My pre-Thanksgiving trip to Boston found me with two chunks of downtime. And before I cover off on what I did with it, let me say that I’d had nothing to drink…Z-E-R-O hooch when I snapped this little picture in my hotel room but I got a little queasy anyway. The texturational variegation, awash in denim, wool, suede and whateverishness, was almost too much, even for me.
It was that elegant hotel-again, adjacent to La Perla. Nice. La Perla looks nice and even smells nice…from the outside.
So I had time to grab lunch on Newbury Street and gander. But before I stopped for the self discipline testing Indian Buffet, I dropped in at Raven Used Books. Used bookstore sirens call me wantonly and my self discipline therein is less than I can muster in the face of a buffet. Who’da thunk that an entire book had been written on the making of Kind of Blue? It’s a compilation that I can listen to over and over and over and never tire of it. And yes, before you axk, I went back for seconds. It hurt. In a good way.
I wandered in this Newbury Street establishment and met the owners. They are THE nicest people. From Brazil originally.
The Boston Ralph was as always in good form.
And every time I darken the doors of Ralph Boston, this homeless trad man seems to be there. Shut up.
But the highlight of my Newbury Street stroll was International Poster. I’d been in a few times over the years but not recently and it’s a visual feast to say the least. Yep, that rhymed. Still does.
Gyroscope Man. There were times-many years ago-usually late at night-at the KA House-when I fancied myself as such.
The challenge with vintage posters is space. I love 'em but have limited myself to one.
But Bobby from Boston…now that’s where the fun really began…again. My second foray into Bobbyland was just as intriguing as my maiden voyage. If you have trace elements of an imagination then Bobby’s is gonna stoke it—and then some.
Everyone was there. H.M. Stanley and his Africa Kit was front and center. No presumption here. If you wanna kit out for a colonial-esque foray, then Bobby gots you covered.
Cameron—Gordon—Black Watch…? Who knows but if a Highlander or a Grenadier Guard Topper is on your to-get list then head on over to see Bobby.
Harold-Buster-Fred…Lloyd-Keaton-Astaire. All three but the first two mostly, have iconographic legacies topped with straw boaters. And you know where to fetch one.
Giddyup. I finger these works of art every time and I pass on them every time. Some of the most interesting garments in the place. Worthy of framing and adorning a wall.
Tod Sloan...that little jockey from Kokomo dropped his riding kit off with Bobby. Tod had a bit of a gambling problem. Caused him to be banned for life from the Turf.
Ahh, and little Annie Oakley’s pediatric ensemble remains to greet you. And it always will because it’s not for sale.
Deco neckwear was everywhere.
Ascots? Trunks full of them. Neck dressing options are more than robust. Thurston Howell, III would be impressed.
I’m not a thrifter per se. If I was, I might HAVE a net worth. I’ll drop in on Hornets in London and was never tentative about pouncing on a find or two in Bertie Wooster before they gave up their Fulham Road presence. But I don’t seem to have the time or interest in doing much of it here in the States. And I could never make it the art form that our man Giuseppe over at An Affordable Wardrobe has.
But Bobby’s delivers the goods…both calibre and price wise for ADG. The cavalry twill-navy blue serge and green velvet whispers turned into shouts after I reconciled there possibilities of fitting me.
I finally culled the green velvet and left it. Remaindered for some other lucky poseur. But it was a difficult trade-off at sixty five bucks. The He Man Woman Haters Club crested blazer is indeed now part and parcel of my blazering-ing-ing-ing. Three totally unneeded jackets and slightly over two hundred bucks later and we were out the door.
And the fit(s)? Not one tweak…nothing…nadda. Nice.
Onward. And Be Valiant.