Sartorially Disinclined.

I spent an altogether indecent amount of time deciding what to wear today. And this being a Monday I found it extra ridiculous. Entirely inappropriate for an adult in this day and age. One can see why Lord Grantham, Prince Charles, and still a good section of the Peerage still employ the services of a decent valet.

My selections kinda drifted in and out of favor like the sounds drifting in and out of the earbuds.

The Field - Arpeggiated Love just seemed to lend itself to dark gray J Crew chinos, Helmut Lang canvas lace-ups and a vintage Benetton polo in beige. Beige? On a Monday? Kinda feels like you're already giving in, and I've made my lunch, vegan lunch so no beige. Not on a Monday.

The Underworld - Pearl's Girl moved us onto some lighter gray J Crew chinos (you may start to see a pattern develop here) and a sky blue Seize Sur Vingt button up. A bit dressy, especially for a Monday, a bit workers of the world unite, a bit of a perspiration hazard with temperatures approaching 80. Gross. No.

The National - Demons is a bit brooding, a bit like a not so vintage Benetton striped button up Compadre left, I think in exchange for a much better striped Flippa K button up I scored at a thrift store in Seattle. I miss that Flippa K sometimes, and like a sad pity fuck from a few summers past it haunts me. Like the song. 

The Weeknd - House of Balloons I think nailed it with slightly baggy (90s silhouette, read about it) putty chinos with vintage cream (not beige) Ralph Lauren tattersall shirt. A nice olive green with forest trimmed raw silk Byblos cardigan so thin you can read War And Peace through it will get me through the frigid morning stroll, and I can throw it in my bag later in the day. It is that insubstantial.

To top it all off I pressed the slightly less gray pair of chinos instead of the putty ones, but now they are both pressed, ready, and I can tell myself I am that much more ahead of tomorrow. 

Fragrance - Chanel Pour Monsieur 

Socks - Paul Smith (from Compadre so beginning to make up for the Flippa K switcheroo)

Jewelry - One bracelet, Hermes, Spring/Summer 2005. Wallet, same.

But naturally I forgot to press a handkerchief so now I basically feel like a fucking peasant. 

Business Casual.

Lost In The Hit Parade.

The challenges of casual Friday tend to be fourfold, but they all seem to begin with one word and that is denim. Do we or do we no? We usually do, but Levi 501 or no? And if no, vintage Helmut Lang or no? If Helmut Lang, boot cut or standard cut? If not Helmut Lang then what kind of minefield have we wandered into then? A.P.C.? Albam? Simon Miller? What?

Then the tee shirt. Obviously you're wearing one, but which one? Graphics are in, logos are now, heritage is scarcely mentioned in polite conversation. What are the options still on the table? White, thank goodness is completely off the table.

Then shoes. Trainers or no? If not trainers then the floodgates officially open. How fussy of shoes can you wear with denim and not look like a Persian pimp? Not very at all is the general rule.

But then the question of layers. Sure it will be in the 80s, but the air conditioner in the office appears to have neither soul nor sense of moderation. Will one rock a Free City hoodie? Perhaps no hoodie at all, but rather a cardigan? Shawl is the catch-all Compadre and I used to use.

And there you have it. The big four of casual Friday. Accessories are optional. Handkerchief (pressed!) is not. Scent is something Comme des Garçons and most likely the OG. Yes.

End game was A.P.C. with vintage Nom de Guerre, the one with Jean Michel  Basquiat on the front because it never gets old explaining to people it isn't Jimi Hendrix. A Wings & Horns, sorry, Wings + Horns fleece cardigan and Jill Sander oxfords tie it all together. Skirting close to to the pimp line, but I can always nab a ride in an Armenian friend's black Lexus and just go with it.

Note: Fridays are a day of diving into the biggest plate of nachos you have ever. No question of ready-made or insta-lunches from home, and no dilemmas of totes. Just grab whatever holds my book and grab a bag of crisps for breakfast. Because I'm worth it.

A Lateral Move With A Slope.

I think I've started the morning once before by writing about broken crockery & this is just another one of those mornings.

Some people might get sad about it, and God know if it's Limoges I would, I have & I've written about it. 

But if it's something shipped in bulk by a European bail-out country straight to a center aisle TJ Maxx discount bin, where my mother seems to endlessly supply her handbag with swag she later unloads on me whenever she comes to visit, then no, I tend to move on secure in the knowledge that said microwaveable safe (I don't own a microwave) crockery will soon be replaced, perhaps sevenfold, and possibly as early as Friday.

 I don't think I do it on purpose. 

The parents are coming, I'm panicking, but at least I made it to the barber, and the guy at my dispensary said he dug my priorities. Yes, and I tried not to stand there like someone who had just been accused of being hierarchically inclined. Some of the shit just brushes right off me.