la primavera, contorni

This will be the last post in this little mini-series loosely based on the approach of Spring. I really need to find time to get to a thrift store soon, so I can bring this blog back to some semblance of it's original self.

Here we have an interesting old cotton neck tie, perfect with a chambray sport coat in the warmth of late Spring: from one of the innumerable long-gone men's shops that every town with college boys and grown men used to have. Anybody out there go to Princeton and shop at Langrock?In case you're wondering, those guys on the tie are from an Italian deck of cards. The standing figure, il Fante, is sort of equivalent to the Jack, and the rider on the horse, il Cavallo, would sort of be the Queen. Since Italian card suits only contain 10 cards, these two would also represent 8 and 9.

Here we see them on a very worn out, greasy old deck that belonged to my grandparents, Peppino and Elvira:

They played these cards for hours every night after supper. They had been playing their whole lives, but I think they used this deck for at least ten years. My brother and I used to sit and play Briscola and Scopa with them at night sometimes. I remember being about 12 years old, in their apartment with some friends of theirs visiting. The air was thick with cigarette smoke. Nonna let me drink a little bit of stove top espresso, or "black coffee" as it was sometimes called. ( as opposed to drip, or "brown coffee", suitable only for Americans with weak constitutions). I guess that explains a lot.They both used to cheat, a lot. Peppino was clumsy about it, he'd always get caught. Elvira liked to deal from the bottom of the deck.

Here we see the four Aces, as injected into the skin of my left forearm, a memorial to Elvira:

top to bottom: Denari, Coppa, Bastoni, Spade

Gasp! My tattoos! I guess you've seen them peeking out of my shirt sleeve here and there. When summer hits and the tennis shirts come out of the storage box, they'll be in every picture. Consider this a warm up. Every year, someone whose used to seeing me in shirts and ties is taken completely by surprise.

What's this post got to do with menswear? Very little. With Spring? Even less. This blog seems to be headed in a direction of it's own, sometimes. Could be that having a new baby in the house has got me thinking a lot more about Family, Tradition, and "The Old Days" lately. Maybe I should change the name. Any suggestions?

la primavera, secondi

In keeping with my last posts theme of sneaking in the spring details, here are two more examples.:

A simple burgundy striped button down with a classic repp tie, a combo for any season.Yesterday, the cotton khakis made an appearance. They've moved into the regular rotation. Since it is still March, I've eschewed bright argyles in favor of a somber grey. One fair weather element at a time, in this case the pants.

And speaking of pants, here's an outfit that goes straight from work to the playground:It was bright and sunny today, but awfully chilly. I stuck with cords, but in an effort to evoke warmer weather, i wore the Go-To-Hell red ones. (side note: I know I could have used the acronym GTH, but the excessive abbreviation that is so rampant today is a pet peeve of mine. That's why I use whole words, and actually dial whole phone numbers. But I digress.) It's funny how in December these pants have a decidedly holiday vibe, but in March they become a precursor to the outrageous summer pants. I have a lot of those. (since my blood runs Italian, we'll call that 'sprezzatura' )On another note, I dropped my Florsheim longwings off at the cobbler for half soles and heels today. I love that guy! The stories he told me...but I'll save that for next week when I pick up the shoes.

la primavera

Seems like everyone's got Spring on their mind these days. The menswear blogs seem to be a tad bit preoccupied with seersucker and madras lately. While it's true, I do love those things, and look forward to the warmer weather, it's still only March, and I do live in Boston. I look at this time of the year as the last chance to wear my favorite clothes, the heavy stuff. For me the trick is to gradually phase in hints of bold color, be almost sneaky about it:

A Viyella necktie, how cool is that? I should wear this thing more often, it was two bucks well spent. It's thick, but because it's part cotton it's also soft. I find the bright color palette of the Tartan can take an outfit out of the Winter blues on a dreary day without being over the top.This pair of grey flannels from J.Press ($5.49, tailored them myself) is far and away the best fitting, nicest pair of pants I own. They are as versatile to me during winter as my khaki's are in summer. The bright yellow socks, a little extra visible thanks to the penny loafers, add another subtle dash of color. The rest of the outfit consisted of a vest sweater, heavy oxford shirt, Barbour jacket and tweed cap, all cold weather items in and of themselves, lightened up by a few select accessories.

People are always complaining about Winter around here, and it drives me batty. It gets me especially when I hear older folks who have spent their lives in the Northeast do it. Firstly, what's so bad about Winter? It's pretty, it's lots of fun for the kids, and you get to wear lots of nice clothes all at once. Second, there comes a point where people need to stop acting surprised every time it snows in Massachusetts. And third, when I was a kid, it started snowing on Halloween and didn't stop until Easter. The stuff we get now is a poor excuse for Winter anyway, and I kind of miss those old school hard snowing days. Builds character. Maybe I'm crazy, or maybe it's just because my birthday is in December.

Besides, what good is Summer without Winter? No pleasure without pain, Circle of Life, blah, blah, blah....

p.s. Can one really use the phrase "penny wise pound foolish" when talking about buying pyjamas for over $100 a set rather than having them custom made by a shirt maker? Somebody wake this guy up. (snarky...)

Tweed, Repp Ties and the Italian Man

Today I came across this silly little novelty book in the house:

I remember stealing this book from my Dad when I was in high school. It's very silly. Among myriad nuggets of wisdom on the intricacies of living "La Dolce Vita", including how to inhale cheese fumes, how to practice pinching a young ladies posterior, and a chapter on hand gestures labelled "Isometric Communication" (har, har...) we find this comparison photograph:Apparently, striped ties, tweed and button-downs are antithetical to the very concept of being Italian. Damn! Now I've got an identity crisis on my hands!

p.s. extra credit if you can name these two fellows.

p.p.s. Tin Tin, if you're reading this, there may be hope for you yet.

Okay, one more, because it's just too funny:

IL CAFFE(ine)

I thought it might good to talk about coffee on my return post from my brief absence. Why? Because when a beautiful little girl like this enters your life:


you may find that coffee takes on additional importance. ( She's pretty damn cute, right?)

I'm very particular in my coffee habits to a point. I like it strong and rich. I only brew espresso at home. I buy fine ground coffee in vacuum sealed bricks, and brew it on the stove top in a Bialetii moka pot.

There are two ways to go about this. First there's the Affordable Wardrobe way:When we first got poor enough for me to really pay attention to prices, I tried like hell to shave every penny I could from the grocery bill. My coffee was one of the last things to suffer the cut. Thankfully, I discovered Cafe El Aguila. It's rich and creamy, very strong. I like it with some sugar and a healthy bit of milk in the morning. At a mere $1.59 per 250 gram brick, it's the best deal going. The company is based in Miami, and apparently it's popular with Cuban ex-pats. Last I checked, they know a thing or two about real coffee.

Then there's the uncompromising Italian way:

Caffe Danesi is my favorite. Intensely flavored, but with a mellower, more delicate texture. It's extremely hard to find. Some of the Italian cafes around town serve, but my local Italian grocer is the only place I know to buy it. (I know what you're thinking: "why don't you look online for it?" Because the internet takes all of the thrill out of the discovery of things, that's why.) Today I bought a brick as a celebration for myself of my baby girl's birth. At $6.49 per 250 gram brick it's a bit more dear than El Aguila, but when you consider the fact that some people spend that much (and more) a day on the burnt swill that Starbuck's calls coffee, it's still pretty cheap.

And the way the house smells when this stuff is brewing...incomparable!

Throw away your drip pots and percolators, toughen up, and drink real coffee.

More menswear related drivel coming soon.

Radio Silence

Our baby girl joined the family at 9:46 this morning. I'll be on radio silence until further notice while we get acquainted with our new tiny treasure.

Peppino's Razor

Today, by sheer chance, I happened to inherit my grandfather's Gillette Safety Razor. The old stainless steel, double edged dinosaur was called back into active service.

For as long as I can remember, I've been shaving with a 'safety razor', the invention that followed the straight razor but preceded the ghastly disposables which are so prevalent today. Sure, when I cut myself, the cuts would bleed like mad. But eventually I developed a feel for it, and I firmly believe that nothing on the market today offers a closer, cleaner shave in experienced hands.

This evening, after letting the old beard settle in for two days, I lathered up only to realize that my old razor was gone! I think it fell in the garbage and went out with the trash last week. I was immediately gripped with dismay over the prospect of going to Leavitt & Pierce to drop a pretty chunk of change on a new one. Those triple blade lubricated jobbies are for the birds if you ask me.

Then, on a whim, I ran up to the upstairs apartment, where my parents live. My dad is an incurable pack rat. We've made fun of him about it for years. But tonight his compulsive behavior came in handy. I asked him if he still had any old stuff that belonged to Nonno Peppino (my namesake, Giuseppe 'Peppino' Di Nardo). Within minutes he produced a shoebox from the attic. Inside, among other trinkets, was this little rusty box:

And in the little rusty box was my grandfather's razor:


"Can I have it?" I blurted out. "Sure" said my dad. I took the thing, ran downstairs, popped in a fresh blade, lathered up and had a terrific shave. Afterwards I put the razor back in the box, and put the box back in the medicine cabinet, in the same spot where Peppino kept it for over forty years. ( We live in the apartment that belonged to my grandaprents. They bought the house in 1964. My kids are the fourth generation in my family to live here.)The ghosts in my house just got a little bit happier.