Circa 1982. Hard finish…not Harris but a worthy runner-up. Poacher pockets. Norfolk back. Infamous two-button low-gorge front. Ralph Lauren was obsessed with the low gorge stance in the seventies and eighties.
There’s a story about young Ralph working with one of Norman Hilton’s tailors…obsessively prodding the Italian immigrant artisan to lower the button stance yet lower and balance the lapel flair in concert. The tailor, in a fit of exasperation ripped the prototype coat off the suit form and stomped on it in the factory. Obsession is a bitch.
This is one of three swathings that I’ve girded with bellows-poacher pockets. And then there’s the cavalry twill suit sporting the same. I like ‘em…obviously. You’ll like ‘em too. I can carry your lipstick, car keys with your little pepper spray canister attached and your rabbit for you.
It matters that it’s Madder…neckwear wise. The Brethren…tethered and underpinned…all the way through. And geez…who the hell would wear an end on end dress shirt in the winter. Shut ____.
Typical early eighties Ralph lapel. The clothing boys would have sold you one of Ralph's high drama wide ties to accompany this cloak. I don't do drama and I'd long since stopped getting high by the early eighties.
Young people aren't flocking to the tailoring trade. I suspect that in ten more years there won’t be too many artisans left that can properly assemble a Norfolk coat-back like this.
And this one doesn't even have bi-swing shoulders...a tailoring maneuver that probably tests the mettle of any cutter. I'm not bi and I don't swing. Swinging demands too many thank you notes thereafter and I hate writing more than three.
Yes—This coat pulls just a bit in the middle. Shut up. What the hell do you have in your closet from 1982 that you can STILL wear? What do you have in your closet from 1982 that you’d WANT to wear? I rest my case regarding the campaign-ability and durable attributes of high quality, well contrived assemblages. I said shut up. Now. Not fifteen minutes from now. Now.
Onward from the Horsham Pennsylvania Hampton Inn. I've no worries about revealing my ten-twenty. I’m out of here and off to another meeting in an hour. By the time you alerted the Wanker Police and they rolled in with their calipers and handcuffs, they'll have colored me gone.
Onward. Home. ADG, II