Hermes Orange and Randomanliaesque Redux...Again-ish

The evidence that luxury purveyors like Hermes feed on the unrequited efforts of poseurs and pain laden social climbers desire to quell their pain is overwhelming. However, now and then these predatory purveyors will step up-step in and do something for the social good.

I was more than gratified to see yesterday morning in Old Town Alexandria that Hermes has outfitted our prison labor in complimentary Hermes Orange togs. Nice.

Don't do the crime if you can't do the time-in our 'hood. "I sentence you to ninety days in Hermes Orange and Khaki". It's complicated.

We have snow-again…so I’m wishing to be back in Miami Beach in the uncomfortably humid predicament that I was in when I first posted this drivel. Also, here’s some other odds and ends that I thought would add to the confusion of my morning contribution….

I’m going to do a post on the “Trad 1980’s” and I’ve amassed some real zingers for that one. Here’s an example above. Folks I have to confess that the canary yellow trousers in this picture are DAKS terrycloth golf trousers…terrycloth. Just goes to show you that go to hell pants manifest in various forms. The little lump in my arms is my firstborn nephew-the gay shoe designer-brother of the Marine sniper-killer. I used to blow dry all the curl out of my hair back then-you always want what you don’t have. Those 1980’s disco glasses frames are as big as the windscreen on my Hermes Orange VW Bug that I was driving back then.

Don’t tell me I can’t draw in the babes. In 1994 I was sitting in a pub in Mayfair and this gal could not keep her hands off of me. Who was I to deny her? She’s the only woman I’ve ever met whose teeth were more British than mine.

Someone axked me yesterday if these were Pacmen on my trousers. Geez. Bucking Bronco Riders would be the correct answer.

Come on. Or as Toad once said about my winter go to hell pants….seat covers from a ’74 Maverick.

Don’t double park in my neighborhood. We’ll save you.

....LFG-The Pootist remains in slumberland so I get to aggregate another round of whateverishobservationsandstuff to drop on ya’ll. Longwing is probably still sleeping off a bit of his fraternity reunion Friday night bash-I hope he didn’t pull nothin’ while in the midst of reliving the fratty house years last night. Longwang-we’ll be looking for the update.

I spent most of the week facilitating a strategy session in Miami Beach. My New Jersey based client was thoughtful to pick a warm and sunny locale for our work but it was still way too hot and humid down there. 

I had dinner one night on the veranda of our little boutique hotel and was uncomfortable-even in the midst of the Casablanca-esque Raffles-esque fans. I’m a schlepper-a peddler-a drummer-a purveyor of niche esoterica that clients seem prone to pay for so I show up where they tell me to show up.

I’ve never felt more out of place than in South Beach this week and it was far from the first time that I’d been there. I’ve been to the Fontainebleau Hotel for meetings a zillion times. Anyone who’s worked for a large corporation or an association has attended something at the legendary Fontainebleau-no? I remember one of the first times I rolled into the Fontainebleau about twenty years ago-I was fascinated by the lore of performers of decades past who haunted the Morris Lapidus creation. One of the Goldfinger scenes is played out there. It’s also the setting for The Bellboy…A Jerry Lewis classic. I’ve always loved the Jewishenss of Miami Beach. It was “theirs”… How many arranged dates among Jewish boys and girls have taken place on the grounds of the Eden Roc of the Fontainebleau? I told you-I like tradition-I like lore. I don’t think it’s necessarily “theirs” anymore.

Alas, I really didn't see that element of Miami Beach during this trip. The “flip a condo”- fast in fast out-go-go real estate tsunami has devastated Collins Avenue. I kid you not when I say that I saw a million square feet of abandoned or halted high end real estate projects just on Collins Avenue. I also had a twenty dollar Stoli martini at some swinglesy rooftop bar where all of the local cool people hang out-with shirts unbuttoned to their navels and enough gold on to sink straight to the bottom of the pool if they failed to maintain the homeostasis-the balance between their gold chains-P. Diddy sunglasses and expensive ass bottle of Cristal while talking shit to some giggly gal from the local Mensa chapter. All the while I’m standing there in a popped collar pink LaCoste knit shirt, old flat front khaki pants, Flusser green gator o-ring belt and Belgians. I didn’t like the scene-I stood out like a fart in church and after one Stoli I’m ready to go…and this is coming from the guy who likes to stand out a bit.

On a more positive note-I had one of the best dinners ever-at Nobu. My sushi place here in my ‘hood is really good but I’m spoiled now.

Ok, on to more Randomanalia. 

I probably have as comprehensive a library of sartorial reference and history texts as anyone-Not as impressive as it was ten years ago though. I had at one time, twenty Apparel Artsbooks from the 1930’s but sold ‘em when I had to pay lawyers. I’m not bitter. Shut the _______up. I debated whether or not to order this latest tome published by the Council of Fashion Designers of America….American Fashion Menswear. I don’t need any more coffee table picture books and this one pretty much lands in that category. 

The Flusser books are second to none and the Bernard Roetzel book is outstanding so if you own those, I’d recommend short of having money to burn, that you pass on this one.

There are a few photos in the book that are worthy but for the most part you can see them or derivative versions of them elsewhere. I wrote recently about style and elegance being acceptable male traits at one time. Even though Blass might be an outlier-this picture is a keeper.

There were a few examples tucked away in this tome and I found a few others to complement the lineup including Blass shod LL Bean. 

Ian Fleming-sleeve cuffs included

Fairbanks Jr. Pocket square and flower-Merkin and Frazier would take him to task on this rig.

Astaire. Enough Said.

Grant. Ditto.

Steve McQueen. I see so much of myself in this photo. Shut up.

Peter Lawford in suede tassel loafers-Brat Pack Wingmen in tow. No strangers to Miami Beach for certain.

Fairly dapper guy but I'm not certain how he made into this new book on men's style. Go figure. Come back Toad.

And finally-a great shot of a Flusser contrivance. The yellow version of my winter GTH pants. Toad would probably say these look like the seat covers from a '74 Maverick instead of a '73.

I’ve been an ardent devotee of caricature for twenty years. My office is covered in them and a fair amount of my bedroom is adorned with portraits charge as well. One eye catching image in the American Fashion Menswear book is this 1999 Delta Shuttle Magazine cover art of Alan Flusser. Cool.

Coincidentally-some marginally talented guy in the workshop I did this week in Miami was doodling in his workbook. He seemed a bit embarrassed when I discovered the he drew me. Hell I tore it out of his workbook and bought home.

LFG painted this picture of me when she was about three years old. I treasure this caricature over any other one in my manse. She painted it and then said “Daddy, I forgot your heart” - then added one. She wouldn’t have understood had I told her that she above all else-has my heart.

Onward-before the Pootist wakes.

ADG