Sperry top-siders are an American classic, if a bit boring at this point. Thus, Izzy was delighted to discover this new J. Crew “chukka” top-sider. A hybrid of deck shoe and desert boot, it refreshingly combines change with continuity. And it looks mighty comfy, too.
Izzy recently popped into H. Herzfeld, possibly New York’s last true habedasher. Inside the cozy store, which has been in business since 1890, it is easy to imagine one is on Jermyn Street in London, not E. 57th Street in Manhattan. It probably the only place in New York city that sells shirts by Hilditch & Key and Harvie & Hudson, among with many other rarities in America, such as sock garters. Browsing toward the back of the shop, Izzy felt a pair of gloves from Dents, the leather of which was so surprisingly soft that it truly sent a shiver up his spine. The salesman said that the British glovemaker was the best in the world, which, Izzy had to agree, was not a hyperbolic claim.
From the delightfully named Happy Socks come, well, socks that will cheer up anyone’s mood. The huge selection includes bold argyle socks, which are perfect for your inner harlequin (romantic or not), and “high heel” socks that make for a fun surprise. The company is based in Sweden, and its socks are, happily, Ikea-priced at $10 each.
Regardless of one’s politics, it’s hard to deny that in choosing Joseph Biden as his running mate, Barack Obama picked the best-dressed man in the Senate. Admittedly, there’s not much competition for that title, but Biden stands out due to his willingness to wear form-fitting suits in a shade other than blue or gray, fun suspenders, pocket squares, casual shirts with the top two buttons undone, and, in the winter, a chesterfield coat with a velvet collar. And in what is perhaps a bold statement about his foreign policy, he often wears shirts with French freedom cuffs.
Izzy gives Prince Charles credit for being, er, ballsy enough to wear kilts in celebration of the union of Scotland and England, but he erred royally in combining a loud tartan with a bold argyle. Either the kilt or socks ought to have been muted or plain, as the Scottish nationalist Sean Connery demonstrates.
Once the heroic face of Spartacus and Colonel Dax, Kirk Douglas, sad to say, looks a bit pathetic in cartoonish primary-colored playclothes. While he is has been supporting a noble cause, the renovation of playgrounds around Los Angeles, is it too much to ask the living legend to maintain his dignity?
Courtesy of Thom Browne comes this freakish nightmare—of ironing, that is.
Ridiculously large bow ties (made of what appear to be Shantung silk) have become the sartorial trademark of Alber Elbaz, artistic director of French fashion house Lanvin. Though they given him a whimsically clownish appearance, they do at least make him look friendly and approachable, in contrast to the cold hauteur of so many fashion designers. And to those in the know, the colossal bow tie pleasantly brings to mind the flamboyant aesthete Oscar Wilde.
Jeremy Hackett, the man behind Hackett—a brand that, by copying and improving upon English classics, is in many ways the British equivalent of Ralph Lauren—waxes eloquent about the time he discovered the virtues of a Barbour jacket:
When I opened my first shop in London in 1983, I sold — as one magazine kindly put it — dead men’s clothes. Today they are known as vintage, and some items can fetch exorbitant prices. Once, on one of my frequent forays to Portobello Market, I chanced upon an ancient, patched-up Barbour jacket. I bought it and put it in the window, where it sold within minutes at a price not far from what it cost new. The attraction, I realized, was precisely that it was worn. In no time at all, no self-respecting Sloane Ranger would be seen without this distinctive olive green coat. Young army officers wore them as part of their mufti, teamed with straw-colored corduroys, suede shoes and red socks. Aspiring bankers adopted the Barbour, and it also became de rigueur over black tie. It was a way of airing your country pedigree, though you may have actually lived in a two-up, two-down in Fulham.
It spoke of damp dogs sleeping on tartan coat linings in the back of battered Land Rovers, of point-to-points and Badminton Horse Trials, all things dear to an Englishman. I recently retrieved my old Beaufort Barbour — with its oily texture, brown corduroy collar and brass zipper as strong as a railway line — from the attic, where it had lain neglected for nearly 20 years. Suddenly, I was filled with nostalgia for the countryside. So, despite not owning a large pile in the shires, I shall wear my shabby Barbour the next time I go shopping on Sloane Street — but I think I’ll leave my green wellies in the Land Rover.
So as to celebrate July 4th in full patriotic regalia, Izzy yesterday wore a white linen shirt, blue linen trousers, and these red-and-white striped socks from J. Press. He won’t go into why he even owns the eye-popping pair—all he’ll say is that it’s a bad idea to shop on eBay while intoxicated.
He is, however, proud to report that two strangers on the street complemented him on the socks, so evocative of Old Glory. He did admittedly get, er, ribbed about them at an Independence Day party, to which he responded that he’d pried the pair off the carcass of Ronald McDonald.
Friends of Rupert Murdoch, take note: The next time you need to get him a gift, buy him some long socks or even sock garters, for “shin cleavage” is unbecoming on a billionaire.
As Spring finally arrives on the East Coast, many men are no doubt getting the perverse desire to show off their hairy legs and gnarled knees. But before you reach for the shorts, Izzy beseeches you to keep in mind this image of New York Mayor Mike Bloomberg, who is usually well-dressed. (Note also that His Honor would have looked less goofy had he chosen a slimmer-fitting polo shirt with shorter sleeves.) And at the very least, if you absolutely, positively must wear dress shorts, do your fellow citizens a favor, and avoid white socks please.
