Knowing When to Say No

It's the most important rule of being a successful thrifter. There's a lot of good stuff out there, at dirt cheap prices. It can e difficult not to scoop up every little thing, because its "only a couple of bucks." But truthfully, if you don't need or really can't use something, its a waste of money at any price.

I, like many thrifters, fell prey to this shortcoming for many years, but I feel I have improved on it immensely. I now believe that thrift shopping should have the effect of making one even more particular about what comes home with them.

Case in point:

Two days ago, I visited my new favorite charity thrift store secret, the one where I was actually given a pair of pants on my first visit. The place was bursting with incredible stuff: a 3 piece grey herringbone suit from Rogers Peet (too big), a pair of J.Press khakis with only three locations on the label (pre- San Francisco), and a Brooks Brothers flannel sack blazer (also too big...probably the same guy.) Such is second hand shopping.

And then I saw it: Brooks Brothers early 1960's cream colored dinner jacket with a shawl collar, in brand new condition, $8.00. Kinda like this one:

I peeled off my many winter layers and slipped it on, only to find it fit like a glove. I tried like hell to convince myself to buy it, but truth be told, I have never been to a black tie function, let alone one that would call for a dinner jacket, and that doesn't look to be changing any time soon. (it is my dream to wear a tux for real someday, just once. more on that later.)So I left it behind for some fortunate soul who needs it.

Though I don't know how many guys who wear formal clothes regularly enough to own them are shopping in the church charity store.

You see, there was a time when my closet was packed to the gills with things like this, fantastic cheap finds that I never wear which ultimately just take up closet space, which is at a premium to begin with. My new system is to accumulate all this stuff in the store, then lookit all over and put most, if not all of it, back. I try really hard not to buy stuff I won't use. Additionally, I regularly weed through my stuff and donate back those items that rarely make the rotation. You might call it the minimalist approach to thrift shopping.

Still, I can't stop thinking about that jacket, and what might have been....

Saddle Shoes, Some Personal History

Lately the old blogs have been all a-twitter with discussions of the all American saddle shoe. Opinions seem to run anywhere from love to hate. As the proud owner of a pair, I thought I'd throw my own hat in the ring.

You may remember that I recently received a pair in dark green and tan from our man Toad. I wore them today:

This outfit is fairly drab and neutral. Tan cords, blue oxford, brown sweater, all chosen for comfort while running various mundane errands around town. The shoes are just a little detail to lift the outfit from boredom, quietly. Which is how I feel they are best worn: at the bottom of a subdued outfit, the only slightly punchy element. Besides, they're as comfortable as slippers.

Me and saddle shoes go way back. I'll never forget my first pair.

I attended a Catholic elementary school, and we wore uniforms. Every year, the purchase of "school shoes" was an end of summer ritual. The summer before sixth grade, I discovered a beautifully tattered pair of black and white saddle shoes in the attic that had been my Dad's, and I was obsessed. Alas, my feet were bigger than his, and there was no hope of appropriating them.
Come school time, I begged my mother for a pair. They were Walkovers, with the red soles, and we had to special order them from the Ball Square Shoe Store, a place which specialized in crepe soled nurses shoes and the repair of the police's leather jackets.

I wore those shoes to death, in and out of school. The dirtier and more cracked they got, the more I loved them. I kept getting them resoled for at least ten years at the store where I bought them until they became so worn that the old guy refused to fix them anymore.

They had some kinda staying power, those shoes. When I went through my infatuated-with-the-1930's phase in high school, the saddles fit right in. When I went all punk rock for 5 or 6 years after that, they fit right in. And when I calmed down and became a father and decided to act like a grown up, they fit right in. They're like Art Blakey in a button down collar: classy and bad-ass all at once.

Take care when wearing them, however. Keep them away from cardigan sweaters, bow ties, pompadours and glasses with tape on the frames, lest you wind up looking like a cartoon dork. Don't wear them with an overly busy outfit, lest you wind up looking like as if you're dressed as a "White Guy" guy for Halloween. But do wear them. Just keep it relaxed and you'll be fine, a rule that applies to all manner of dress and comportment.

So all you guys who threw saddle shoes under the bus this week (you know who you are) think twice. They're not just for sock hops, golf courses and vintage five year old's.

Farewell Tucker

Seems our old pal Tucker of TNSIL fame has decided to close up shop. My hats off to him both for writing a great blog and for letting us down easy over the last week.

You had a good run, Tucker, and I hope to see you around the comments.

Simon's Copley Square, part 2

White Oxford
Blue Oxford
Pink Oxford
Ecru Oxford
Blue University Stripe Oxford

Each available in either button down or point collar, except the university stripe, which was available only with a button down collar.

Pleated front formal shirts with either point collar or wing collar.

100% cotton, made in U.S.A.

Such was the extent of the dress shirt options available at Simon's Copley Square. But really, what else dose a man need anyway?

Not Just for Christmas

Of course I wore my red cords on Christmas, but other than that I had a hard time figuring out what to do with them. They are a really nice pair of pants, the corduroy fabric is top notch wide wale, real heavy weight. But the color is so bold that putting them to an outfit without looking silly is a tad bit difficult. Today I think I figured it out:

Red cords with blue Brooks Brothers button down oxford, navy vest sweater with red and white dots, grey socks and penny loafers.

As far as red pants go, I think this sort of outfit does a good job of making them feel natural. Sure, it's a little bit grandfatherly, but people having been saying I'm an old man since I was in high school, so I don't care.

I must admit, a recent post on my sometimes-nemesis blog A Suitable Wardrobe really helped me out here. It was this 1980's vintage photo of a real old money preppy dork that made the whole thing click in my head. I'm not above giving credit where credit is due. (dirty secret: while I may have raised hell over the removal of this blog from my links list, I have snuck a peak at it everyday since then by way of the links bar at A Continuous Lean. I tend to gravitate toward that which infuriates me.) Good post, William.

Funny thing is, in summertime I wear pants that make these look downright dull all the time. I have no problem rotating between pink, canary yellow, grass green and bright patch madras. Maybe ease comes with the fact that the only other item of clothing involved is a solid color tennis shirt, or maybe the heat just makes me silly.

How else might you wear the red cords, dear readers? When do they officially go out of season?

Simon's Copley Square, part 1

As I may have mentioned before, I was bit by the clothing bug at a young age. Having grown up with a thoroughly flamboyant grandmother on my Mom's side, a custom tailor grandfather on my Dad's side, and a pair of parents who like black music and dancing, you might say its in my blood. I wore a uniform to my Catholic elementary school, and prided myself on being the only kid in the fourth grade who not only didn't wear clip on ties, but actually tied them himself. Later, in high school, I wore a jacket and tie to school every day, despite the derision of nearly 1000 other young gents at that athletically leaning all boys institution. (twenty guesses which classmate they all remember).

Things really got going my sophomore year, when I got a job at Simon's Copley Square, an old family owned men's shop in Boston. For years, they would hire a guy from my school as the weekend cashier/ cleanup kid. When one kid left, they would call the vice principal who would announce the job over the loudspeaker during homeroom. When the guy before me left, he told them he knew the perfect kid to take over for him, the weird kid who wore a suit every day. I stopped by on a Saturday and after a brief chat the job was mine.

The place was real old school. Founded in 1905, my boss, Harold Simon, was third generation owner. We had two other stores Simon's State Street, in Boston's financial district, and Simon's Providence, in Rhode Island. (The Providence store had a large clientele of both cops and mafiosi, and the tailoring staff were particularly skilled in leaving a suit jacket bigger on one side, for the holster. It was their specialty).

I didn't realize it then, but the place was a dinosaur, a member of a dying breed, in the best way possible. It was all dark wood and brass. The neck ties were displayed on heavy oak tables. Framed illustrations from turn of the century men's clothing magazines hung on the walls.We sold sock garters and Royall Bay Rhum aftershave. The suits were all color coded, each size starting with solid navy, then grey, then tan and brown. We had a thing called 'Custom Choice' which was a suit with jacket and pants sold separately, and a discount for buying two pair of pants with the suit. We kept a rack of shirts and a collection of loafers in a closet by the fitting rooms for men to use while trying on suits, though most of our customers wore a suit to buy a suit. We had a staff of tailors who worked in house in a full shop in the basement. They were all Italian, true masters of their craft. Best of all, every suit, shirt, pair of slacks, overcoat or tuxedo we sold bore only one brand name: Simon's Copley Square.

That part of Boston was different then too. Newbury Street was just to our left, and there you can find Gucci, Burberry, Louis Vuiton and Armani. But back then the old guard still remained. A block away was the Boston Shop, a satellite of the Andover Shop. Around the corner was Jos. A. Bank. Down the street was Acquascutum and the Custom Shop, a place that made dress shirts. A block in the other direction was the Brooks Brothers Boston store, and diagonally across from us, where the Ralph Lauren store is today, was Kakas Furs, where militant hippies would gather every weekend armed with megaphones and bags of red paint waiting from some old money Beacon Hill type to emerge decked in mink.

My job consisted initially of ringing the till, keeping the place tidy and soaking up bits of wisdom and extremely off-color jokes from the seasoned staff of three old Jewish guys and one old gay guy, all of whom had worked there for at least twenty five years. After I had been ther for a while, I was allowed to assist cusomer and even take some fittngs. We all wore suits, except on Friday, when a blazer or tweed jacket with flannels was permitted. (read: true business casual on Friday, not khakis and a tennis shirt) I was more flamboyant then, but most of what I know about real men's clothing I learned from those guys.

If business was slow on a Saturday, they used to send me out to spy on Brooks Brothers, see how they were doing. This was my favorite task. First, I would stroll the neighborhood, smoke a few cigarettes and do some window shopping, kill some time. Then I would go into Brooks Brothers and ride the elevator to the suit department and gawk at the mannequins. I'd wander around and soak up the atmosphere, until one of the salesmen decided to oust the weird teenager by asking me if I needed help. I'd say 'No thanks, just looking', stroll out, get a cup of coffee, go back to work and say, 'Brooks is dead too, maybe two guys looking.', or whatever my boss wanted to hear.

That's what I did on the weekend for spending money while my contemporaries worked at the supermarket or McDonald's.

I was 16 then, and it was the only time in my life that my job required me to dress in a suit.

Sigh.

The More Things Change....

As many of you already know, our friend Tin Tin, author of "The Trad", recently acquired a copy of the much discussed and sought after Japanese tome Take Ivy. In his great kindness he has done us the public service of scanning the entire book. Thank You, Tin Tin, not only for providing us with this wonderful resource, but for helping to cool the hype about it.

Anyway, in my own perusal of the photos I saw a couple of shots taken in Harvard Square, and since I live nearby I thought it might be fun to recreate them.

The Andover Shop in the 1960'sThe Andover Shop last week.

(Note: It was a little dreary the day I took this photo. On a sunny day they still have the narrow awnings which cover the upper half of the windows, just like in the old photo. The window displays are very much the same. However, they no longer have a poster advertising a Phil Ochs concert in the window.)J.Press in the 1960's
J.Press last week.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, no?

There's no denying that J.Press and Andover Shop are vanguards of the Ivy League style, stalwart outfitters who helped invent a way of dressing and continue to stick by it, while somehow managing not to appear dated or downright silly. Unlike the venerable Brooks Brothers, these two saw neither the need for excessive global brand expansion nor the "fashionization" that it seems to have necessitated. One wonders if things might be different had Brooks opened up shop next door to Harvard instead of on Boston's more posh Newbury Street.

I get the impression on looking at these photos that Press and Andover may have had ( or maybe still do) a kind of 'coke-or-pepsi' relationship at one time. It's evident in the buildings themselves.

J.Press is to my mind the more conservative of the two, and it rightly resides in a building that looks as thought it should bear a plaque that says "George Washington slept here". Very old, very Cambridge. Serious and W.A.S.P.-y.

Andover Shop is the place where Miles Davis shopped. The building is an architectural anomaly, a Danish style modernist cube of concrete and glass nestled on narrow old Holyoke Street among old wooden buildings dating back some 200 years. It looks like the kind of place where people listen to jazz and smoke weed after closing time.

Two very different places offering different takes on the same theme. Each place carved out a unique identity long ago and had the fortitude to stick with it, in all their argyle-socked, patchwork-tweed glory. The true testament to what these places mean is the very fact that don't seem 'quaint' in the least. But I'm a fan of this stuff, so maybe I'm a bit biased.

To J.Press and the Andover Shop! I hope one day to purchase from you directly. In the meantime, may your customers continue to donate their castoffs to charity, so that your products can find their way to the likes of my grubby hands.