Shrinking Violet: Never Pay Retail
My father, while visiting during my first attempt at undergraduate achievement, sagely pointed out that in New York, class is literally worn on your back. On the left coast, class is about what you drive or the manse you maintain. Since the vast majority of New Yorkers have neither cars nor manses, conspicuous consumption manifests in the cut and color of your trendy couture and the labels you'll whore for.
Hence, when I arrived for this extended stay, all I brought was a laptop and a bag full of socks, underwear and the cream of my tee crop. My one extravagance with the balance of my Sallie Mae loan was going to be clothes. So if I've come off as some sort of breeder Blackwell the last couple of weeks at YM, it's because I've keeping a keen eye on the latest looks around town. And true to form, the non-conformists are the most thoroughly conformed of the lot.
Since I can't help but see the geopolitical in absolutely everything, I've come to some conclusions that connect two New York City passions that wouldn't normally be seen in a room together -- menswear aficionados and sustainability nuts. There's little in this world I like more than to dress down hypocritical pretensions to liberalism by moderate Democrats, so to all you trucker hat-wearing environmentalists who've friended Obama on Facebook that would scoff at someone showing up to one of the boss's favored hipster revues in a DKNY 3/4 coat, I'd like to present an argument that the truly radical should embrace the conservatively tailored suit.
Read more...Fashion is almost the apotheosis of consumer capitalism. It's no coincidence that the first fashion magazines began to appear around the time of the American and French revolutions, when the bourgeoisie took the reigns of power. Fashion trends create demand for otherwise excess supply. That calico coat that was sooo 1787 would have kept you plenty warm, and already coordinated so nicely with your breeches, but who would proffer their dance card at one of Madison's balls to someone so out of touch with current styles?
Fast forward to post-industrial capitalism, where disposable culture and cheap developing world labor are wreaking havoc on everything from good taste to third world economies. The rococo embellishments on that screen printed hoodie from a boutique in Hollywood are a form of planned obsolescence. They are a way of writing on a piece of clothing otherwise serviceable for years a destiny that ends in the global south where it will serve to undermine traditional handcrafts such as textile manufacture and tailoring. And while containers ships full of cast-offs from the first world steam south, Kente Cloth, Batik prints and ancient Aztec weaving fly north in the carry-on bags of tourists.
Right here at home, walking down to the local cupcakery run by an investment banking dropout with a law degree in one of your dozens of pairs of wildly colorful sneakers to go with that knockoff Vuitton a la Takeshi Murakami means that you're singing the notes of actual craftsmanship horrifically off-key. The hipster-infested Lower East Side used to be full of skilled and dedicated tailors who could support an entire family on their labor. Where once there were haberdashers and hatters and cobblers, there are now underemployed petit-bourgeoisie with advanced degrees and drinking problems.
A well-tailored suit involves dozens of hours of skilled manual labor to create and maintain, but will last a lifetime. As will a pair of handcrafted leather shoes. And while the width of the tie or the gather of the waist might change, there is little difference in the sensibility of Jack Reed or Eugene Debs' taste and that of the mid-century modern Mad Men. And don't even try to tell me that your new media entrepreneurs in schwag tees, jeans and Crocs have a shred of the attractive dignity that once came with wearing a fitted suit.
Hence, those wishing to drop out of disposable culture aren't buying the recycled fashion mistakes the previous generation, but are carefully picking over thrift stores for cast-offs from Wall and Montgomery streets while they bide their time in the hopes of investing in something from Saville Row. Three piece worsted wool pinstripe suit at Salvation Army? $40. Alterations? $25. Value? Probably $800 at Brooks, new. And if I gain or lose a few inches, I take the suit and my money back to a family-run neighborhood business for another bout with confidently wielded pins and thread.
So the new revolutionary isn't wearing tie-dye under army surplus and flair from a range of ideological sects and identity politics groups, but a silk tie and matching pocket square. And the drape of his coat is as individual as the lines of your jeans are stereotypically a la mode. You can scurry from under the boot-heel of oppression in flats if you like, or you can get your own pair of boots. Speaking of which, can anyone get me the name of Fidel's tailor?
Hence, when I arrived for this extended stay, all I brought was a laptop and a bag full of socks, underwear and the cream of my tee crop. My one extravagance with the balance of my Sallie Mae loan was going to be clothes. So if I've come off as some sort of breeder Blackwell the last couple of weeks at YM, it's because I've keeping a keen eye on the latest looks around town. And true to form, the non-conformists are the most thoroughly conformed of the lot.
Since I can't help but see the geopolitical in absolutely everything, I've come to some conclusions that connect two New York City passions that wouldn't normally be seen in a room together -- menswear aficionados and sustainability nuts. There's little in this world I like more than to dress down hypocritical pretensions to liberalism by moderate Democrats, so to all you trucker hat-wearing environmentalists who've friended Obama on Facebook that would scoff at someone showing up to one of the boss's favored hipster revues in a DKNY 3/4 coat, I'd like to present an argument that the truly radical should embrace the conservatively tailored suit.
Read more...Fashion is almost the apotheosis of consumer capitalism. It's no coincidence that the first fashion magazines began to appear around the time of the American and French revolutions, when the bourgeoisie took the reigns of power. Fashion trends create demand for otherwise excess supply. That calico coat that was sooo 1787 would have kept you plenty warm, and already coordinated so nicely with your breeches, but who would proffer their dance card at one of Madison's balls to someone so out of touch with current styles?
Fast forward to post-industrial capitalism, where disposable culture and cheap developing world labor are wreaking havoc on everything from good taste to third world economies. The rococo embellishments on that screen printed hoodie from a boutique in Hollywood are a form of planned obsolescence. They are a way of writing on a piece of clothing otherwise serviceable for years a destiny that ends in the global south where it will serve to undermine traditional handcrafts such as textile manufacture and tailoring. And while containers ships full of cast-offs from the first world steam south, Kente Cloth, Batik prints and ancient Aztec weaving fly north in the carry-on bags of tourists.
Right here at home, walking down to the local cupcakery run by an investment banking dropout with a law degree in one of your dozens of pairs of wildly colorful sneakers to go with that knockoff Vuitton a la Takeshi Murakami means that you're singing the notes of actual craftsmanship horrifically off-key. The hipster-infested Lower East Side used to be full of skilled and dedicated tailors who could support an entire family on their labor. Where once there were haberdashers and hatters and cobblers, there are now underemployed petit-bourgeoisie with advanced degrees and drinking problems.
A well-tailored suit involves dozens of hours of skilled manual labor to create and maintain, but will last a lifetime. As will a pair of handcrafted leather shoes. And while the width of the tie or the gather of the waist might change, there is little difference in the sensibility of Jack Reed or Eugene Debs' taste and that of the mid-century modern Mad Men. And don't even try to tell me that your new media entrepreneurs in schwag tees, jeans and Crocs have a shred of the attractive dignity that once came with wearing a fitted suit.
Hence, those wishing to drop out of disposable culture aren't buying the recycled fashion mistakes the previous generation, but are carefully picking over thrift stores for cast-offs from Wall and Montgomery streets while they bide their time in the hopes of investing in something from Saville Row. Three piece worsted wool pinstripe suit at Salvation Army? $40. Alterations? $25. Value? Probably $800 at Brooks, new. And if I gain or lose a few inches, I take the suit and my money back to a family-run neighborhood business for another bout with confidently wielded pins and thread.
So the new revolutionary isn't wearing tie-dye under army surplus and flair from a range of ideological sects and identity politics groups, but a silk tie and matching pocket square. And the drape of his coat is as individual as the lines of your jeans are stereotypically a la mode. You can scurry from under the boot-heel of oppression in flats if you like, or you can get your own pair of boots. Speaking of which, can anyone get me the name of Fidel's tailor?
