. I think it was because making my own stuff in the back of
they were both doing something the store with a heat press, all the
that was unheralded—fielding, and iron-on letters and numbers. Just
also they were preventing things made whatever, fucking around,
from happening. It was a negative putting on names and numbers. At
way of looking at baseball, a totally the same time in high school, in my
defensive way. And he was, oddly, art class, I learned to screen-print,
an anonymous character. He didn’t so I would screen-print but would
get in fights. He was like the F. Scott cut the stencils on wax paper by
Fitzgerald of the baseball field. hand, so I was making rock-and-roll
T-shirts for Paul McCartney, and
MARK McNAIRY Sports was a huge things like that.
thing in junior high school. Mainly
basketball. NC State was my college DUNCAN HANNAH L used to go with
team. The Carolina Cougars, you my grandfather to baseball and foot-

Young High School, New South Wales, “The Cherry Pickers”

252
 The Sporting Life

ball games, because he was trying to MICHAEL HAINEY Iloved the Black-
turn me into a man—unsuccessfully. hawks; that was my first team. In
I liked the peanuts and popcorn, my neighborhood I grew up play-
that’s about it. And I always liked ing street hockey; we played every
that color of the field; I liked that day after school. The Blackhawks
green. But I couldn’t care less what back then had legends: Stan Mikita,
was going on around me. Bobby Hull, Tony O. Chicago is
such a hockey town and I just loved
NICK SCHONBERGER I dove com- playing hockey. I was raised on the
petitively from age six through high North Side, but my grandparents
school, and Greg Louganis was the lived on the South Side, which
gold medalist and the best diver meant they loved the White Sox.
ever. My father took me to meet And they took me to my first games,
him. I, of course, knew nothing so I have always been a Sox fan. I
about Greg Louganis other than really am grateful for that.
what I had—I had a tape of the 88
Olympics that I watched all the MICHAEL WILLIAMS Cleveland is
time. So I must have seen him in a big sports town and obviously
89, and it was me and my dad, a long-suffering sports town, but I
and hundreds of men were holding definitely loved the Browns players:
Playgirl magazines. Bernie Kosar, all those receivers,
Webster Slaughter, and Eric Dick-
NICK SULLIVAN Growing up, I sup- son, who played cornerback.
ported, technically, Arsenal, but
not really. World Cup, supported
England, obviously, until they got
knocked out, and you'd pick the
nearest country, which was Wales.

253
 The Interior Life of Man

a
a

Fellow men of the world who are lucky enough to live on your own in a
great city, I congratulate you. I would add: Make your living quarters wor-
thy of a man who has outgrown his college dorm and the banalities of the
generic bachelor pad. The good news is that the bar has been set relatively
low, by such widely held cultural associations as the man cave. The assump-
tion is that men, when left on their own, will revert to a premodern state,
stop grooming themselves, have the television locked on the sports channel,
and subsist entirely on takeout.
There are a few simple things you can do to counter that assumption
and to prove that you are a truly evolved modern man. Of course, if you
still have a black leather couch, your job is that much harder.

Downsize your TV. Your house is a not an entertainment center—you don’t

need a television the size of a saltwater aquarium. Your life is better than
I'V: You travel, you date, you read books, maybe even a novel. Your time

Michel Piccoli in Contempt

254
doesn’t revolve around what’s on the big screen; your apartment shouldn’t
either.

Rugs. Your wooden floors are shy: They don’t want to be naked, they want
to be covered. Get some nice rugs. It’s not hard. Go to an estate sale; go to
eBay. They'll be there and they won’t be expensive. If you find one you’re
set on, get it, otherwise layer a few. It’s empowering.

One good chair. Preferably two. They can be club chairs, they can be spare,
they can be Danish. They can be new or old, but they should be inviting.
They should call you across the room and beg you to sit down. If you have
room, please do not set them in front of the television. If your chair is com-
fortable but unsightly or is beginning to come apart, just throw a piece of
fabric over it. Nothing wrong with that. Furniture should look used, like a
corduroy coat; that’s why they have elbow patches.

Books. You can’t have too many—unless they are stacked in so many places
that you have a hard time moving. I’m suspicious of any man who doesn’t
have a weakness for books. Your life should be full of anthologies of letters,
definitive biographies, doomed poets, forgotten painters, country houses
in Finland, Japanese textiles, old Sotheby’s catalogs—there’s a lot to look
forward to. Start buying the catalogs of every museum exhibition you see.
After a few years you'll be grateful to have a personal history of what
youve seen.

Good lights. Few things are less gratifying than harsh overhead lights. So get
a few small side lamps. Every restaurant you like has good lighting; your
apartment should too. Also some candlesticks—candlelight is terrific. It flat-
ters rooms and, more important, faces.

The Long View. An apartment, like a wardrobe, isn’t built in a day. Acquire
things over time, when you travel, when you luck into a good estate sale.
Don’t worry, it will make sense one day, and in the end, you'll have an
apartment that suits you.

255
 Interview

JODY IONIC
ARRANGEMENTS

“In college, | had a neon light, with my name

written in my handwriting, that I’d gotten for my
bar mitzvah that | thought was ironic. But | was
just a guy who had a neon sign of his own name
in his dorm room? —Randy Goldberg

STEPHEN COATES My roommate arrangement, but it was functional.

and I lived on the twentieth floor We'd both been through major
of a council flat. We stripped all heartbreak over relationships, and
the wallpaper off our walls, and that flat became a refuge for the
it was quite minimal. We both brokenhearted men. Who have
got into Jung and talking about abandoned hope, enter here. We
dreams. Every morning we'd sit in acted as double therapists for
kitchen chairs opposite each other a while, on the principle of the
and describe the previous night’s wounded are the best to hear.
dream. It wasn’t really a stylistic
Dal Ray Brown (Chris’s father)

256
 Living Arrangements

TOM SCHILLER It was a modest we got along. His side of the room
apartment in Santa Monica for sev- was black; my side of the room was
enty-five dollars a month. There quite chaotic.
was a Matisse painting, some wicker
furniture, a Scandinavian bed. RANDY GOLDBERG My college
roommate was a guy named Jon-
FRANK MUYTJENS At art school we athan Hopkins, who wore a hat
didn’t really live in a dorm, just from the school—Hopkins—at all
a house they divided up into sec- times because it had his name on
tions: a small room with a sink. I it. And I’d come home from going

“| went to Eton in 1981 and the new fashion was

the duvet. One of the more heated debates |
had with my dad was when he said, ‘I’m going
to go to BB Jones and if you really want a duvet,
’ll buy you one. My dad had a more Protestant
approach to spending money. | said, ‘It’s very
important, it has to be at least 17.5 togs’ The
tog rating was how thick and warming the duvet
was. My dad said, ‘I’m embarrassed we’re even
having this conversation. Are you telling me
that you’re only willing to accept a duvet that’s
at least 17.5 togs?’ | said, ‘Honestly, unless it’s
a proper 17.5-or-more-tog duvet, there’s literally
no point?” —Euan Rellie

had an Andy Warhol poster and a out, and he’d be in his room with
Roy Lichtenstein poster. I was into giant headphones on, learning Chi-
Pop Art. Iremember wanting to be nese out loud, which I always found
really experimental, and I threw incredibly amusing.
some red paint at the wall just to
see how it would look—and also to WALTER KIRN In college, I was
piss off my landlord. defiantly austere. The room was
decorated with books, piled up
DUNCAN HANNAH My college room- everywhere. I think I saw books
mate was Lloyd Bosca, from Engle- as architectural early on. I still
wood Cliffs, New Jersey. He was stack books. Every way but lined
curly haired. I was lucky because up alphabetically on the shelf. I’ve

257
 Living Arrangements

made tables out of books, four pil- EUAN RELLIE My dad always used
lars with something on top of them. to tell me, as a young boy, this is
the way he pronounced deluxe,
ANDY SPADE I did have one room- as “de-loox.” He said, “You don’t
mate who was a stoner, named Jeff always have to have the super
Hailey, who would try to get me not de-loox.” I would say, “Oh no, I
to go to class. It was my first semes- completely agree, but you need to
ter at Northern Arizona University, have the super de-loox quite often.”
and that was a complete disaster. I
decorated with posters. I was very RUSSELL KELLY I had this apart-
outdoorsy. I went up to Northern ment in Chelsea; it was a fifth-floor
Arizona University to ski. So there corner, great space, tiny bedroom,
were pictures of skiers skiing from tiny kitchen, fourteen-foot ceilings,
those old Warren Miller films. On really cool. It was the oddest thing,
this white brick dorm wall, all post- four closets. One bedroom, four
ers of skiers, skateboarders, and closets. My girlfriend moved in, and
surfers. That was all the decora- I gave her one closet.
tion there was, along with a record
player. NICK SULLIVAN Even at universityI
went through phases. I bought The
ROBERT BECKER My first apart- Face religiously. It came out when
ment was above Rocco Restaurant I was still at school, and I bought
on Thompson Street in the Village. every single copy when it came out.
It was a studio the size of a closet. I bought Glimpse as well, which was
There was just enough room for a another magazine that didn’t last
single bed, an armchaw, a bookshelf, long but was good. But The Face was
and a dresser. George Plimpton gave my window into what was happen-
me a Farts Review poster for my wall; ing in fashion.
I was his intern then, and I filled
the shelves with books from the
Strand, where I had my first paying
job in the city. I was eighteen and
wouldn’t have cared then if it was
only a closet; for me it was all about
living in New York City.

258
 Bias

6G oo
a y

Some mail the author received from his father

 Afterword

At the end of working on this book,

| sat down to talk to my dad. Here’s the
conversation, with some fact-checking
by my mother, Wendy.

Let’s talk about different clothing as well. In high school in Virginia,

you’ve worn over the years, things kids were very dressed up, almost
that stand out in my mind. But first |
like a prep school. Kids wore ties to
wanted to ask about the crew cut you
school—I didn’t even have a pair of
had growing up. That’s so symbolic
jeans; the only thing I wore to school
of a different era. To start with, who
was corduroys or khakis or slacks. At
cut your hair?
J. E. B. Stuart High School it was a
It happened in Greece, actually. I
navy blue sweater with a big red S,
can’t remember if it was a Greek
but I don’t even know if I put my S
barber. I probably went to the mili-
on it. I didn’t really like it. I didn’t
tary barbershop, and it was his idea.
like the showiness of it.
That was about 1958.

You were the quarterback of the team?

So it wasn’t Granddad’s idea, since he
was in the air force? Yes, and I was on the basketball team.

I don’t remember if he was even

there. I think he may have dropped What did people call you?

me off. It was so arbitrary, and then Dave. Dave Coggins. When I was
I had it throughout high school. It young I was called David, and then
was a terrible mistake. I made a declaration that I wanted to
be Dave. When I got older I wanted
You had it in high school in Virginia, to be David again.
where you wore a letter sweater?
Right, you wore a letter sweater on | think | was the same way, except peo-

game day. You had to wear a tie ple called me Davie when | was very
young, which is hard to believe. How

261
Clockwise, from top left: Col. David “Bob” Coggins (the author’s grandfather), David (the author's
father) in Paris, and playing quarterback for Colorado College
 A Conversation with My Father

do you remember Granddad dressing? You and Mom move to Holland after
What was his presence like when you college, and there are pictures of you
were young? then: Your hair is quite long; you have
Granddad had to wear a uniform to a beard.
work almost every day. But when he That’s 1970. We were in Amster-
didn’t, he was always dressed up. He dam, where we stayed a night or
was always paying attention to his two before moving to The Hague.
clothes and would wear a coat and We went shopping and I bought this
tie. He was very meticulous. And so incredibly tight leather jacket. It was
was his father. That’s part of their beautiful. I said to the man in the
Southern heritage. store, “I can’t wear this.” He refused
to sell me a larger size. I went back
So what happens when you get to col- and said, “This is just too tight,” and
lege? You’re at Colorado College, not he said, “Sorry, I won't sell you a
in Virginia, and it’s a very different era. larger one.”
Right. When I moved to Colorado Then I bought this long, black
from the East Coast my senior year wool coat with epaulets that went
of high school, I went fromJ. E. B. down to my boots, also very tight
Stuart to George Washington. Big fitting and swashbuckling. I loved
public schools. People wore letter that. I looked like something from a
jackets; I never wore letter jackets. nineteenth-century romantic novel,
There were a bunch of juniors, and with long hair and beard. Everything
they were impressed by my clothes. got very tight—my suits were tight,
They called me Jim Beam, because and I remember a black corduroy
I was always dressed up. That was suit* and even a denim suit.
even true in college, at least in my “Your mother says thas was black velvet, not corduroy.
first year or two.
Yeah, the denim suit, don’t just gloss
When do you start to grow out your
over that.
hair? When we moved to The Hague
As soon as I got to college. I also there was one shop I went to, I
started to dress more hippie-like. Not can’t remember the name, but there
really hippie, but jean jackets and was a very nice man who worked
army jackets and boots. More bohe- there and sold me the suits. All our
mian, I guess.* But I never really grew friends—many were students or
my hair that long in college. artists—wore tight clothes, things
*Your mother reminded me that I had many Gant
that you would have to peel off.
shirts from my time in Virgina. And that I owned a
Baracuta jacket.

263
 A Conversation with My Father

You don’t just go into a store and buy Minneapolis. It had been there for-
a denim suit— ever and was run by the same family.
It actually had orange trim as well,
and the pants were bell-bottom. It These incredible specialty stores that

was for a wedding in California, in don’t exist so much anymore.

Palo Alto. Good grief. That’s right. Then Polo came and
that’s where I got a lot of those fancy
The first time we went to France as a English-type suits. Beautiful suits.
family in 1982, you were dressed up Michael Sommers used to tease me
for the flight over—you were wearing when I showed up in a tie and suit
a suit and tie. at the New French Bar, where artists
In those days flying was still a big hung out. He liked it, though.
deal. You were supposed to dress up
when you got on a plane. A lot of | didn’t know about that.
people wore ties, or at least made I was writing and editing and gomg
an effort. to meetings, so wearing a suit seemed
more appropriate. It was also interest-
Going into your closet in later years, | ing having come through the sixties
was always surprised how formal the
and even the seventies, and then all
clothes were that you had from that
of a sudden there was a return to
era, English suits and ties. It seems
like you’ve moved into more colorful
dressing up and looking more formal.
Italian clothes now, and don’t wear
You still sometimes give me a hard
ties as much.
time about being formal, but it turns
When we moved back to the States,
out that when we were about the
we moved to Minneapolis. My hair
same age, people gave you a hard
was shorter again. No beard. That
time about the same thing.
was because I was back in the Army
Well, they would. Not necessarily a
Reserve, so I had to be a little more
hard time, but they would comment
spruced up, and then I was working
on it. And some of my friends, some
and I wore a tie and coat to work.
business people or professional peo-
ple like Charlie Zelle, were always
You went to Sim’s.
dapper. When I think back to those
So I went to Sim’s...
clothes, they were really grand.

How did you find that place?

It’s funny you mention the Polo Store
It was well known. It was a place you because | think of going there as a boy,
went to get nice, traditional things. when Paul was working—and being
It was sort of the Brooks Brothers of very reluctant. Having a blue blazer
put on and not wanting to put it on all

264
 A Conversation with My Father

the way, and you pulling the lapels for that you did it. Isometimes think that
me and saying, “David, you have to put was sort of a turning point, down the
in on properly.” It was like | didn’t want
road to more serious nattiness.
to actually get into it and wear it. But |
would still get a blue blazer with gold
Well, the other thing | think | did, more
buttons every two years.
on my own, was when | came home
I remember you when you had your from a haircut with sideburns. That
first blue blazer, with your blond hair was even before | was listening to
and white pants. You wore it to a Morrissey. You had sideburns in the
wedding in Chicago. You were nine seventies, which | thought looked

or ten and starting to dress up. great—they were huge. What did you
wear to your wedding, by the way?

Well, that’s how it starts. First you’re A morning suit. It was in Chicago
dragged into the store and then, later, in 1970. I'd just gotten out of my
| would always look forward to see- Army Reserves basic training. The
ing Paul, who worked there for years. wedding was in June. I still had to
| loved to see him—we’'d talk about
keep my hair short, but you could
clothes and dressing, and he even
have sideburns. So I had this short
once sold me a pair of pumps that
hair with long sideburns, which were
belonged to him.
sort of rebellious, I thought.
Oh my God, he did?
When we played tennis, you would
Yeah, for twenty dollars, and they
wear a tennis sweater with a pink-and-
were very lightly worn. Not only that,
black V-neck out onto the court. And
he encouraged me to wear that some-
you carried your racket in a carpenter
what disastrous tuxedo jacket with
bag—which | think now is very cool.
jeans to the prom. Where did you get the idea to do that?
I told you to do that. Was it just sitting around?
Good question. I didn’t buy it for that
Are we taking credit for that? purpose. But I liked it and bought
Yes, absolutely! I told you to wear it, and then I thought about using
jeans, and I even have a drawing of it to carry my rackets. I didn’t have
you somewhere wearing that. any tools!

| think it worked in theory better than Well, | like it now—then | didn’t under-
practice—I wasn’t quite ready to pull it stand it, | thought you were bringing
off. If |saw it now | would enjoy it more. some ridiculous bag. | also remember
It may have been a little ambitious. being very fascinated with your shav-
But you did it and I was impressed ing brush and the whole process of
shaving, and so you got me a little

265
 A Conversation with My Father

razor without the blade so | could want to be flashy, but I liked having
shave too. certain vivid looks, a striped shirt or
Yes, that’s true. I was using foam out bright scarf, but with a more conser-
of a can and then found this soap in vative sport coat.
a wood bowl and a brush and liked
it, and then I kept doing it. I still do. Also on Christmas Eve you make a
And you wanted to shave too, so I cheese soufflé, and then you wear-—I
don’t know how this became part of
took out the blades—you still inserted
the tradition—but a pair of purple velvet
individual blades back then—and you
slippers. How did that start?
would shave too.
I have no idea. I didn’t want to just

That’s funny. | shaved more then than cook something ordinary so I thought
| do now. What about cologne and fra- I'd try soufflé, and Mom loved the
grance? | remember the Old Spice, idea—she didn’t have to cook. I saw
but | think you moved beyond that at the slippers in a store in Paris on bou-
some point. levard Raspail, so I bought a pair.
I think I used to have Brut in college. They just felt Christmasy.
And then this great Polo smell, which
I wore for years. One other thing is Paul Smith, because
| remember when we first started
| think some of those are still in your going to New York in 1990 and the

cabinet. And Eau Sauvage. store on Fifth Avenue and Sixteenth

Eau Sauvage is great, though I don’t Street.

wear it much anymore. I wear more He’s a big influence. He would take
Hermeés these days. And Paul Sinith. traditional things and update them
with something eccentric or color-
As you get older you move into more ful, and I really responded to that.
bold colors. And stripes and patterns. I didn’t want to dress like a profes-
And a more unstructured look. Except sional person, like a banker or lawyer,
for a brief summer when you wore but I still liked to dress up.
gladiator sandals.
I wore a lot of sandals. I always liked And unexpected details like enameled
sandals. Even in college, I remember buttons with fish on them.
once getting a pair of sandals made in Right. I think some shirts had dif-
India and wearing them in Mexico. ferent details, or even a jean jacket
with patches of flower and fabric, and
You're tall. I’ve always thought big men always different buttons. There was
can wear color well. one shirt with the trout buttons and
That’s partly being athletic but also one with Victorian flower buttons.
artistic and a little dandified. I didn’t

266
 A Conversation with My Father

You wear colorful scarves, and Mom Where is the first place you took it on
and Sarah do too. You all have a lot a long trip?
of them, and they wear yours and you When we lived in The Hague we
wear theirs. Is that the way to describe
took some short trips to Germany,
the situation?
but the longest trip was around
They wear mine but I don’t wear
France. No, our first long trip was
theirs! Whenever we go someplace through Scandinavia. All the way
like Paris or Italy, it seems we buy through Scandinavia to the northern
scarves. They are such an easy thing tip, the North Cape. We went up
to buy, and they are so beautiful. through Sweden and Finland and
When I turned sixty, you and Sarah down through Norway. We were
gave me a beautiful blue scarf. Iwore gone five weeks. It was wonderful.
it that day and never wore it again. We even camped out a few times. A
Mom and Sarah commandeered it.
couple of years later we took a trip to
France that took four or five weeks.
Well, it’s funny, we’re not the same size,
Those were very formative years. I
so I’ve never really worn your clothes.
still think of them that way.
I’ve worn ties—somehow there was an
idea once that | fit into a sport coat of
yours that was too small for you. Now
that | see photos of it, it didn’t remotely
fit—it went down to the middle of my
thigh.
It’s a pity because I still have so many
nice suits.

When you lived in Holland, you bought

a car?
A Triumph. We bought it in Amster-
dam. It was a brand-new, brown 1970
GT6, a hatchback. Three thousand
dollars. Which seemed like a lot in
those days.

Portrait of the author, by his father, 2016

267
 Contributors

Unless noted, contributors live in New York. BEN CLYMER is the founder and executive editor
of Hodinkee.

KAMROOZ ARAM is a visual artist. STEPHEN COATES is a musician who records

under the name The Real Tuesday Weld. He lives
BRIAN AWITAN is a creative consultant who has in London.
worked with Levi’s, among other companies.
ERIN CRESSIDA WILSON is a screenwriter
RICHARD BAKER is an artist represented by the whose most recent film is The Girl on the Train.
Tibor de Nagy Gallery in New York.
SLOANE CROSLEY is the author of The Clasp,
JAY BATLLE is an artist with an upcoming show at among other books.
Museum of Fine Arts in Santiago, Chile.
ADRIAN DANNATT is a writer and curator whose
ROBERT BECKER is the author of Nancy Lan- most recent exhibition and publication is /mpasse
caster: Her Life, Her World, Her Art. He's cur- Ronsin at Paul Kasmin Gallery.
rently writing a book about Hawaii.
ERIC DAYTON is an owner of the men’s store
THOMAS BELLER is the author of J.D. Salinger: The Askov Finlayson and the restaurant The Bachelor
Escape Artist. He lives in New Orleans. Farmer. He lives in Minneapolis.
ALEX BILMES is the editor-in-chief of Esquire STEFAAN DUPONT is a photographer and a
UK. He lives in London. partner of the creative agency Miles & Miles.
CHRIS BLACK is the founder of Done to Death MARCEL DZAMA is an artist who recently des-
Projects and the Public Announcement podcast. igned the costumes for the New York City Ballet.
RUSSELL BLACKMORE is the founder of Sonic HANNAH ELLIOTT writes about cars for Bloom-
Editions. He lives in London. berg Pursuits.
LESLEY M.M. BLUME is the author of Everybody JAY FIELDEN is the editor-in-chief of Esquire.
Behaves Badly: The True Story Behind Heming-
way’s Masterpiece The Sun Also Rises. JOHN GALL is the creative director of Abrams
Books.
MICHAEL BORREMANS is an artist represented
by David Zwirner and Zeno-X Gallery. He lives ALEXANDER GILKES is the co-founder of the
in Ghent. online art auction house, Paddles.

WILLIAM BOYD is the author of numerous books. RANDY GOLDBERG is a co-founder of Pop-Up
His most recent novel is Sweet Caress. He lives Flea and Bombas.
in London. PATRICK GRANT is an owner of the Savile Row
G. BRUCE BOYER is the author of True Style: The tailor Norton & Sons.
History and Principles of Classic Menswear. HUGO GUINNESS is an artist who wrote The
MARKLEY BOYER is a conservationist and board Grand Budapest Hote/ with Wes Anderson.
chair of the Catskill Center for Conservation and JEREMY HACKETT is the founder and chairman
Development. of Hackett, the men’s clothing line. He lives in
JOHN BRODIE is the vice president of content London.
and branding at J.Crew. MICHAEL HAINEY is executive director of editorial
CHRIS BROWN is the publisher and creative at Esquire and the author of After Visiting Friends.
director of Refueled magazine. He lives in Keller, DARRELL HARTMAN is a writer and co-founder
TX. of the travel website Jungles in Paris.
SHAWN BRYDGES 's a partner in the photography DUNCAN HANNAH is an artist who is currently
agency, Brydges McKinney. working on his memoir.
ARMANDO CABRAL is a model and the creative MICHAEL HILL is co-owner and creative director
director of Armando Cabral, his line of shoes. of Drake's. He lives in London.
GREG CHAPMAN is a creative director. HOLLISTER HOVEY is co-founder of Hovey
RICHARD CHRISTIANSEN is the founder of Design and the author of Heirloom Modern.
Chandelier Creative. He lives in Los Angeles
and New York.

268
MATT HRANEK is a photographer and the men’s WALTER ROBINSON is an artist and critic who
style editor at Condé Nast Traveler. recently had a survey of his paintings at Jeffrey
Deitch.
AL JAMES is a writer and musician, who lives in
Portland, OR. DAN ROOKWOOD is the U.S. editor of Mr. Porter.
RUSSELL KELLY is the head of Tudor Watch. TIM SHIFTER is executive chairman of the Amer-
BYRON KIM is an artist represented by James ican leather goods company J.W. Hulme Co.,
Cohan Gallery. and senior advisor to the private equity group
at Blackstone.
WALTER KIRN Is the author of numerous books,
TOM SCHILLER is a comedy writer and filmmaker.
including Blood Will Out. He lives in Livingston,
MT. He lives in Connecticut.

NICK SCHONBERGER is a writer and editor. He

HIROFUMI KURINO is the senior advisor for cre-
lives in Portland, OR.
ative direction at United Arrows. He lives in Tokyo.
TAAVO SOMER is a designer and owner of Le
AARON LEVINE is the vice president of men's
Turtle, Freemans, and other bars and restaurants.
design at Abercrombie & Fitch. He lives in Gran-
ville, OH. ANDY SPADE is the founder of Jack Spade,
Sleepy Jones, and Partners & Spade.
GLENN LIGON is a visual artist.
ANNA SUL is a fashion designer.
J.C. MacKENZIE is an actor currently starring in
HBO's Vinyl. WESLEY STACE is a writer and musician who has
released albums under the name John Wesley
SID MASHBURN is the founder of his own line
Harding. He lives in Philadelphia.
of men’s clothing and retail shops. He lives in
Atlanta. WHIT STILLMAN is a director whose most recent
film is Love & Friendship.
JAY McINERNEY is a writer whose most recent
book is Bright, Precious Days. NICK SULLIVAN is Esquire’s fashion director and
editor of Esquire’s Big Black Book.
MARK MCNAIRY is the designer and creative
director of Mark McNairy New Amsterdam. He GAY TALESE is the author of fourteen books, the
lives in Los Angeles. latest, The Voyeur’s Motel, was optioned in 2016
by Steven Spielberg.
DERRICK MILLER is the founder and creative
director of Barker Black and Miller's Oath. TAYLOR TEHAN is a designer and co-owner of
Maconnais, a clothing company in rural Texas.
FRANK MUYTJENS is the men’s design director
of J.Crew. GUY TREBAY is a style reporter and chief mens-
wear critic at the New York Times.
SHIN NAKAHARA is the founder of Landscape
Products. He lives in Tokyo. MADELINE WEEKS is the fashion director at GQ
magazine.
GLENN O'BRIEN is awriter, editor, and talk show
host. DON WEIR is co-owner of the STAG men’s stores.
He lives in Austin.
MAUREEN O’CONNOR is the sex columnist for
New York magazine. JP WILLIAMS is a creative director and co-founder
of the agency Design MW.
TUNDE OYEWOLE is a lawyer who lives in Paris.
MICHAEL WILLIAMS is the founder of the web-
BRUCE PASK is the men’s fashion director at
site A Continuous Lean and a partner at Paul
Bergdorf Goodman.
+Williams. He lives in Los Angeles.
ANTHONY PECK is a writer, producer, and moun-
CINTRA WILSON is a writer whose most recent
taineer. He lives in Aspen, CO.
book is Fear and Clothing: Unbuckling Amer-
ENOC PEREZ is an artist with an upcoming solo ican Style.
exhibition at the Dallas Contemporary.
NICK WOOSTER is a fashion director and des-
JOSH PESKOWITZ is the co-owner of the Los igner.
Angeles men’s store Magasin.
ROB ZANGARDI is a stylist and a partner in the
POGGY is the fashion director of United Arrows firm RandM. He lives in Los Angeles.
& Sons. He lives in Tokyo.
EUAN RELLIE is a senior managing director at
BDA Partners.

269
 qualities of themen |admire. I'mgrate-
for interviews, shared photographs,
what they wore toprom: Their spiritof gen-
example toallofus.

with his usual combination of

argoodtaste.

and made sure every-

when she’s supposed to
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of Markley Boyer; PAGE 249 Photo by Markley Boyer; PAGE 251 John L. Sullivan, the Boston Strong Boy, courtesy of the
Library of Congress; PAGE 252 Courtesy of Taylor Tehan; PAGE 254 Michel Piccoli and Brigitte Bardot during the filming
of Le Mepris by Jean-Luc Godard © Ghislain Dussart/Gamma-Rapho/Getty Images; PAGE 256 Courtesy of Chris Brown;
PAGE 259 Courtesy of the author; PAGE 260, 262 Courtesy of David Coggins, the author's father. Photo of David Coggins
playing football by David Burnett; PAGE 267 Portrait of the author, courtesy of the artist, his father.

Writing Permissions: Many thanks to Esquire, Bergdorf Goodman, A Continuous Lean, Kinfolk, and Vanity Fair, where
some of these pieces originally appeared; Also special thanks to Playboy magazine, Levi’s, Drake’s, J.Crew, Freemans
Sporting Club, Leinenkugel’s, Anthony Peck, and Markley Boyer for opening their archives to me; Enduring Appeal: The
Blazer was previously published by Vanity Fair. Vanity Fair is © and TM of Condé Nast. Used with permission; Southern
Exposure: Men Without Socks and Civilized Drinking originally appeared in Bergdorf Goodman Magazine. Used with
permission; Revelations of the Hat was previously published by Esquire’s The Big Black Book. Reprinted by permission
of Hearst Communications, Inc.
 Editor: Rebecca Kaplan
Designer: John Gall
Co-Designer: Najeebah Al-Ghadban
Production Manager: Denise LaCongo

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016941017

ISBN: 978-1-4197-2232-5

Copyright © 2016 David Coggins

Published in 2016 by Abrams, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion

of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or other-
wise, without written permission from the publisher.

Printed and bound in the United States

10987654321

Abrams books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for
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editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@
abramsbooks.com or the address below.

ABRAMS
The Art of Books

115 West 18th Street

New York, NY 10011
www.abramsbooks.com

IDIOT
SRI
PONIES
i:
HA
“Fashion is industry; style is culture. That’s why this book is important... It’s about
ideas and themes, arts and rituals, the things that constitute culture”
—from the foreword by Glenn O’Brien

In Men and Style, David Coggins explores how men dress and why. He inter-
views some of the world’s most dapper men and leading tastemakers, who
discuss lessons they learned from their fathers, mistakes they made and
how they became better men. They consider a range of topics including bad
beards, misguided cologne and unfortunate prom tuxedos. These stylish men
examine their lives and experience with wit, verve and surprising candor as
they reflect on Playboy, school uniforms or dive bars. An essential, off-the-
cuff look at singular men who have lived well, Men and Style celebrates male
icons who have something to tell us about how their worldviews have been
styled—and how they’ve styled themselves in turn.

Knit Ties / Gay Talese / Dress Codes / White Bucks /

Madras / Nick Wooster / Old Spice / Discovering Playboy /
Jay McInerney / Bad Cologne / Corduroys / Beards /
Whit Stillman / Prom Disasters / Nick Sullivan / Miami Vice /
Andy Spade / Dive Bars / Cintra Wilson / Gregory Peck /
Collections / Levi’s / Acquired Tastes / First Cars /
Savile Row / Living Arrangements / Flasks / Chambray /
First Concerts / Imperfection / Gabardine / Suits /
Fly Fishing / Sid Mashburn / Western Shirts / Tweed /
Fiannels / The Full Cleveland / Gin Martinis / Jay Fielden /
Bachelors / Grilling / Edouard Manet

David Coggins is a writer and editor whose

work has appeared in Esquire, Interview, Art
in America, Kinfolk and the Wall Street Journal.
He is a contributing editor at Condé Nast
Traveler. He lives in New York.

= a U.S. $30.00 Can. $36.00 U.K. £18.99

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