Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about monkstrap shoes, mainly because they appear to be the men’s shoes of the moment, and because they occupy a unique place on the fashion spectrum. Monkstraps are what I would call shoes of intermediate formality; more formal than loafers, but less formal than wingtips or cap-toe oxfords. And because of this, you can wear them with almost anything from all but the most formal suit, to trousers and sports coats, or even jeans if you’re bold enough.

In my mind, however, the monkstrap’s strongest associations are academic. I think of it as something worn by smartly-dressed English professors in brown tweed suits, the sort of shoe that is exactly fussy enough, and exactly stylish enough to make you want to read poetry out loud to a classroom of lovely young coeds.

MensDesignerShoe.com has a wide selection of monkstrap shoes. Here are three of my favorites:

The Moreschi Bristol Calfskin Monkstrap in black or brown, is a simple, luxurious, traditional Italian monkstrap. I love that brown color.

Double monkstrap shoes are especially hard to pull off without seeming overly dandyish. However, the suede finish of this double monk strap from Santoni negates some of that.

Finally, if suede is your thing, I very much like these simple single monkstrap shoes, the Cremona from Stemar, as being something that you could wear everyday, with a huge variety of outfits.

Today’s New York Times contains an disappointing article about the current widespread use of skulls in fashion. Although the paper is right to note the trend, one Izzy touched upon a while back, it fails to give any recent history of the death’s head as decoration, including its use on Nazi S.S. uniforms or its place in the iconography of heavy metal, something the British shoemaker Jeffery West tries to market. The article claims that the skull has largely lost its edge as a symbol, but Izzy thinks its connotations depend upon the sex of the wearer. It’s one thing for a woman to borrow style cues from pirates or Hell’s Angels; she is clearly playing dress-up. But when a man does the same, he is liable to come across as threatening or uncivil, far from a good thing in Izzy’s estimation. As for me, I’ll stick with more traditional cufflinks from Alfred Dunhill.)

In honor of the Miami Vice movie (which, in Izzy’s opinion, makes the terrible mistake of not being set in the ’80s), the New York Times’ Guy Trebay penned an interesting article about the original TV show’s influence on fashion:

When he orchestrated the look of the original show, [the director Michael] Mann was venturing into stylistic territory already staked out by Italian designers, people like Gianni Versace, Gianfranco Ferre, or Giorgio Armani, the man generally credited with introducing the world to the unconstructed suit ? that is, without padding, a lining or internal stiffening. This might be as good a time as any to amend the old canard about Mr. Armani being the inventor of the floppy suit. It was long a staple of Neapolitan haberdashery, developed by tailors sent to London by wealthy patrons to apprentice on Savile Row.

Oddly, Trebay’s otherwise detailed account of the show’s style fails to mention footwear. How can one think of Crockett except in a pair of Espadrilles, like those you’d find at Pretty Green from Red Square Clothing?

Big Ben, Stonehenge and Buckingham Palace are usually recognised as the biggest destinations in the British tourism guidebook. But this summer, coach-loads of tourists will be descending on a little village in Somerset to marvel at another British sensation.

Clarks Village stands on the site of the old Clarks factory – the place where these legendary shoes were made for so long. And this summer, thousands of Chinese tourists will make the pilgrimage to purchase a pair of classic British style. It seems that this elegant British shoe has become an icon halfway around the world.

Shoes that last a lifetime

Clarks are probably the biggest name in footwear in the UK and are also a major player around the world. Popular in the USA, Australia and across the globe, these are shoes made with the hallmark of quality. Shoes you could wear with blue jeans, good pants, or even fashionable shorts.

Clarks shoes – as you’ll know if you’ve ever owned a pair – are made to last. They aren’t the kind of shoes that start disintegrating after a few months, but, given the right care and attention, will last a lifetime. And when you think about the strain that your shoes endure on a daily basis, that’s a remarkable feat of design and manufacture. It’s what makes them such good value for money.

This is almost certainly why the Chinese love them so much, although the trademark Clarks style has definitely got something to do with it too. Some brands don’t need to follow trends. With simple and classic designs, Clarks shoes stand apart from fashion – timeless and reliable. Buy a pair of Clarks men’s shoes and they’ll be just as stylish in ten years time. After all, this is the company that designed the Desert Boot – a shoe which is often imitated but never bettered.

So, as the thousands of tourists make their pilgrimage this summer, think about how lucky you are that you can simply go online and buy a pair of Clarks shoes. It might be an unusual destination for tourists, but when you think about it, it does make sense.

Manolo says, it is no secret that the Manolo loves the casual boots, indeed, owns and very much enjoys wearing the Timberland Earthkeeper boot shown above and which he purchased in Argentina several years ago at the outrageous retail markup price.

However, there is the other casual boot that the Manolo considers absolutely essential for the wardrobe of the man, the desert boot. Here, from the Manolo’s friends at the Scotts, is the Nicholas Deakins Fenrir desert boot.

This is the sort of quality, chukka-style boot that every man looks good wearing with either the jeans or the khakis; casual, but not so casual that you would feel as if you were dressed like the teenager.

What could be better than the classic Converse Star Player Ox in white leather.

Perhaps the Puma Clyde, in the classic black.

But, wait, here is the Onitsuka Tiger Mexico 66 in blue for when the Manolo feels the uncontrollable urge to rock it Japanese style.

These and other such handsomely classic shoes are available from Size Mens Clothes.

Each summer morning before deciding on his day’s choice of footwear Mr. Henry scans the weather report, looking in particular at the temperature. The question he poses himself is not whether he will wear shorts and a polo shirt, his default hot weather costume, but whether the temperature will climb so high that his poor feet will boil in closed shoes and as a consequence he must wear sandals.

If sandals are the day’s choice, a more ticklish problem arises, namely, whether to wear socks. If the temperature will reach 90 and above, the decision is clear. Sockless sandals are the only choice. But what if rain is predicted? What if he plans to spend time in gelid air-conditioned interiors? What if he plans to be outdoors among bloodthirsty mommy mosquitoes? Aren’t socks necessary, even with sandals?

Mr. Henry wears socks proudly. With the confidence of a Scandinavian giant gamely navigating the avenues of midtown, Mr. Henry remains blasé if hipsters with tattoos and slouched trousers should cast derisory glances at his stockings.

In defense of socks:

• When hiking Manhattan’s valleys, you need expedition footwear. To protect against chafing on long walks, socks are a must.
• Sandals that expose bare footflesh cannot protect against scrapes and scratches, vectors for the introduction of exotic, antibiotic-resistant bacteria. Save yourself, man!
• The mosquito is the most dangerous animal in the wilderness, and she adores your ankles.
• Chilled air sinks to the floor. Half an hour of such temperatures and your arthritic toes – old soccer injuries – start barking, not to mention your plantar fasciitis.
• Who admires your knobbly, hairless, vein-riddled ankles, anyway?

At two years of age I learned to tie my shoes. My big sister, four, had not yet tied her own. After suffering parental mockery and humiliation she delivered me a prompt beating, one that became an invaluable, lifelong lesson in Realpolitik.

But despite my cleverness my shoelaces always came undone unless I tied them double.

Now thanks to Verlyn Klinkenborg, editorial page sage of The New York Times, I tie my shoelaces in square knots that do not come unraveled as I walk.

From Verlyn I learned why it has been that for decades when in a crowded locker room or busy Zen temple for precious minutes I struggle to untangle knots.

Verlyn transformed my life. Overcome with gratitude, I floated the idea of naming the family hound “Verlyn Klinkenborg.”

In single voice my wife and child rose up in anger. “Dad, that’s stupid.” explained Little Henry.

Registering her standard and customary observation, Mrs. Henry added, “You just don’t have practical good sense.”

Perhaps they have a point after all. It is true that Klinkenborg’s three Teutonic syllables do not trip off the tongue melodiously like Lolita or Postlewaite or any number of more appropriate dog names.

In my town’s junior high school a boy named Klinkenborg would not have had an easy time. Might it be the same for a dog?

Worse, with Verlyn for a first name his prospects for health and happiness would have been compromised substantially further, unless, of course, he were a strapping giant with an earnest interest in fist-fighting, in which case he would have been called “Bud,” or “Buzz,” or possibly “Bubba.”

Perhaps I’m simply envious of V. Klinkenborg’s cynosure on The New York Times editorial page, an employ obliging him on occasion to write feelingly about grasses, fences, and seasons. Hoarfrost circling his wizened temples, he chronicles our stately course from bright innocence to dusky death. He is the poet of barns and hay, an unexpected contributor to the Times editorial page, to be sure.

Do newshounds, skeptics and smart-alec journalists really accept Verlyn in all his many parts? I wonder.

I wonder, as well, what sort of shoes V.K. wears. Are they crusty, yellowed old stompers with hard rubber soles, the kind you get at the hardware store? When he shows up at the Times’ 41st Street tower, if indeed he shows up at all, does he sport a sensible pair of academic-issue, English working-class, no-longer-trendy Doc Martins?

Choice of footwear must pose difficulties in the morning. “Let me see. Today, shall I be poet, sage, farmer, professor or New York Times editorial grandee?”

I’ll bet he phones it in.

And then, of course, each and every day Verlyn Klinkenborg must bear the burden of his august name. To achieve manhood despite this permanent handicap cannot have been an easy journey.

One of the great joys of facial hair is observing snow sticking to it, thus proving the beard’s insulating powers.  Best of all is when giant carbuncles of ice form, as on Sir Ranulph Fiennes, the British globetrotter thought by many to be the world’s greatest living explorer.  Whether or not that is hyperbole, he certainly competes with Ewan Mcgregor for world’s greatest hair, adventurer category.  (While there appears to have been some photoshoppery involved in the bookcover photo (his jacket appears to have been taken from the photo on the left), Izzy includes it since it show Fiennes’ weather-beaten mane at its most spectacular.)

Even when relaxing in the comfort of his home study, as seen below, the adventurer maintains his devil-may-care approach, with ancient (torn?) desert boots and khakis with frayed hems.  Alas, his plentiful testosterone has exposed his scalp to the elements.

In the interview accompanying the photo, Fiennes explains:

Everything in my wardrobe is old. I haven’t bought a suit in 10 years, that’s for sure. My dinner jacket must be at least 20 years old. My shoes, which I had in the Army, must be over 30 years old. I don’t like buying clothing.

Asked about his grooming routine, he continues:

For 25 years I have worn Clarins day and night creams. When I was in Antarctica I got seborrhoeic dermatitis, which affected the areas between my eyebrows and next to my nose. I ran out of cortisone cream and discovered that Clarins day and night creams for women do the same job without the side-effects. I’ve continued to use them ever since.

When a man has circumnavigated the earth from pole to pole via land, he may casually admit to wearing women’s cosmetics.

Perhaps Fiennes should have started moisturizing at a younger age.  He was once considered to play the part of James Bond in the movies (Roger Moore was selected instead), but the producer rejected him for having “hands too big and a face like a farmer.”  This, presumably, was before Fiennes cut off the tips of his frostbitten fingers with a Black & Decker power tool.

In his memorable essay “The Secret Vice,” Tom Wolfe writes:

one day in December, 1960 . . . Lyndon Johnson, the salt of the good earth of Austin, Texas, turned up on Savile Row in London, England, and walked into the firm of Carr, Son & Woor. He said he wanted six suits, and the instructions he gave were: “I want to look like a British diplomat.” Lyndon Johnson! Like a British diplomat! You can look it up.

Note well: Never ask your tailor to make you look like a Libyan diplomat, or else you’ll get the shiniest suit known to man.  Apparently, what happens in Vegas does not stay in Vegas, sartorially speaking.

But at least Libya’s National Security Advisor, Mutassim Qaddafi (son of Muammar Qaddafi), is carrying on the family tradition of eccentric flamboyance.