A reader
over at my tumblr asked…“Speaking of
shoes, I don't see you wearing many lace-up shoes. (other than white bucks) Is
it because you don't hang with the suits? I gather from many of your comments
that you are often the most dressed up guy in the room- and that usually means
you are That Guy With That Thing Around His Neck. But, if you were in serious
banking or, God forbid, law or finance, would you wear oxfords, wingtips,
captoes- blucher or otherwise? Special bonus question: where do you stand on
wholecuts?” So I decided to answer the
question over here.
Lace-ups?
Your observation is correct. They aren’t a huge part of my lineup anymore
mostly because suits are such a rare part of my kit these days. The classic Brooks Brethren wingtip above is indeed just that--classic. But it isn't relevant to me anymore. And when I do
wear suits, monk straps seem to be adequate. Suits in general and the dressiest
most elegant versions especially, might deserve a dressier shoe. Trust me, I
know the rules and at one time in my life I used to abide by them rather
faithfully. I’m on the record having posited that the world, sartorially and
deportment-wise, is already at the bottom of the slippery-ass slope. So when I
put on a pair of not-dressy-enough monk strap shoes with a suit, unfortunately,
I am by default, better dressed and shod than 89.3783% of humanity. Don’t get
me wrong…I’m not better than or earlier in the queue for heaven than 89.3783%
of humanity. I come in at about 47.8765% on the former and 22.2232% on the
latter. (We don’t round our numbers here. Shut up.)
And yes, I
am usually "The Guy With That Thing Around His Neck."
I worked
for a very strict and culturally rigid pharma organization for thirteen years.
And during those years it would have been career suicide to wear 90% of what I
swath and shod in today. My work wardrobe was suits only—no sportcoats, white
or blue solid dress shirts, maybe a basic stripe thrown in if my most recent
performance review was stellar. And shoe-wise, I wore two lace-up variations
exclusively...all-day every-day--for thirteen years. The black cap-toe Allen Edmonds example above
represents what was on my feet probably four days a week for thirteen years.
Maybe that’s why I have an aversion to black shoes today.
When I was
away from the Corporate Colon in New Jersey or Basel, either working in the
field or working out of one of the regional offices, the most ambitious I’d
ever get, shodding-wise would be a suede cap-toe with a bit of
punching/brogueing similar to the above. I’ve often said of my corporate years,
before the business casual boondoggle, that I was one of the best dressed guys
you’d ever see, Monday through Friday and at best on the weekends…Preppy
Homeless. And it was true. After being cinched up...suiting swathed and
cap-toed all week, I’d have on a pair of beat-to-shit khakis, Alden tassels or
Bean bluchers—no socks of course unless it was snowing…a popped collar knit
shirt in the summer or a Shetland crewneck sweater in the winter. Underneath it
all however, was always LaPerla.
I’m not
anti-lace-ups per se but it seems that in our slovenly world and in my now more
casual phase, monk straps are my alternative to a slip-on. But here’s a bit of
an update. Be patient and I’ll let you peek at something…probably mid-October.
The boys at Cleverley are working on a mongrelized two-eyelet lace up for me.
I’d ask that you “picture this” but a healthy mind probably can’t. The shoe above? That’s an Edward Green classic that I literally wore till it could
no longer be refurbished—recrafted—resurrected—resuscitated or re-anythinged.
So I’ve
re-imagined my old Edward Green shoe but with fuzzy mongrelizations that are
gonna make most traditionalists harrumph and cause more ardent devotees and
adherents to hurl. Instead of brown suede I’ve opted for a suede color that has
slightly more yellow in it than the tobacco or snuff colors that are so
beautiful and therefore so ubiquitous. The Cleverley name on the swatch I
selected is Brass. To further bastardize standard time-tested models and shapes
and colors, I’ve requested an Algonquin split-toe, raised stitching, Cleverley
suspiciously square-ish toe, Dainite bottomed assemblage to finish this monkey
off. Oh, and with tassels on the laces of course. Picture the
Edward Green Leffot shoe above but with the aforementioned tweaks. That’s the best
I can do to create a remotely relevant example of how to help your normal mind
get a read on what my beautiful mind has con-shod-ulized. Shut up…at least for
now. You can howl at me in October when I show you the mess-in-progress.
And I was
asked about wholecuts. Bottom line…they are tricky. The very thing that defines
the shoe also sets the stage for its rapid…and I mean Astroglide rapid descent
down the slippery slope towards Pimp-Disco. Wholecut above? ADG no likey.
The
wholecut paucity of line…the sports car prototype sleekness of design are just
two things top of my mind that stand me in awe, yet on the cusp of ugh. And
any shoe maker will tell you that the skills involved in making a wholecut properly is a high calling.
Go here to see evidence of what I speak. Wholecut
above? ADG could probably grow to likey. If you gave it to me.
But man oh
man…wholecut slippers? Loafers? It’s a whole ‘nother fuzzy thang. Go here to see The ShoeSnob’s post that offers a nice representation of ‘em. If you can’t see art and
God and beauty in the manifestation above, I feel sorry for you. And so does
Gaziano and Girling, the inceptors and creators of this stronger than
nine-rows-of-spring-onions example.
I’m broke.
Seriously. But in doing some gandering around for examples to augment this
story, I’ve happened upon the Bamford by Edward Green pictured above, courtesy
of Leffot. And I think I'm gonna have to Bam!
Folks, this is bigger than me…bigger than all
of us. This is girlie-slipper-Belgians-ADG fuzzy all to be damned. And how
would I wear it? Just like the proprietor of Leffot is preening it above…but
without the Sandra Dee jean cuff. Oh, and I’d wear it with Marcoliani socks
from Will or Kabbaz and gray flannel trousers or linen togs with no socks.
Hell, if I can ever get Roxanne Burgess back over here, I’d wear the darn
things nekkid.
When I
finish this post I’m gonna cull the requisite number of antique lead soldiers
from my shelf, arrange a sale to my go to collector-buyer that I swap such
goods with, and take the dosh to Sky Valet and commission the Bamford
today—before I go and get my former daughter LFG from dance. But what hide?
Have you ever seen the Edward Green swatch book? I only have a zillion choices.
Help me. Would you go with suede? EG only has fifty colors. What about shell
cordovan? Talk to me.
So it’s off
to Los Angeles next week on business. Maybe I better hold off on any more of
this shoddingossity till I get to Leather Soul Beverly Hills. Check out Will's story on them here.
Onward.
Broke. Bespoke. And shod all to be damned…but only in Belgians this morning. ADG II and
soon, but for only a night; the only thing that makes my heart come back alive,
one Miss LFG.
