The · Affected · Provincial’s · Almanack

Ace photographer and all-around cutie pie Rose Callahan came down from Brooklyn recently with her dapper, strapping beau Kelly to take a few pictures. That's right: I got The Rose Callahan treatment. And you know what? I loved it.

Rose was sweet and generous enough to allow me to share these photos with you, so please won't you give her some fame and fortune, already.

(Note: All images © Rose Callahan. All Rights reserved, so please don't take any undue liberties. She's good people. You'd like her.)

( The colors just keep on coming! )

Hats off to Rose for making such marvelous images in the face of impossible odds!

~W

With thanks to misfitina.

Jean-Luc and Simone, themselves in impeccably continental suits and bold shirts, looked on with blank, albeit sun-kissed expressions.

The boyfriend/husband, a youngish fellow, stood behind her and looked timidly over her shoulder as she sat on her throne and scowled at the swatches through tangled, unkempt locks. It was clear he was dying to get a bold, colorful pattern, but his "mom-wife" wasn't having it. "You may like it now, but would you actually wear it?" Doing her best to talk him back from the edge of Style.

The young man had apparently visited the suite earlier that day, but returned with this shrewish, frumpy, overbearing, all-too-significant other for a "second opinion"--but from what I saw, it was more like permission. How sad that this guy allowed himself to be so cowed that he couldn't even pick out the kind of shirt he wanted to wear on his very own back!

This conversation was taking place on the love seat next to me, as I was narrowing down my choices between a aqua/plum pattern and a moss green/pink one. It was a little embarrassing, since the woman was clearly a bit too comfortable with treating her husband/boyfriend with thinly veiled contempt.

I felt her glances veering over my way from time to time, as though I were a fly in her ointment. Dressed in my usual bold colors, I was the very antithesis of her pedestrian tastes as well as a threat to the natural order, since I clearly had the audacity to select my own clothes without seeking my wife's approval.

I was exchanging swatch sample books with them, and as they expressed admiration for one of the more timid patterns I'd selected, I hinted to the fellow that if he had a low-key suit, he could easily use more vibrant tones and patterns in his shirts. Style 101, right?

Baba Yaga was not amused. "That's all right--I'm from the design world".

"The Kleenex box packaging district," I thought.

I'd never before encountered this "type" when visiting my shirtmaker Simone, who comes over twice a year from Florence. When I make my semi-annual pilgrimage to his Manhattan suite to select a couple patterns for new custom shirts, I've grown accustomed to being among other independent-minded male clotheshorses. It's interesting that one of these odious creatures managed to get loose in a fifth-floor suite at the Michelangelo Hotel--kind of like a fratboy crashing your favorite hipster dive. It felt as though a haven of mine had been sullied, and a ritual--nay, a sartorial sacrament--that I very much look forward to twice each year was loudly talked over by the attendees. Sacreliege! Uggs in the temple!

However, I've seen this dispiriting little suburban drama play out many times in middle-class or upper-middle haunts, particularly menswear retailers: the man almost invariably selects a bold color, only to be chromatically emasculated by the she-minion of the Pastel Politburo or the Ministry of Earthtones. These spineless wonders are then summarily given their punishment: a tie, shirt or suit that looks "nice". And you know what that entails. And you know what? The men deserve it, the wimps.

I wonder if these women treat their boy-men with such contempt because they resent having to play the role of mommy buying new clothes for junior. Soliciting an opinion as an equal is one thing, but what woman wants yet another responsibility dumped on her? I'd be condescending and curt, too, if I was the wife of a man who couldn't pour milk on his own cereal.

The old saw in our culture is that men shouldn't know how to coordinate an outfit for themselves, but that's infantilizing tripe. After all, what's more manly: having your wife pick out your clothes as though you were a child, or learning about male dress and buying them yourself?

Manhood, thy name is competence! Men should make their own damn decisions as to how to dress themselves, mainly because it's not their wife's responsibility. It's part of being a grown-ass man, like knowing how to change a tire, or knowing when to shut up and just hold her.

For heaven's sake, gents: don't go around looking like your wife dresses you!

(Got both of those patterns, by the way. One is a linen shirt with French cuffs. Zang!)

~W

Disclaimer: Of course, all this is null and void if he's a "kept man" and all of this is on her dime. In that case: mama gets what mama wants!

Anyhoo, to your left is a photo of me at the age of five. The trouser cuffs are a bit wide, but the break isn't bad.

~W

Why are you bothering with the journal of this sorry, stuffy old duff when you could be visiting fellow New Jerseyan and all-around mensch manningkrull? He's younger, thinner, groovier, and lives in Paris.

I'd say more, but I have to put in my teeth and yell at some kids who are walking on my lawn.

~W

I do enjoy and appreciate instances of audacious glamor (Nicole Kidman's green Chinese dress floored me several years ago), but I also can't help but to cheer on the willful indiscretions (Remember Bjork's swan dress that brought to mind Diagaliev's surrealist ballets? Of course, you do.)

Now by conventional standards, the ensembles to the left are awful: The fit! The bows! The break in the trousers! The brown suede shoes with the black tux! The piping!

But were their intentions conventional? Did they really intend to look like George Clooney or Nicole Kidman, and fail? Or might we give them more credit and assume they're more complex, interesting and groovy than that?

Dana Stevens has what I think is an astute take on what appears at face value to be rather daft sartorial choices:

"Daniel Day-Lewis' wife is Rebecca Miller, daughter of playwright Arthur Miller and photographer Inge Morath. She's a published fiction writer who's also directed several films (Personal Velocity, The Ballad of Jack and Rose). She's just too smart and cool to be wearing that dress unironically. I honestly suspect that she and DDL were deliberately spoofing the whole who-are-you-wearing red-carpet culture by dressing as they did—note his brown suede clodhoppers poking out from that black tuxedo (which, for all we know, he made himself during his summer interning with a master Florentine cobbler). Rebecca's dress even has a certain Victorian/frontier-brothel vibe that may be a tribute to the period setting of There Will Be Blood. After observing him throughout this awards season, I've decided that Daniel Day-Lewis actually is some sort of hyperevolved exemplar of superior humanity. He's what every doting parent falsely imagines their child to be: more beautiful, gifted, intelligent, and gracious than anyone else alive. Maybe Rebecca's dress is her way of saying, 'Fuck you, world. I've landed Daniel Day-Lewis and I can wear anything I want.'"

Of course this little analysis was written with tongue firmly in cheek, but like Dana Stevens, I too feel they were taking the piss a bit. What strong, independent-minded person with any kind of soul wouldn't on such a night, in such a ludicrous setting? It's the only healthy response, really: It's a red carpet gala in Hollyweird--don't take it seriously! Go have fun!

After all, to merely aim for "elegant" or "timeless" out of fear isn't necessarily a safe bet on The Carpet Perilous: One can just as easily look like a bland yet impeccable dumbass who drank the "Classic Hollywood" Kool-Aid.

Here I am in the new midnight blue velvet jacket made for me by Duchess Clothier, and wearing my bespoke blackwatch tartan Holland & Sherry wool trousers made for me by Lord Willy's. Pale lavender shirt by my favorite shirtmaker, Simone Abbarchi of Florence.

( More velvety joys of yesterweek behind cut )

~W

( More gratuitous preening behind cut. Care to guess the color of the liner? )
Ladies: did I mention they are now doing suits for you as well? I saw a couple velvet three-pieces with the most playful liner patterns--florals, etc. You really should look into them.

Rockers: they are also doing skin-tight denim three-piece suits as well (one of which you may see on television soon, I'm told). If you're gonna sterilize yourself by way of tight, hot nethers, this is the way to go. Good fun!

And of course, they are still making lovely, dignified duds for down-to-earth dudes: nice, subdued pinstripes, classic cuts, and a minimum-risk fit.

The Duchess gals will be at The Gershwin all week. Thank you, Seyta and Ellen!

Love,
W

In other news: the lovely ladies of Duchess have sent my long-anticipated vest with shawl lapels, thus completing my new ensemble. I've combined it here with one of Duchess' new playfully floral pocket squares, one of my favorite plain ties (from Lord Willy's), and a new custom shirt from Simone Abbarchi of Florence.

( Whimsy booty shots behind the cut. Coyly exhibitionist--can you stand it? )
( Less saucy details here... )
Thank you Ellen and Seyta, you west coast cuties, you!

And remember dear friends: Duchess returns to NYC in the first week of February at the Gershwin Hotel.

~W

Because you can't be too careful these days.

And ladies: are you seeking that special holiday gift for your beau that will also give you hours of enjoyment?

Well, allow me to suggest a pair of impossibly sleek, snug pair of custom-fit trousers for that stylish rake in your life!

Wait--perhaps you are that "stylish rake" in your life? Well then, aren't you a lucky devil, because by the power invested in me by Mr. James Kessler of A Fine Tooth, I hereby offer you all a $20 Whimsy Discount on his line of custom-fitted, hand-finished trousers!

These trousers come in three styles:

1) Kickflare

2) Stovepipe

3) Highwater

( And all three styles are currently available in these six patterns... )

A Fine Tooth's fitted trousers are the next best thing to bespoke; they have devised a complex sizing system that will ensure a custom fit to your body. If they don't fit to your liking, A Fine Tooth will send you a pair that will.

All orders are filled and delivered within five days.

Here is a link to the card whose code enables you a $20 discount off your custom trousers. Tell them Whimsy sent you.

Once you have the code, click here to place your order.

These are limited-edition trousers, and at last count only 150 orders are still available for the season.

As for me: I'm getting a pair of olive stovepipes. See you on the boulevard!

~W

~W

( More shameless primping behind the cut )

Thank you, Simone.

The Missus and I have been toying with concocting new ensembles from her existing wardrobe.

( Photos and comments behind cut )

Duchess specializes in a wide range of vintage styles--Victorian, Edwardian, 30's classics, 60's mod, 70's glam, etc. A very wide range of cuts, vintage materials, and details are available--from the dignified and fogeyish, to the snug and sleek. And the best part? It's very affordable.

If you know anyone who might be interested, please spread the word. If they're good enough for Mr. Crispin Glover, they're certainly good enough for the likes of you!

This will be their first foray into New York. You may want to be quick about making an appointment, so drop them a line. More information on Duchess is behind the cut below, or you can simply download this pdf instead.

An additional item: Seyta and Ellen will also be attending this years' Nov. 11th meeting of the Corduroy Appreciation Club at the venerable Montauk Club in Brooklyn. I am this year's keynote speaker, pontificating on the subject of dimensional duds. Stop by and say hello. ~W

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( Suit templates and other information behind the cut )