Guess who walks down the aisle of the fanciest grocery market in town and choses their weekly cereal not based on how much they enjoy the contents inside the box, but whether or not said box has been branded in vintage edition packaging?
Me, that’s who. (This week at least.)
There were Grape Nuts a la retro too, but I’ll save them for next time.
I’ve been popping non-stop thoughts of chopped ‘n cropped trousers for a while now. I took a tan canvas pair to the tailor last week to knicker me good and am confident I’ll be brave enough to wear the truncated trousers this fall, when-ever and why-ever.
I’m thinking next that a pair of high-hemmed and drop-crotch-ed CEO slacks, similar to those pictured from Fifth Avenue Shoe Repair might be right up (and down) my alley.
Even though it seems I’m always acquiring framed prints of pirate pistols, military ships, and solider choruses, I’m equally drawn to gaudy glam when it comes to dressing up my digs.
Saturday night I dreamt for hours of a jagged, Kelly Wearstler-like quartz statue (not pictured, per se) and I’ve spent the past two days criss-crossing the city to various stores trying to get my glitz hit taken care of.
I’m not sure how all my rugged warplane photographs ‘n such will work in the larger context of my ongoing disco decor-addiction, but if you simply surround yourself with true blue treasures, the aesthetic elite proclaim, then everything eventually sorts itself out.
The boy blogs’ love affair with the LL Bean Boot sizzles on, but personally, I think our eyes need to try out something else. Just for the sake of non-monotony.
The Tretorn Thule mid boot has the same sleet ‘n slush-friendly feel as the Bean Boot; all Fudd-like and Field ‘n Stream-y, yet sleeker in silhouette and better suited for the city.
And the unexpected, look-behind-you lacing lends an alluring edge to the boot that almost invites admirers to follow you around town, fixated fully on your fancy footwear.
One of the main men’s webshops recently added the boot to their site, confirming their in-style status – but you can hunt down the Thule boots (in both the mid and knee-high styles) for a hundred dollars cheaper at Amazon.com as well.
In the room directly below me rests a large cardboard box crammed with all my old He-Man and She-Ra action figures. Before I was old enough to fawn over fashion, I marveled over the plastic couture and haute, blue brush-able hair of my Zodak and Teela and Trap-Jaw and MerMista toys.
Pastimes of my past and present join forces in the galactic-fashion illustrations of Adrian Riemann in which Evil-Lyn armors up in American Apparel leggings with a Cheap Monday clad Tri-Clops to battle in style their foes Man-At-Arms (in Common Projects sneakers) and She-Ra (sporting April 77 denim).
The artist is considering printing the entire collection on fluorescent paper for a gallery exhibition. Personally, I want full color treatments, a runway show, and a fashed-up animated re-make.
Elements of my domain’s design, present and future…
Curated junk that’s been sitting real still atop a wooden plank on my stairway radiator. A tablescape but minus the table.
And a new (but old) photograph of the ZR1/US Shenandoah drifting above the Lakehurst Hangar, December 1923. Currently awaiting a wall to land on. Probably in my office or the larger one across the hall.
The next thing I’m nearing for Fall is a man bag/document holder in a caramel or khaki kind of color. I already have a navy blue Coach one that’s too floppy and a red one that’s sturdily structured but a bit too red.
All I need now is a perfect, perfect one that I can actually use. I wonder what that’d feel like…
Being a total tee-totaler, soft drinks are as hard as my beverages get. I like wondering what makes up White Russians and Pink Squirrels, what they’d taste like if they didn’t actually taste like Windex to me, and imagining how fancy I would feel if I ordered one someday. But limited edition, imported, or ultra-rare soda pops are as exotic and intoxicating as my liquid life ever gets.
This bottle of Fentiman’s Dandelion drink has been frosting in my fridge all summer, waiting for its Treasury time in the spotlight. Its bizarre, black licorice and sparkling tea taste doesn’t warrant much of a write up however. (And I even like black licorice.)
Hopes remain higher for this safer-seeming citrus soda with a water-skiing siren as its marketing mascot. Bottled in Tennessee without High Fructose Corn Syrup, there’s a pillow of lemon lime pulp resting on the bottle’s floor. Haven’t sampled it yet, so we’ll just have to see about Ski
As a fully licensed men’s style blogger of today I know I’m supposed to be fully fascinated with selvedge denim and chambray, be it Japanese or otherwise – but I’m honestly not. I can respect and understand the lure, but a pocketful of other factors (fit, style, price, to name only a few) seem way more important to me and my mundane little brain.
Nonetheless, I specially requested this Hillside chambray bandana from Blackbird recently. Not because it was selvedge chambray, but because it was red(ish), and finding a red(ish) kerchief that isn’t the ubiquitous, cowboy-style red hankie with black paisley swirls on it was becoming a heck of a lot harder than I’d have thought.
In person it’s a bit more mauve than the webshop showed it to be, although I admit I had the feeling it would be.
No worries though. Some really red Rit dye and an hour in the washer will get me and my scarf scootin’ right to where we aimed to be.
Growing up, I was told that my Grandpa Rees was a lawyer for the government. More frequently, I was told what a terrible jerk he was.
As the self-appointed family historian I recently digitized nearly two hours worth of 8mm film footage from my Rees ancestors that I had partially watched, once upon a time, as a barely-caring teenager.
Included in the footage is a brief section of my Grandfather at work in Washington, DC. Fleeting, underexposed images of him walking to his desk are followed by clearer scenes of him outside, shirtless, firing a pistol at criminal-shaped targets as part of his training as a member of the C.I.A. How many kids can say they have footage of their grandfather doing something as awesome as that?
Not until after he died did I know that Grandpa Rees had worked for the C.I.A., and fired pistols, and was interesting and adventurous and cool. That had all been kept a secret. All I had been told was how horrible he was.
For the first time ever now, I really wish I had known him better and made up my own mind about him.