Manolo for the Men

Taye Diggs deftly uses a cutaway collar and pocket square to spruce up what would have otherwise been a boring outfit.

Combining roller disco, Larry Bird, and set design from Star Wars, this 1982 ad for Chardon jeans has something for everyone, except those with sartorial taste. Izzy can’t deny that the music is pretty cool, though.

Note how briefly Bird flashes on screen. Despite being immensely popular at the time, the basketball great was unfortunately cursed with a face made for radio, and a voice made for telegraph.

Izzy has no objection in principle to scarlet-letter punishments, i.e., using clothing to publicly shame criminals, but this DUI chain-gang surely goes too far.  The combination of black, white, and bubblegum pink just screams 1980s, and those pants are straight from Zubaz.  More important, the entire outfit defeats the message on the convicts’ shirts: No sober man would dress that way.

As this shirt from Delusions of Grandeur demonstrates, once-archaic club collars are slowly making a comeback—though unlike in the early twentieth century, they’re typically being worn unstarched and unpinned.  Izzy recommends donning them with odd jackets or tweed or flannel suits.  Also, they should generally be paired with narrow ties (the one in the photo is too fat). 

No fuddy-duddy he, Izzy must admit that he actually kind of likes the racing stripes on the shirt’s cuffs.  The sloppily low-slung trousers, on the other hand…

Note, by the way, how the model’s cigarette is all that is needed to express a devil-may-care attitude.  We’ve come a long way from heroin chic.

Ain’t nothin’ like a blousey “sateen” shirt with narrow-waisted pleated trousers.  If this is how the Heartland of America dresses, Izzy is sticking to the Brainland.

As promised, Izzy attended the Corduroy Appreciation Club’s 11|11 meeting yesterday in Brooklyn, and is delighted to report that he had an excellent time. The secret rites lived up to their reputation, the corduroy-themed foods were crunchy, and the crowd was simply drop-dead cord-geous. (Apologies…) Izzy had never seen so much ridged fustian in one place in his entire life. These people take their silliness extremely seriously.

Izzy was surprised to discover that there was an open bar (which, he imagines, would serve anything but a velvet hammer—that textile is anathema to the Club, which derides it as the fabric of Leprechauns), thanks to the sponsorship of the naturally supple people at Cotton Inc. (”The Fabric of Our Lives,” etc.), though Izzy couldn’t help remembering that corduroy can in fact be made from wool or cashmere, however rare that may be. (Random aside: Izzy doesn’t want to encourage any conspiracy theories, but doesn’t Cotton’s logo eerily resemble a mushroom cloud?)

Never one do things by halves, every visible item Izzy wore, except for his socks, was corduroy: a brown medium-wale sportcoat, an indigo pin-wale shirt, blue and green medium-wale Converse All-Stars, and outrageously pink medium-wale trousers (pictured in the background above). Izzy thought that the latter would be the piece de resistance, but he was, alas, one-upped by a gentleman in an entirely pink corduroy suit. Izzy consoled himself considering that although that gentleman may have won the day (and also the best-dressed prize), his suit was made in Vietnam (where the labor is cheap, and so is the workmanship), whereas Izzy’s trousers were made with the utmost care in Italy, and hence should last a lifetime. Also, while Izzy may have appeared to be merely ridiculous, that gentleman looked like the Pink Panther.

Among the best parts of the evening was the hilarious, arch homage to corduroy delivered by Lord Whimsy, who excels at mock erudition. Izzy even had the pleasure of (briefly) meeting him, as well as with Duncan Quinn, a rock-star haberdasher who was by far the sharpest-dressed gentleman in the room.

But of all the highlights, Izzy’s favorite was when he received his membership card, which is comfortingly backed with brown corduroy. All in all, the event deserves a hearty “Zip, Zip, Hooray.”

Having drawn attention to the Corduory Appreciation Club once before, Izzy would like to notify his loyal readers of the society’s next get-together, which will be held in Brooklyn on 11|11 (for obvious reasons). Lord Whimsy, courageous dandy and author of The Affected Provincial’s Companion, Vol. I (which Izzy thoroughly recommends), will be the keynote speaker. Given that “adoxography” is a fancy word for elegant praise of the trivial (something which Izzy might know a thing or two about), the Club should be considered an organized exercise in adoxophilia. (Shockingly, Izzy could not find “adoxography” in the Oxford English Dictionary. He’s going to write an angry, erudite letter to Jesse Sheidlower, the immaculately dressed editor-at-large.)
In any case, only an unnatural disaster will keep Izzy from attending the event. Where else is he supposed to wear his corduroy shoes?

British TV broadcaster Sir Terry Wogan recently went on the air in mustard-colored moleskin trousers so clingy that viewers could almost identify his religious preference. Some Brits are tumescent with anger at the wardrobe malfunction, but Izzy thinks they should put a sock in it.

Behold this page from the 1975 J.C. Penny catalog, which deserves to be seen fully blown up to get the full effect.  While it’s easy to knock disco-pimp fashion, whether it’s the butch decolletage or the high-waisted polyester trousers with crotches cut too close to home, at least the clogs benefitted the shorter manimal (like the model on the right).  As bad as these outfits are, truly beyond the pale are those cuffed bell-bottoms, something Izzy had never seen even in his worst disco nightmare.  The only way this advertisement could have been any worse were if it had been scratch-and-sniff.

It’s hard to believe, but the above photo isn’t some colorized snapshot of one of Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders, but was taken in the very unglamorous 1985. The subject is the recently deceased Gene Savoy, a flamboyant adventurer, archaeologist, and all-around throwback in the tradition of Indiana Jones.  He might never have discovered the Fountain of Youth, but he certainly knew where to find hard-wearing trousers with thick belt loops, western-front pockets, and an amazing drape.

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.

Far from being a traditional Scottish kilt, the Utilikilt is a proud representative of the “men’s unbifurcated garment” a/k/a the manskirt. Offered in eight styles, in materials including cotton, leather, duck cloth, and lightweight nylon, it aims to be a manly, well-ventilated alternative to the tyranny of trousers. It’s also great for anyone looking to pick a fight.  Obviously only for the brave, the garment is best attempted by big, burly men.