I feel like an ass for not blogging for a week, but I've been in a bit of a jam with "finals" and going to "Paris" and I'm not exactly a world class traveler. Just a procrastinator. In lieu of an entry, here's my long ass final. Banged out in a few hours mind you, I'm a very busy and important person. Meghan, this is dedicated to you.
“British Male Style,” or “Why I’m Trying to Move Here.”
Picture yourself walking down Kensington High Street. It’s your typical London day, an ashy gray sky complimented by the constant bobbing of the black umbrella, punctuated by the humble Primark clear and the pretentious Burberry number. As you continue walking, pondering the necessity of a gelatto from the corner store or the casual two liter of Strongbow, you begin to people watch in order to take your mind off of the unnecessary calories. In front of PC World is your typical male, squinting into the sky even when it has been clearly raining for the better part of the day. In front of the adjoining Urban Outfitters and American Apparel is the European Scene kid, staring stone faced into the road as he puffs away on his Clove. Continue walking, and not only will you be rewarded by the delightful smells and window displays of Whole Foods, but the presence of the stylish business man as he slings his baguette dinner over his shoulder. Even though clothes might not make the man, they sure as hell explain a lot about them. Join me, as I journey down High Street and examine the style and complimenting personality of these three types of men.
The casual male; ie. That guy you went to University with and consider deleting off of Facebook because he is constantly changing his status and soiling the sanctity of the news feed. Let’s name this man; John. He considers throwing on a polo and jeans dressing up, and if he really wants to put in that little bit of extra effort he will dig through his closet for that pair of khaki’s he got for his birthday. Ex-Girlfriends have supplied John with the staples of his wardrobe, the majority of which have the Ralph Lauren polo player inconspicuously stitched on the right breast. He has it in red, navy blue, or black, and if he’s feeling a little crazy, or eagerly anticipating margarita night, might go so far as to purchase a lime green one. He has a dependency upon two of the States lesser brands: Abercrombie & Fitch and its bastard stoner surfer cousin, Hollister. Why Europe has deemed these overpriced and monotonous articles of clothing fashionable is beyond my tender young mind. Between the two brands, both sides of the color spectrum are comfortably covered. The majority of Abercrombie is divided within the shades of maroon, the navy, the army green, and the dark plaid. (For those of you fortunate enough not to have taken the three month migraine known as “Color Theory,” there are four tints and three shades to every color.) Hollister, being the skankier half-sister of this incestuous and twisted family, includes these colors but its consumers tend to stray towards the magenta’s and crimson’s and tangerine’s of it’s cheapened and demoralized palette. The two stores share many of the same styles and fabrics, but there is a shocking difference in the price range. For example, “The Wakely Jacket,” found on the Abercrombie and Fitch website will run you 180 pounds, but the identical “Dana Jacket” on the Hollister website (found in the aptly named Dudes section) will cost a paltry 114 pounds. Both are the same charcoal gray color, and boast of a “vintage wash”, assorted “rugged” zippers, seams and closures, hoods, and surprise surprise they’re both imported. The only big difference that jumps off my computer screen is that the Abercrombie jacket consists of 59% cotton/41% nylon and the Hollister is 76% polyester/24% cotton. As we all know, polyester is the very cloth of Satan (as dictated in the New New Testament, Chapter 12, Verse 10, The Book of Sarah) but does that justify the extra 66 pounds? If John is hanging outside of PC world, he clearly needs that extra money to go buy himself a Macbook. His brothers at the annual fraternity reunion will be so impressed, they might overlook the ever growing beer belly John has started to accumulate. Or when he passes out of the bathroom floor of the bar after going shot for shot with his Big. Live the dream John, live the dream.
Moving on to one of the more conspicuous members of High Street, the urban Scene kid. Lets call him; Ross. Ross is one of the many who has evolved from the stereotypical Emo child into the vision that stands before you today. He has traded in his baggy band shirts and cartoon bedecked backpack for a more sophisticated and style friendly collection. Although the entire “Emo” scene began in the United States during the punk rock movement of the 1980’s and only became mainstream in the early millennium due to the popularity of bands such as ‘Jimmy Eat World’ and ‘My Chemical Romance’ the Emo lifestyle quickly went international. The heavy eyeliner and side swept bangs along with the stereotypical black down to the fingernails made them easy to spot. They are not to be confused with Goths, as Goth music is a lot more heavy and industrial (ie. Cradle of Filth, in some circles even Marilyn Manson) and Emo is more of a whiny sound. Emo was also looked down upon, even denounced by the bands that its style supposedly sprang from, especially as of late during such festivals as Warped Tour. “In 2008 Time Magazine reported that "anti-emo" groups attacked teenagers in Mexico City, Querétaro, and Tijuana.” (Wikipedia) The media portrayal of the Hannah Bond suicide has also shed light on the problem of glamorizing suicide and cutting. The thirteen year old hung herself in response to the lyrics found in the songs she was listening to, according to her parents and blogs from her Bebo and Myspace. The Emo generation has begun to become older, and the androgynous style and tight fitting clothes have morphed into a more free-spirited and lighter scene. Put bluntly, the Scene lifestyle is loosely described as that of a rich hippie.
The usual Scene child (ranging from fourteen to mid-twenties) spends a lot more money and time on appearance that they let on to. Let’s examine the typical outfits and price range one might encounter. Ross is very likely to walk out of American Apparel with a fine jersey short V-neck (14 pounds) the stretch twill slim slack lite in any variety of obnoxious colors (lilac, yellow, bloody murder red) for a whopping 62 pounds, and how could one forget the baby rib cardigan for 38 pounds. The shoes could technically be whatever Ross so chooses, but he tends to switch off between Converse and Nike or the traditional dress shoe if it’s a bit nippy and he’s wearing the slim corduoroy slacks. However, the Scene wardrobe could not be complete without the vintage black eyeglasses, and even though Ross is not vision impaired he wears thick empty frames. If Ross chooses to walk the extra five steps and turn into the precariously placed Urban Outfitters, he might be so inclined to pick out a more vintage looking, if still skin-tight outfit.
Ross wants to appear casual yet still slightly heterosexual as he tears into a six pack in Kensington Gardens later that night, so he’s going to go with the most desirable print known to man: plaid. To impress the ladies (or men, or both, who knows these days) he might go with the black and white Salt Valley Plaid Roll Sleeve Shirt for a manageable 40 pounds, paired with the Cheap Monday Tight Italian Un-Washed Jean for 45 pounds. He will be able to spend this amount of money on clothes because he has foregone eating for some time now, and instead lives off of a diet of cigarettes, beer, and disillusionment. It’s hard to tell who or what is heterosexual now from both the male and female perspective, as both sexes go for a more androgynous look. The only difference is the female might forgo pants altogether and simply wear tights or leggings with a long shirt and hopefully a bra. Ross likes to accessorize with a burgundy stocking cap which has yet to be washed, and chooses between a collection of cotton scarves of varying pattern and stripe width. When he’s feeling extreme he might throw on a blazer and bike out to the country side to read Indie magazines while standing up as not to get grass stains on his pants, and BBM’s (Black Berry Mobile’s) his mates to figure out whose basement they will invade that night. Then he shall decide whether or not it’s a special enough occasion to break out the lucky flannel. (It’s not just for lumberjacks anymore!) The irony is the entire look is supposed to scream “I don’t have enough money for couture and I don’t give a flying fuck, I’m just going to wear this old baggy shirt” when Ross just charged a couple hundred on Daddy’s plastic. Dinner’s going to be a whole lot of fun tonight, Ross.
After shaking your head at the insufferable Ross, you carry on to the Mecca that is Whole Foods and run into a slew of business men and women, briskly walking home from work. They all carry on in their fashionable outfits, to their fashionable apartments, where they will then go to a fashionable bar with their fashionable friends and fashionably black out before being carried back to said apartments. On a Tuesday. Or atleast that’s what I’ve gathered from West London night life so far. Maybe I’ve been going to the wrong places. Anyway, let’s pinpoint one of these fashionable people and gather what we can from what they are wearing. Let’s name the man carrying the baguette; Josh. He wears a slate gray suit with faintly visible pinstripes, complimented by a black tie and the quintessential Tom Cruise aviators. (A la Top Gun, pre-scientology) Josh graduated from Cambridge and now works for a top financial firm, doing as little work as possible and writing witty memo’s to justify his salary. Unlike John, Josh cares about what he wears and pays attention to what is trendy for the season. He openly admits that he is metrosexual, and happily passes the time strolling around Harrod’s and Harvey Nichol’s, browsing for accessories and continuing the eternal search for the perfect man purse. (Manly enough to be considered a briefcase, but large enough to carry his gym shorts. Rarely is there a happy medium.) Having already found the quintessential Burberry trench, he can now sleep soundly at night, after the usual double nightcap and episode of John and Kate Plus 8. He tries to live his life by British GQ, and frequents the restaurants and online boutiques they recommend. He takes a crack at cooking some of the fancier dishes, ones his sister has grappled with before accepting defeat and polishing off the wine she was supposed to have used in the recipe. He is also a man whore, but no ones perfect and penicillin is cheap, especially with free healthcare.
John makes it a point to know all of the classics: Keats, Brown, Blake, Timbaland, and Armani. Taken from the Armani website concerning their most current collection, “The holiday season and long sunny days of summer are evoked by shades of Havana brown lit up by gleams of light and the shimmer of silk on linen…For an energetic walk there are lace-up shoes with rope inserts: alternatively, look for versions in woven leather like Viennese straw, or ankle boots in ray-effect tanned leather.” It sounds like really expensive music. On the weekends, Josh enjoys a bit of golf while wearing a dapper little Havana straw hat, accompanied with a vest and boat shoes. Some may think Josh looks like a tool, but he doesn’t really care. He learned a long time ago that nothing really matters, especially when you have an Audi.
As I continue down High Street, down to the very pit of Tesco where Americans cursing the exchange rate belong, I continue to see varying levels of our John, Ross, and Josh as they carry about their daily lives. After spending a month in this glorious country, I have come to my conclusion: the typical American male knows nothing about style. Although I have visited London twice before on holiday, I was not yet old enough to appreciate the hordes of sports coats, vests, suits, scarves, and trench coats. Just the fact alone that these people are trying gives me more hope about the male, nay, human race as a whole. Maybe I’ve been living at an engineering school for too long, and hanging out with frat guys too often, but I had clearly not known the bar could be raised to this level. I will return to America, with this new knowledge and explain to my brethren the errors of their ways. Consequently this will end with them telling me to shut up but at the very least I will have tried. And isn’t that the first glorious step towards failure? Prior to my coming here I had very little knowledge of British style, and all I had gathered had come from the media and films such as Pride and Prejudice, Atonement, and Brideshead Revisited. Granted, no one here is wearing riding boots and speaking in fancy tongues about their estates and the number of sheep they own (yet) but there is still a dignified air that is lacking in the States. British style is something to be admired and emulated, and I’m not sure the rest of the world (or at least the US) is quite ready to handle it.
Works Cited
American Apparel. 21 July 2009 Armani. 21 July 2009
Burberry. 21 July 2009.
"Emo." Wikipedia. 21 July 2009
Urban Outfitters. 21 July 2009
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