The always-entertaining love child of David Foster Wallace and Hunter F. Thompson--I refer, of course, to ADG of Maxmaximus--has a meditation on gabardine. Check out the last photo there. Can you imagine anyone wearing pants like that today anywhere except the streets outside Milan Fashion Week trying to get shot by Sartorialist? The moral of the story is: Do whatever you want with your clothes. In the space of two generations, you will be venerated.
By the way, if you still read Sart, you should stop out of solidarity with your fellow humans who don't look like runway models.
On a totally unrelated note, listening to Adele in serious stereo is so much better than listening on the radio in the car.
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Where the hell have I been and why hasn't someone made me aware of your blog.
ReplyDeleteDFW and Hunter's Boy here.
I have no idea where you've been--too many unfamiliar three-letter acronyms in your prose--in fact, when I first read your response, I thought you were talking about Dallas/Fort Worth, my ancestral homeland--but I toil in obscurity apart from a five-column paid gig as a stringer for the Washingtonian's website once upon a time. Delighted that you enjoy the site, though. I recommended yours to my dad, a fellow clotheshorse.
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