Manolo for the Men

As befits a president, Barack Obama has finally gone custom. Izzy missed this at the time, but Obama wore a custom navy blue worsted Hartmarx suit for his acceptance speech.

Obama, who wears a 40 long with a 33-inch waist, has worn Hart Schaffner Marx suits in the past but always off the rack, said an inside source. He favors the Gold Trumpeter collection. This time, he made appointments with Hartmarx tailors for his nomination-night suit.

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The fabric is 97 percent merino wool and 3 percent cashmere.

The pants are pleated and have an inch and a quarter cuff.

A similar suit off the rack would retail for about $1,500.

Pleated pants? Isn’t Obama supposed to bring change and vigor to the White House? Is this a sartorial bait-and-switch?  After all, TV pundit Chris Matthews got all excited before the election:

“Think of the Kennedys,” Mr. Matthews said, when asked the impact on Washington if Obama wins. “A mixed administration. Pragmatic. Some liberal tendencies, not overwhelming. Very tough. Very smart. Thin ties — are you looking at this?”

While it’s nice to see that Obama’s custom suit has some waist suppression, unlike the superconservative sack cut a la J. Press or (traditional) Brooks Brothers, it doesn’t come close to achieving the flair of JFK’s narrow ties and lapels. Going with flat-fronted pants would give a sleeker look and would also be more flattering for a thin man such as Obama.  SAnd speaking of his gangliness, unless he gains some weight in office, he should start wearing higher collars to hide his long, scrawny neck.

Prince Charles meets the Sultan of the Indonesian city of Yogyakarta. Notice how the Sultan’s decoration is barely visible in the midst of his technicolored top, while the Prince’s poppy, well, pops.

Ralph Lauren has probably done more than any other designer to romanticize the Southwestern U.S., and, as witnessed here, he even found a way to put a wool Indian-blanket pattern on a trail boot.  You won’t find a more colorful way of kicking up sand in the Mojave desert.

The New York Times is reporting that, due to the high violent crime rate, a shop in Mexico City is specializing in bulletproof armor disguised as ordinary clothing:

There are bulletproof leather jackets and bulletproof polo shirts. Armored guayabera shirts hang next to protective windbreakers, parkas and even white ruffled tuxedo shirts. Every member of the sales staff has had to take a turn being shot while wearing one of the products, which range from a few hundred dollars to as much as $7,000, so they can attest to the efficacy of the secret fabric.

Izzy wonders if the store sells Kevlar socks—for when he shoots himself in the foot.

While the Moncler parka continues to have its defenders, Izzy remains adamant that at best it makes you look like a gorilla puffing his chest out, at worst the Michelin Man.  Bulk is never elegant.

While the the sober have been taking advantage of the drunk since time immemorial, only in recent years have entire businesses been based on that model—e.g., the smutty Girls Gone Wild franchise.  Happily, it looks like these businesses would be illegal in Britain for being unchivalrous.  According to the BBC:

A man who took a photograph of an ill woman outside an Edinburgh bar has been fined £100 after being branded “unchivalrous” by a sheriff.

The woman had been drinking with friends in an Omni Centre bar when she felt unwell and went outside for air.

Sebastian Przygodzki took a photograph with his camera, which upset Rebecca Smith and her friends called police.

He was arrested and charged with breach of the peace, and pleaded guilty to the offence at Edinburgh Sheriff Court.

Przygodzki, 28, who moved to Scotland two years ago from Krakow, told police he had spent the day taking photographs of performers at the Edinburgh festival, which was in full swing at the time.

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When he came across the woman, he considered it “taking a photo of another view of Edinburgh”, said his lawyer, Andy Houston.

But Sheriff Kenneth Hogg said the matter “could be best described as exceptionally unchivalrous”.

“The lady concerned was entitled to her privacy and not to have a passing stranger take a photograph,” said the sheriff.

“I’m going to impose a fine to remind him chivalry is not dead and when somebody is in distress you leave them to it.”

Of all the items on eBay Izzy has missed bidding on, this Hackett necktie is truly the one that got away.  Featuring a bowler hat and umbrellas arranged like a skull and crossbones, it is the ultimate accoutrement of the Anglophile dandy.

You might never have consciously noticed it, but buttons covered in matching fabric are the norm on a tuxedo.  On suits, however, they’re either the sign of a dandy or a mafioso—or both.  If either applies to you, and you can’t afford bespoke tailoring, check out this Tom James suit now selling on eBay.

The accusation, now frequently heard, of “cowboy politics” stems from the iconic image of Ronald Reagan as an all-American denim-clad horseman.   But it turns out that, while Reagan had long enjoyed riding horses, his cowboy attire originated as a bit of showmanship:

In 1966, a local reporter from KTIX in San Francisco wanted to do a segment on horseback with the candidate for governor of California. Lyn Nofziger, Mr. Reagan’s press secretary, accompanied the reporter and was shocked to see his candidate in jaspers [jodphurs?] and English riding boots.

“When he changed into his riding clothes, he came out. And I looked at him—and he was not yet the governor—and I said, ‘You can’t do that,’” Mr. Nofziger recalled. “He said, ‘This is the way I always ride.’ I said, ‘This is not the purpose of that. It’s to get votes. They’re going to think you look like a sissy!’ He’s a great cowboy, looking at him. He played a cowboy in movies.

You can find photos of Reagan in his more aristocratic, English riding-wear here.

There might not be anything particularly exciting about this suit from Elio Berhanyer, but the well-puffed pocket square certainly grabs the attention.  The color combination of yellow and gray is a rare one, but those with a strong grip on the palette can make it work.

While strolling around town today, Izzy saw a gentleman unknowingly drop some papers from his wallet.  Doing no less than should be expected, Izzy spoke up and said, “Sir, I think you might have dropped something.”  The absent-minded gentleman thanked Izzy, and bent down to pick up his belongings.  As he looked up, he gave Izzy a full look and remarked, “Classy hat.”  Such is the power of the fedora.

As reported in the Daily News, a recent film screening in New York became the site of a case of extraordinarily bad manners:

Soon after the lights went down, a source tells us, “a man in the audience started yelling, ‘Don’t touch me!’ People looked around and shrugged. Ten minutes later, the voice yells again, ‘I said don’t touch me!’”

Again, people shrugged off the disturbance. But a few minutes later, says our source, “the guy stands up in the darkness and thwacks the guy behind him with a big festival binder. He hit him so hard everybody could hear it. Everyone freaked out and turned around.”

The thwacker? New York Post film critic Lou Lumenick.

The thwackee? Esteemed Chicago Sun-Times film critic Roger Ebert.

After battling thyroid and salivary gland cancer for years, Ebert, 66, can no longer speak.

“Apparently, Roger was just trying to tap Lumenick on the shoulder to signal him that he couldn’t see the movie,” surmises our source. “He was trying to ask him to move over a bit.”

Though Lumenick seemed surprised to see whom he had struck, he offered no apology, according to another source.

Obviously, Lumenick’s hitting of Ebert was beyond the pale, but even if the former had just responded rudely, he would have been at fault.   He ought to have upheld a principle of charity: on first glance, assume that other people have good intentions and motives, even if they’re not obvious at first. But even if in this case the tappee had been actually rude, Lumenick should have remembered that the true test of manners is how you deal with people with no manners.