A Treasury Of… Minneapolis Fashion and Interior Design Blog

Up in Northern Minnesota, time stands still in a way that wouldn’t be possible down here around home. And even when something you loved up there finally moves on or fades away, signs of it will still remain for many summers to come.

I’m trying to comfort myself here, but honestly I feel a little bit blue.

There was a time when everything was perfect. My parents had a cabin up north, and I would float in the lake on my water-skis, waiting anxiously to be propelled up and above the surface.

While I’d bob in the waves all alone, to keep my brain from imagining myself as the tragic victim of the first Minnesotan shark attack in recorded history (with the JAWS theme stubbornly ringing in my ears), I’d stare at one of the many candy-colored scuba Swatches I favored in the early 90s to keep myself calm.

For eight years now, I’ve lived without our cabin, and haven’t slipped foot into a water ski.

I’ve missed it all terribly, and so arranged for a family boating excursion later this month. To fully maximize my orchestrated nostalgia I just ordered an old but never worn scuba Swatch off e-bay to sport that day, and beyond.

It’s sea glass green, see-through band is perfect and the visible cogs and wheels on the face will give me something to stare at rather than mysterious, midwestern shark fins.

It came as a quirky surprise to me but last fall, during their Men’s Spring 2010 preview party, J. Crew featured a pair of ragged, paint-ravaged shorts that completely tripped my trigger. For the past many months I’d visit their on-line shop with stalker-like frequency, waiting for the super-splotched shorts to appear.

They never ever did, so I called upon the supreme services of one of J. Crew’s online Personal Shoppers and soon learned that the shorts featured in the fall show, and later in GQ, never made it to production, and a similar though not identical design sold out swiftly as a Men’s Shop at the Liquor Store limited edition in New York in early May.

So I had no choice but to take matters and splatters into my own hand, and permanently ruin some shorts myself. It wasn’t exactly rocket science, but here’s the Step-By-Step instructions for my adventures in Self Destruction.

I’d wanted a pair of boot campy green shorts that weren’t too thin, but I couldn’t find a pair I liked anywhere and so after ordering a pair of J. Crew Sun Faded Stanton Shorts in an almost-green color called Canteen, as well as picking up a pair available in stores in a grey-er shade dubbed Bottle, I went for the Bottle, as its buttons matched its fabric better.

I then placed a strip of one inch masking tape above the hem of each leg to provide a fail-safe guide for even, easy-shearing, but for me short is never short enough, and so I hacked off an additional 3/4 of an inch, almost 3 inches total.

I then jacked up my inner Pollock to whip ‘n flick bursts of white, then dusty blue, then creamy sage, then sky blue, then barely pink splotches of wall paint over the front of my shorts, allowing for a bit of natural-looking wraparound on the outer sides. In between each color I’d brush blobs of extra paint onto the sides of my hands and then blot the splotches into the fabric. I wanted the painted stains to look handy-mannish and authentic, not crisp and 80′s like a teen’s Esprit overalls.

Wondering if I had gone a bit overboard with the paint compared to my original inspiration, I washed my shorts twice, holding them up under the washing machine’s gushing water-fall during the fill cycle to erode away half a layer of my thickly caked-on paint.

And that was it.

I thought I had messed up my messing-up at many points during my shorts’ Self Destruction, but in the end they turned out pretty much how I had always envisioned them: Sawed-off and splotched, salvaged from some Dad’s dusty Nantucket shed during the trip I never took there, sometime last summer.

The thing I like most about them is, on the surface, they dress down everything you pair them with. And yet, they’re such a statement piece that they almost dress everything else up in a witty way too.

Perfect, pristine white denim jeans are the most McQueen-ish (as in Steve) way for an otherwise Good Guy to get down ‘n dirty come the rumblin’ of summer.

To kick around, all over town, in a truly proper pair, the trick is in cotton rough and rugged enough to protect against white denim’s greatest threat: visible front-pocket outlines.

Aside from that, there’s nothing to fear. A little grime ‘n grit ground into them good is exactly what you’ll want…

It shows all the cats ’round your corner just how bad you really can be.

In a 50′s fashioned dream world, I would’ve found a short-sleeve, plaid Gitman Bros. Vintage button up for summer, but the proper pattern and size combo never materialized for me this spring, online.

As a consolation prize, I placed an order for the Gitman Bros. x Monocle short-sleeve popover instead. As much as I appreciate Monocle as a magazine, I have to admit it makes me feel a little lobotomized or slavish to purchase a piece of clothing the publication plopped its name on. Following the leader is the march of the uncool, right?

But a classic broadcloth oxford shirt rendered in such an indigo-ink-y hue seemed so quietly quirked out, I knew I could wear the piece with just about anything, and any time of year.

I’m looking forward to how the piece will fade, but it’s actually so intensely inky, I worry/wonder a bit if it even ever will.

Ever since this winter, Monday morning through Friday afternoon I pretty much won’t pop a single thing into my mouth unless the chick from Clueless says it’s okay.

As a result, I’m now a walking punchline – and half of my clothes are now too big for me and my plant-fueled body.

Thankfully, for the past ten years I haven’t been able to throw out any adorable article of clothing too large or too small without first saying to myself, “You know, you’re either gonna be one of those people who get thicker and thicker the older they get, or you’re gonna be one of those people who get skinnier and skinnier the older they get. So, self, you better save that sweater/tuxedo shirt/tattoo-ed pair of 1999 CK jeans, just in case you grow a little bit thicker or a little skinnier anytime between now and the year 2062.”

I now have five ‘n a half coffin-sized bins of my former fashion hits and misses messing up my attic which I rummage through every few months. It’s like my own personal thrift store but with far fewer Hilfiger hoodies.

I might not get to eat anything fried or frosted during the week because of that damned vegan has-been, but I can fit into my favorite jeans from Fall of 2000 again which I never thought would happen.

It’s not quite as delicious as Thai chicken with basil was, or salted caramel milkshakes were, but digging into a heaping mound of well-worn clothing classics you yourself turned vintage is tasty in its own way

Early this fall, when it was priced at $355, I half-heartedly tried on this Gap leather jacket and quite enjoyed its dulled yet oily finish and its near-perfect fit. Ten weeks later, when it was marked down to less than $95, I snatched it up as my sole selection from the end-of-season fashion sales.

It’s since helped me look 95% cooler and tougher than I actually am, so God bless the good old Gap.

I know J. Crew earns all the internet ink for its constant collaborations with better-buzzed brands and its curatorial approach to merchandizing, but their actual in-house offerings rarely impress me. Over the last few seasons their sizing, fits, and pricing haven’t prompted me to pull the trigger on anything except two pairs of super short shorts and a single grey T-shirt with the word GUARD printed on it (though that T-shirt has become my current favorite, I will say.)

Whereas each season at the “boring” and bad-buzzed Gap I’m able to find at least two styles of pants that fit, perfectly unfussy, and read as completely era-less; and with their constantly re-designed and re-branded denim department there is usually a pair or two every few months that manages to get everything just right as well.

They still stock the mundane, middlebrow building blocks of Chandler Bing’s business-casual wardrobe (lax khakis and lime green button-ups), but when I sift through the middle-American snooze I find A.P.C.-like pop-over tops in rusty madras, tab-collared chambray shirts with stitch-striped cuffs, and trim trench coats in navy wool that Jakob Dylan would (and will) envy me for.

It’s never risky, The Gap – and aside from short shorts and jumpsuits, neither am I. So we’re a real good fit.

…is my birthday.

All I wanted was blue icing on my cake, but I ended up with a whole lot more.

Pete, Catherine, and especially Josie all better watch their backs…

My plaids are now flannel, my thermos is full to overflowing, and my un-scuffed shoes are straight from Japan.

I’ve been perfectly outfitted for the new position I blackmailed myself into down at the Packard Saw Mill and my first order of business is tracking down trouble.

(Trust me. I can find it anywhere…)

I don’t hear that much about Alternative Apparel on the boy blogs, and I’m not sure why. Not to be confused with American Apparel (and it’s hard NOT to get confused what with their super similar brand names, penny-pinchy pricepoints, and certain design elements of their respective websites) Alternative Apparel skips the geeky sleaze of the AmAp aesthetic for something earthier and more earnest.

Alternative Apparel incorporates recycled and organic materials, the use of low-impact dyes, and energy conservation in its manufacturing facilities for an eco-conscious line of simple, sportswear basics. Which is totally, totally great, but only half as great as their sweatshirts look and feel.

Their Champ Longsleeve Eco-Fleece Raglan comes in five heathered shades. Their slim yet somehow boxy fit and their cotton/poly blend create a convincingly vintage looking piece, as if left over from a late 60′s Ivy League athletics office.

I stumbled across an eco-grey one last spring and requested an eco-red one for Christmas (…and am having a hard time not jumping overboard and netting myself an eco-blue one too).

Topping the rare, retro appeal of even their long sleeve raglan, Alternative Apparel also offers a short sleeve version! That Steve McQueen in ’69 shape is especially hard to find in ’09 and will spring up in my warmer weather wardrobe in at least one shade.

For certain.

Additional Treasury reader Holiday Wish Lists are still to come but I wanted to divert the attention back to me for just one brief post. Or rather, a version of Me That Shall Never Be.

An itemized list of my thwarted evolution:

1) Spurred on by the styling of the Fine and Dandy Fall lookbook I risked my reputation to proclaim that beréts were back to see another fashion day. I ordered a seven buck blue one but no matter how I folded or flopped it I never looked like a fine or remotely dandy gentleman, I just looked like a 1980s lady.

2) The Avantguard frames by Han at Blackbird are the kind of algebra instructor eyewear I’d like to wear regularly, but irony is essential to the equation and if there’s one thing my hard-faught moustache of 2009 has taught me it’s that my face just doesn’t do irony.

3 & 4) This winning Wilson jacket and these Beams Plus oxfords I could wear, and I would wear, constantly probably, if only my home shipping address was way less American and way more Japanese.

5) And finally, I can’t change where I live or what my head can and can’t do with boy beréts and Mathlete frames. Though I very easily could’ve added this red Filson Sportsman bag to the Me I’m Trying To Be. But I waited too long and Context sold out.

So, dang it. For now, I’m stuck just being the Old Me.

When I get the inspiration and ingredients for a Me I Could Actually Be, I’ll introduce you to him. He’ll probably be pretty swell.

Having spent my life as a film-maker and then a fashion blogger, I tend to dress up doofy all year long. Creating a costume for Halloween became a chronic pain for me way, way back and I’ve basically boycotted the act altogether the past few years.

This year though, I realized if I could just quick pick a cowboy hat, I’d have an adequate costume created with immeasurable effort.

So, admittedly, it wasn’t so hard and it wasn’t so horrible setting aside my Halloween Scrooge-dom to dress up with the masses Saturday night. But, really, is my costume so different than half the cheeky things I suit up in for my regular Treasury entries?

(….no.)

So I rest my anti-costume case.