on fashion

this past tuesday, i found myself dining at jardiniere with half a dozen members of a prominent local family (who made their name in oil). although the meal realized its usual lofty standards -- sublime was the liberty farms duck breast with seared foie gras -- the service disappointed.

on this, an unsually chilly san francisco evening, the valet moved without the expected celerity, leaving us standing out in the open air for a solid ten minutes. as a consequence of being chilled to the bones, we began a discussion of our chosen yarns. admittedly, i could feel the stiff bay breeze, but with the impeccable construction of my gray, three-button, hand-tailored borelli suit, i braved the elements with nary a grimace on my face.

however, standing directly across from me, my friend shivered mericilessly as each gust brought with it increasing agony. i made a crack about new money and cotton suits, which unsurprisingly elicited a hardy bellow from my companions (new money is the epitome of low-hanging fruit with regards to humor). "it's what i get for buying zegna off the rack," he responded.

"you mean z for zegna," i blurted out, obviously feeling feisty this evening.

and then the strangest thing happened. his chin fell and his gaze sunk into the sidewalk. clearly, i had made this remark completely unaware that the situation could be represented in reality. granted, the material of his suit lacked the appropriate drape of a fine garment, but i attributed this to the sommelier's exquisite wine pairing and an indulgent glass of tokaji to culminate the meal. my friend, who out of respect for possible damage to reputation, will remain nameless. but let me say that my friend possesses considerable means and generally displays a well above-average sartorial sense. since when did he start shopping at macy's (or some other similarly sleazy super-store)?

i share this story at considerable expense to myself. after all, one defines himself largely by the company he keeps. so to know a close acquaintance found the economic line of a marginal-to-begin-with designer clearly sheds an unfavorable light on all of us in attendance.

but these writings mean to guide, hence such essential cautionary tales cannot go untold. these aspirational clothing lines must be realized for the scourge they are. simply having the name of a mid-level designer will not raise you to that level. emporio armani does not mean armani any more than armani exchange, or moreover armani jeans, does. the same goes for z for zegna, marc by marc jacobs, etc.* a name is a name. once the name changes, so does the garment. and thus what it says.

it announces you strive for a world not within your reach. is this the message you wish to convey? i thought not.

* i sincerely hope this goes without saying. but outlets** cannot be taken seriously. let us be plain so as to avoid an expensive misunderstanding. outlet clothing derives from two sources. either a) it did not meet the usual standards at the main store and has been relegated to the dusty racks of this discount factory or b) it was always destined for this purgatory. the former indicates that despite it not being good enough for the undiscerning general public, you find it sufficient. the latter exemplifies aspirational wear. a garment never thought of worthy of the name it carries, dropped into this retail nightmare to dupe the unrefined.

**for what reason, do "banana republic" and "diesel" outlets? i admit, when first told of such entities, i assumed it to be lively joke. but yes, these places do exist. confusing. does this mean the stores of these off-brand clothiers that litter my fair city are "flagship" locations?

on tastemaking

as modern men in a modern society, we've replaced spears with words. no longer do we employ sharpened metal, opting now for sharpened tongues. for this reason, we must never lose focus on the power our oration.

given our financial, physical, and generally esteemed position at the top of the hierarchy, people look to us for direction, particularly in the finer pursuits that require our refined sensibilities to sift through. such things as art, literature, cinema, gastronomie, enophilia (music to a far lesser extent as that is a far more plebeian avocation).

my taste in these matters of connossieurs extends beyond reproach. however, with a loose tongue, one can inadvertently undermine his own authority.

before continuing, let me address a notion rolling around the minds of my keener readers. speaking is an art form. to elevate the average reader such that he matches the level of this humble author strains plausibility, regardless of how tumescent with guidance my words may be. nothing substitutes for, nor approaches, years of proper preening.

so why even perform this exercise in frustration?

well, first, i've been blessed with patience. and second my wise words can still get you 80% of the way there. for the other 20%, well, everyone must learn to love himself, warts and all. so without further ado, improvement.

- never cite nor quote critics. by acknowledging their existence, you cede your position as the diviner of things worthy to some pompous hack whose authority -- at best -- is granted by the masthead of cursive letters in an obsolete, 19th-century font.

- similarly, dismiss "awards". oscars (popularity contest), james beard (run for years by an outright thief), pulitzers (please!). when brought up by another, respond with a single line that includes the phrase "self-congratulating bodies" and disregard all subsequent references to them.

- never qualify your recommendation by saying its the top-anything. maintain your authority to be absolute. a subtle but important lesson. by allowing that your recommendation is the top of anything leaves open the possibility that other worthwhile alternatives exist. not the case. as a tastemaker, your assertion must be beginning, middle, and denouement.

- when in doubt skew toward the less popular. while this may seem superficial, consider the mathematics behind such a position. the more commoners praise something, the more it means that entity caters to the basal sensibilities of the weakest among us. given such facts, can it be questioned that popularity and quality are polar forces?

- choose classic over new. like new money, the "hot" thing requires the use of a skeptic's eye. while i cherish my open-mindedness above most any other of my personal qualities, facts dictate the paucity of quality in this world. in this world which contains hyperbole and novelty in such great proportion to actual substance, we cannot help but attribute the "latest and greatest" to these two things. invariably the shine dulls, and once again we find ourselves staring down at yet another failed entrant to our world.

on reading material

every tuesday and thursday -- and the occasional friday when things get really hectic -- i ride the train to the downtown office of my foundation supporting avant-garde san franciscan art. the ride is always a special treat, as seeing men pretend culture by reading the new yorker never fails to bring a smile to my face. do they know are reading a women's magazine?

before i continue, i must digress. some consider public transportation beneath someone of my unquestioned stature. on this point, i concede. inconsistent hygiene of commuters is no small hassle to deal with! but i find driving such menial work; the lowest form of manual labor, really, and one to be avoided by all except the bluest of blue collars.

for god's sake the magazine has cartoons! at some point (i call it adolescence), the new yorker possessed some value. but these days, it's no more than a coffee table prop. no issue of the new yorker has ever layed face down. no, the obscurement of the comic-esque cover would deny the poseur-owners the credit they so crave for having opinions, knowledge of (new york) current events, and appreciation of good writing. as if removing the jump substitutes for substance. does this compensate for the front third being littered with advertisements for diversion -- movies, plays, art exhibits, and the like. why not just advertise whores!

a serious literary magazine. far from it. try a well-dressed cousin of time out.

for this reason, i turn the pages of the atlantic monthly exclusively. with regularity, a simpleton holding the latest issue of the new yorker will inquire about the publication i peruse.

commoner: i have a friend who raves about the atlantic
i: my junior year of university, the tri-delt i was dating canceled her subscription to the new yorker in favor of vogue. did you know they're both advance publications? well anyways, i was looking for something a bit more mature, and ran across the atlantic. it's a bit of a thinking MAN's version of what you hold.

and with that, i return my gaze to the serious words of my serious magazine.

the quintessential line

ending engagements -- yet another unfortunate reality those held in high regard must deal with in unfair proportion to the mediocre. with status, refinement, and class come the advances of the opposite sex. and as the more primal gender, we take advantage, often in quantities beyond social acceptance.

at times, we must disclose a portion of these gory details. i cringe at the use of such a cliche, but it is a process fraught with peril. all sorts of negative impressions can develop when one botches this situation.

but, fret not. for some time, i've kept the panacea to this quagmire a personal secret. but with greater maturity, comes greater generosity, both of which i now have in abundance.

hold information close. but when pressed, let this single detail slip: she works retail.

ah, such wonders this simple line contains. wrapped in connotation, this word is.

she lacks money; she lacks education; she lacks refinement; she does not lack promiscuity. but also, she is sweet as a dollop of freshly whipped cream. what she misses in substance, she surely compensates with her fair countenance. and despite her utter lack of means, she dresses for a world appropriate to you -- albeit with an employee discount (ha!). astounded, you will be, at the chorus of bellows your male cohorts give you.

even purebreeds lie with the strays.

but even more valuable, the approbation of females in proximity. they can not hold you in contempt for ending the laborious coupling that ensued after the initial excitement of an attractive new partner turned to weariness with her trite habits. beyond that, you have subtly conveyed both sexual virility, and an ultimate desire for substance. certainly, you are tempted by beauty, but it in of itself is insufficient. and if the cake and icing were not enough, you will be admired for your discretion. you have stated only fact, and a seemingly trivial one at that.

such class and depth, so consistent with your overall gentility, will be found nearly irresistible by potential -- at least for now -- mates.

The Treatise

With maturity comes magnanimity. And so, in this, my 30th annum, I choose to give back. Not because I have to, but because I can.

Nearly twenty-eight years have passed since the Rockwells -- yes, they the publishing magnates -- rescued me as a toddler from the destitute village of Hoi An, still recovering from the devastation of that ill-timed, 60s invasion of the Americans. But even the most heinous mistake begets purity some times. And so began my journey from war-torn Southeast Asia to the tender Victorians lining the grassy corridors that encircle Alamo Square.

Now that journey has reached an inflection point -- a local maximum -- as I transition from youth to true adulthood. Wisdom gained will now be shared; my gift from me to you.