Why Does Everyone Joke About Getting Socks For Christmas?

Dapper Fiancee's sister and BIL got me some Dapper Classics over-the-calf socks in sky blue (shown), scarlet, and lavender.  They are properly lightweight with a faint ribbed pattern to them.  (Thick weaves with deep clefts look, to my eye, a bit casual.)  Unlike some Paul Fredrick OTC, they go all the way up over my calves; unlike some Jos. A. Bank OTC, the heel pockets actually sit at my heels rather than halfway up my Achilles tendon.

I suppose at some point I'll start buying sized dress socks--all the menswear bloggers swear by them--but that seems like a remote event indeed, like being able to afford bespoke cordovan shoes made from a beloved horse from my childhood.


Was that joke in bad taste?  If it helps your feelings, I didn't have a childhood horse.  In fact, horses and I have never gotten along.  Maybe that's part of why I love cordovan.

Shown with brown Church's oxfords made from a beloved cow from someone's childhood.

Patch-Flap Pockets

Been meaning to talk about how much I love them on odd jackets, such as the tweed seen here.  Patch pockets are pockets that sit on the outside of the jacket rather than the inside.  Flap pockets have a flap. 

Perfect for those days when you're hunting pheasant and your beaters are doing their work some yards ahead of you.  You can't be seen wearing a bandolier of shotgun shells; that sort of affectation is for people like Pancho Villa, people who are forced to use even their clothing as a political statement.  Instead, shove as many rounds as you can carry into these pockets.  Let them bulge.  Use them.

A bit too casual for court around here, although there's at least one extremely dapper lawyer in the Tidewater area who wears, with chinos, a three-roll-two navy odd jacket made out of a heavier wool material with two patch-flap pockets and a patch pocket on the chest.  I find it epic.  Just goes to show that a person wearing well-tailored pants, shone shoes, an appropriate tie, and an obviously well-designed and well-loved jacket has the capacity to outdress a person wearing a suit.

Fours In Hand? Four In Hands? Four Ins Hand?

These days, I only wear four-in-hand knots unless I'm wearing a tie that's too skinny to support anything smaller than a Windsor.  This day reminded me of why: A good one bows out to the right before swinging back to respectability.  Note also that this particular tie (had for free as part of an introductory offer from Charles Tyrrwhit, sort of a tight faux-grenadine texture) has a rear blade that bows outward even further to peek around the big trunk on the front.  Quite mischievous. 

Obviously, between the tattersall shirt and the tweed jacket, I'm not going to court in this outfit unless it's an emergency.  But if I have to, the judge won't be offended, and at least I'll be warm back in lockup if they step me back for contempt.  I sure wish this jacket had a throat latch.


Mothers-in-law, attorneys general...