A super-glossy men's fashion magazine called Sir arrived with one of the national newspapers the other morning, and if you guys are anything like me, you'll know what I mean when I tell you there went the rest of my day.
There is nothing wrong with being well turned out, and there is more to it than waiting until the seat is worn out of your undershorts and then shuffling through the flyers under the sign on the front porch that says "No Flyers" in the hope that the Bay is having a sale on Stanfields.
No matter how much one swears by Marks' Work Wearhouse, there are glittering occasions when one does not care to appear as if one is merely passing one's time until the invited guests leave so one can excavate the foundation and put in new weeping tiles.
There's a time, in other words, when fashion consciousness doesn't simply mean being able to remember whether you were about to donate the clothes piled beside the dresser to Value Village, or whether you had just bought them at Value Village.
The arrival of Sir was that time for me.
It was not, however, an easy time.
I don't remember what I paid for the cardigan sweater that anchors my "look.'' All I remember is that I bought it because it was identical to the cardigan sweater that was then anchoring Perry Como's "look'' on his TV show (I don't know if it still does; I haven't watched his show lately), but I can tell you one thing – it didn't cost anything like the $1,295 that the cardigan sweater the guy is wearing on Page 89 sells for.
But then I can't imagine what a Perry Como cardigan would cost at Holt Renfrew nowadays.
The guy on Page 89 is running as if he's trying to escape from something, and reminds me of those guys on shows like Prison Break where you can't figure out whether they're psychopaths or FBI agents but then eventually turn out to be psychopathic FBI agents. One thing is certain, there is a lot more action/drama in men's fashion spreads these days than when they consisted only of Johnny Carson looking embalmed in a "Johnny Carson'' brand suit that looked like it came off the rack at the funeral home.
Maybe the guy is running because he doesn't want to get squirted again with the pressure washer full of crankcase oil that the villain (I'm trying to imagine the scenario here, okay?) already squirted all over his sports jacket. How the hell would you like it if somebody squirted crankcase all over your sports jacket, even if your jacket was designed by Joe at Loblaws? This one, on the other hand, is a Dior. And it's $2,140.
Unless it's supposed to be all splattered like that. In that case one could turn up at a glittering occasion looking as if one came directly from work, which happens to be under the hoist at Mr. Lube.
I don't know what to say about his T-shirt, which is also a Dior, and costs $300, except Mark's Work Wearhouse shouldn't panic and start stocking a premium line, because there's a limit, and mine is that there's no way I'm going to buy a T-shirt that costs more than the engagement ring I gave my wife.
As for his "Cropped pants with satin trim and leg-warmer cuffs'' ($975), to tell the truth, I wouldn't want to be invited to any glittering occasion where, clad in cropped pants with satin trim and leg-warmer cuffs, I fit right in.
There is nothing wrong with being well turned out, and there is more to it than waiting until the seat is worn out of your undershorts and then shuffling through the flyers under the sign on the front porch that says "No Flyers" in the hope that the Bay is having a sale on Stanfields.
No matter how much one swears by Marks' Work Wearhouse, there are glittering occasions when one does not care to appear as if one is merely passing one's time until the invited guests leave so one can excavate the foundation and put in new weeping tiles.
There's a time, in other words, when fashion consciousness doesn't simply mean being able to remember whether you were about to donate the clothes piled beside the dresser to Value Village, or whether you had just bought them at Value Village.
The arrival of Sir was that time for me.
It was not, however, an easy time.
I don't remember what I paid for the cardigan sweater that anchors my "look.'' All I remember is that I bought it because it was identical to the cardigan sweater that was then anchoring Perry Como's "look'' on his TV show (I don't know if it still does; I haven't watched his show lately), but I can tell you one thing – it didn't cost anything like the $1,295 that the cardigan sweater the guy is wearing on Page 89 sells for.
But then I can't imagine what a Perry Como cardigan would cost at Holt Renfrew nowadays.
The guy on Page 89 is running as if he's trying to escape from something, and reminds me of those guys on shows like Prison Break where you can't figure out whether they're psychopaths or FBI agents but then eventually turn out to be psychopathic FBI agents. One thing is certain, there is a lot more action/drama in men's fashion spreads these days than when they consisted only of Johnny Carson looking embalmed in a "Johnny Carson'' brand suit that looked like it came off the rack at the funeral home.
Maybe the guy is running because he doesn't want to get squirted again with the pressure washer full of crankcase oil that the villain (I'm trying to imagine the scenario here, okay?) already squirted all over his sports jacket. How the hell would you like it if somebody squirted crankcase all over your sports jacket, even if your jacket was designed by Joe at Loblaws? This one, on the other hand, is a Dior. And it's $2,140.
Unless it's supposed to be all splattered like that. In that case one could turn up at a glittering occasion looking as if one came directly from work, which happens to be under the hoist at Mr. Lube.
I don't know what to say about his T-shirt, which is also a Dior, and costs $300, except Mark's Work Wearhouse shouldn't panic and start stocking a premium line, because there's a limit, and mine is that there's no way I'm going to buy a T-shirt that costs more than the engagement ring I gave my wife.
As for his "Cropped pants with satin trim and leg-warmer cuffs'' ($975), to tell the truth, I wouldn't want to be invited to any glittering occasion where, clad in cropped pants with satin trim and leg-warmer cuffs, I fit right in.
