For A Change, Some Upbeat Sartorial Intel
I wish it to be known that this morning on the downtown 2 train I saw a man wearing an outfit of which I unreservedly, head-to-toe approved. This happens infrequently enough (roughly nonece a day, or even a week) that it merits a minor hosanna.
Said outfit consisted of a beautiful black suit with thin, closely-spaced chalkstripes, a dark crimson shirt, a tie with a baroque-yet-tasteful crimson victorian-rose pattern on black, and nice, masculine, square-toed black laceups of sensible British lineaments. (None of these horrid, horrid, horrid Italianoid slipper-shoes, which are in themselves enough to make me write the wearer off as an overoiled low-rent cruiseship con-operator-cum-gigolo.) All in all, a bold, stylish and well-conceived ensemble, and a highlight of my morning.
Man undoubtedly earns his crust skinning babies or steam-heating sweatshops, but at least he does so with a modicum of aesthetic seriousness. And that's something.