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Showing posts with label Fashion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fashion. Show all posts

Tuesday, 2 February 2021

SIBLING RIVALRY

Brooks Brothers @ Crossroads (Again)

By Alan Flusser

Brooks Brothers lies lifeless, as if on an operating table waiting for someone to resuscitate it. For months now, observers have pondered whether the right doctor with the right medicine will appear… Or whether the Godfather of American menswear be the victim of yet another well-meaning but ill-qualified owner who, like his predecessors, ends up chipping away at this once mighty fortress of men’s fashion and style.

 On September 1, Authentic Brands Group LLC and SPARC Group LLC announced that they’d completed the acquisition of the 202-year-old institution — outfitter of 41 of 45 American presidents and the first retailer in the country to sell ready-made clothing for men. With the matter of a new owner resolved, the question for Brooks Brothers now is, where to from here?

Since the company filed for Chapter 11 in July, Brooks’ future has been the subject of fevered discussion. The most draconian of rumors has it that the majority of the famed retailer’s stores will likely disappear along with its three American factories. Distribution will move down-market to cheaper and more efficient online sales as opposed to the traditional, in-person experience that customers have long relied upon.

Friday, 30 October 2015

PEAL & CO., LONDON

SHOE SHINE
By Richard Carreño
[WC News Service]
I might be in the running for this year's Imelda Marcos Prize for Acquiring Too Many Shoes. JV, Men's Division. I have almost fifty pairs. In all designs, colours, and materials. Wing-tips, cap-toes, monk straps, bowlers, duck boots, boat shoes, Chelsea boots, hiking boots, an assortment of slip-on moccasins, rubber field boots, tennis shoes, brogues, and lots of things in suede. And opera slippers. More than I need, of course. But that's a bit beside the point, init?
 
I have my favourites; usually preferring lace-up Oxfords.
 
Apart from sport shoes, my choices are mostly all in leather in either black or brown. Though I do have blue pair of suede wing-tips and a sort of orangery-coloured pair of Oxfords. (I got these in Madrid).
 
All are in name-tagged in wood (mostly cedar) shoe trees. All are polished to a spit-shine. This kind of maintenance is labour-intensive. I use good tools. Horse-hair brushes and the like. Like John O'Hara, I do the polishing myself, finding the cleaning and brushing, in an odd way, as O'Hara did, relaxing and therapeutic. And I won't deny taking pleasure in the wafting aroma of boot wax that fills the air of my dressing room.
 
When done, laces are tied. Buckles are buckled. And the shoes are queued in rows, by colour and style. They shine like Horse Guards on parade.

Saturday, 2 August 2014

Cable Car Clothiers

Richard Carreño/WritersClearinghouse News Service
More Oxbridge than Ivy
A San Francisco Treat
By Richard Carreño
[WritersClearinghouse News Service] Posted 2 August 2014
San Francisco
Until a few years ago, almost every American city of size -- even some smaller places, especially if they were college towns --  featured at least one haberdasher known to its residents as the university, or Ivy shop, local purveyors of traditional men's clothing. These clothiers also bred what was to become known as the 'preppy look, the full definition of which flowered in the mid-20th century in a combination of American and British styling. In other words, think of an earlier version of Brooks Brothers, which through the 1900s vigorously marketed its singular American look via a coast-to-coast network of branch shops.
 
Or, in this city, think Cable Car Clothiers, which, since 1939, has been emphasizing its own British pedigree in its clothing lines. At Cable Car, it's more Oxbridge than Ivy.

Monday, 9 June 2014

Barefoot and Airborne

FLIPPED OVER FLOPS
By Richard Carreño
[WritersClearinghouse News Service]
Move over Calf-High Boot Season. Make way for Flip-Flop Season. With matching polyester pjs optional.
 
In the airline business, there are two seasons. High? Low? No, seasoned airline flight crews and agents monitor seasonal change by passenger dress and appearance. Let the suits fret about seasonal high/low ticket costs.
 
Of course, there's nothing new about pax deplaning from the islands in colourful calypso attire. Regardless of the winter weather, passengers from Nassau, Mexican resorts, Aruba (you name the generic Caribbean island) will invariably walk off in the kind of clothes they wore earlier in the day while sunning at the beach. Swim shorts and tank tops for men? Sure. Cut-offs for women. You bet. The only thing missing is a limbo stick and surf board to help shovel three feet of the white stuff as they make their way to their snowed-in cars. Day One message: 'I was vacationing and tanning, and you weren't!' Day Two Message: 'Boss, I can't come in. I'm sick!'
 
What with the warm weather now arriving, on-board summer-wear has become more uniform.
 
In fact, it is sort of a uniform.
 

Thursday, 8 May 2014

Librarie Galignani

 
Photos WritersClearinghouseIRichard Carreño



Designer Book-Buying
Popped into Librarie Galignani, 224 rue de Rivoli, Paris' oldest English-language bookshop, last week for some odds and ends for philabooksIbooksellers. I made my way to the rear of the store, where I noticed a white-haired, pony-tailed gent running through several stacks of books with shop assistant. After a moment, I recognized him as Kark Lagerfeld, Chanel's creative director.

Lagerfeld was obviously a faithful patron of the shop; his photo is displayed near an information desk. He also reads in English, and histories seem to be a favorite subject. I checked the stacks he selected after he departed the shop with an armful of books. A driver was awaiting, with a parked limo on front.
-- Richard Carreño

Monday, 22 July 2013

Fashion: Toff Love

 
 Photo Abigail Carreño Miller/WritersClearinghouse News Service

AN EMPTY SUIT
BY RICHARD CARRENO
[SPECIAL TO WRITERSCLEARINGHOUSE NEWS SERVICE]

PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND
I've been to numerous fashion shows.
Some live.
 Years ago, when I was the men's fashion editor for the Worcester Telegram in Massachusetts and, later, as the men's fashion reporter for The Hartford Courant, these used to be ritualised week-long affairs orchestrated twice a year. Winter fashion in the summer in New York and summer fashion in the winter at a mountain for seashore resort, mostly in New Jersey. (Or, was it winter fashion in New York? Never mind). Lots of models strutting. Lots of designers blowing hot air. And lots of swag bags. They were left in hotel rooms while reporters/editors were out to dinner and an evening event. Inside the bag -- actually, a basket or huge box -- were gifts worth hundreds. The hotel room and all meals were free too. Conflict of interest? Sure. Influence peddling. Not so much. Most colleagues I knew -- at least, the ones who weren't in it simply for the swag -- produced largely unbiased reports. Still, whatever the nature of the reporting, the industry of course got a huge publicity payoff.

Photo by Nora Miller

BRUMMELL AND FRIEND
Photo Nora Miller/ Writers Clearinghouse News Service
Photo taken at  the men's costume show, Artist/Rebel/Dandy: Men of Fashion, now under way at the Rhode Island School of Design Museum in Providence.

Wednesday, 20 March 2013

Fashion

The World's OLDEST Mannequin
 
Photos: Writers Clearinghouse News Service


Great Grandma has graced Curson's shop on
19th Street in Centre City since she dated Ben Franklin
 

Monday, 7 May 2012

Fashion @ the Met

Runs to 19 August
Schiaparelli and Prada Show Begins 10 May

Schiaparelli's outre Lobster Dress, worn by the Duchess of Windsor

Photos: Writers Clearinghouse News Service

New York
'Impossible Conversations' is a presentation of the museum's Costume Institute.

Thursday, 12 January 2012

Fashion Report

Vicky Tiel Clucks
on Chic Chicks

'A great read. Buy this book now!'
Richard Carreño, The Philadelphia Junto

"A naughty girl when that was the best a girl could be, inventor of the mini, Paris couturier at 18, Vicky Tiel tells spicy tales from dressing Kim, Ursula and Miles Davis, teasing Woody Allen, staying up late with Princess Grace and more intimate tales than you thought you'd want to know from her years in the entourage of Liz and Dick. Comes complete with tricks you need: bedroom advice, supermodels' diet guide, how to get men to give jewelry and the recipe for a perfect pink tunafish sandwich."

--Gael Greene, author of Insatiable: Tales from a Life of Delicious Excess


"A delicious romp...her memoir reads like all of the juiciest bits of your favorite gossip magazine, pushing back the curtains of an over-the-top life among the who's who of the '60s-'80s."
--Kirkus Review

The New York Times
'Vicky Tiel’s 40-Year Career in Fashion,' Christopher Petkanas, August 19, 2011
If you are famous for dressed-to-spill goddess gowns beloved by women like Joan Collins and Halle Berry — steel stays radiating pitilessly from the diaphragm — then deciding what to wear to pick up a reporter at a train station in upstate New York might pose a challenge.

Wall Street Journal
'A Miniskirt Started It.'Pia Catton, August 13, 2011
If you have not been frolicking throughout Europe and Hollywood with the rich and famous this summer, you may wish to dive into the memoir of fashion designer and bon vivant Vicky Tiel. “It’s All About the Dress” is a breeze through her 40 years in the worlds of fashion, celebrity, sex and food. Ms. Tiel dressed Elizabeth Taylor, Goldie Hawn and Jane Fonda, and partied with Miles Davis, Warren Beatty and Aaron Spelling. Reading her stories is a grand time all on its own. 

Thursday, 15 September 2011


Ralph Rucci

Photos: Richard Carreno/Writers Clearinghouse
Brilliant Ralph Rucci
Dazzles Fashion Week
New York
[Writers Clearinghouse News Service]
Ralph Rucci's Spring Collection, on the runway yesterday, took Fashion Week by storm. The following report is from Women's Wear Daily. -- Richard Carreno.
The Chado Ralph Rucci collection was breathtaking — and for many reasons, Rucci’s traditionally incredible fabrics and workmanship certainly being two of them. He maintained their couture quality yet moved toward looks that women will find accessible while still interesting. Other than the abundant presence of plastic, Rucci’s approach was more subtle than ever. Layers were gentle, and embroidery and embellishments never overpowered the already striking silhouettes. For the most part, insets and dramatic seaming had a light touch, as did the python pencil skirt paired casually with a tucked white chiffon shirt. A double-faced lavender wool crepe dress moved over a barely visible tulle skirt. Rucci seemed to have fun with his details, evident on a white wool coat with playful black circles. Even shapes with glitter were kept simple — a lean tunic and skirt in silver paillettes, and the easy, black beaded caviar blouson dress was a knockout. This collection was strong because of its restraint as well as its execution shown in the gorgeous gowns, as in the white glass beaded version with a fuchsia beaded skirt panel in back. 

Tuesday, 14 June 2011

Fashion: Men's Hats

The Chico Look

Chico Marx (1946)

'Dood' Chico (2011)


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Wednesday, 11 May 2011

From Literary Review

Behind Clothes, Hors d'oeuvres

By Jane Ridley

Behind Closed Doors: The Tragic, Untold Story of the Duchess of Windsor
By Hugo Vickers (Hutchinson 462pp £25)

The English love to hate Wallis Simpson. She is vilified as the gold-digging sex goddess who stole our film-star king, Edward VIII. Hugo Vickers has spent a lifetime following Wallis. At the age of twelve, when most children his age were in thrall to the Beatles, Hugo was a fan of the Duchess of Windsor. His researches have convinced him that Wallis has been unfairly treated, and that she was not a villain but a victim. This was true throughout her life, but never more so than at the end.

Wallis, the widowed Duchess of Windsor, spent her last years incarcerated in a living grave in her villa in the Bois de Boulogne. Barely able to speak, mentally confused and paralysed by rheumatism and strokes, she had almost ceased to exist as a person. She lay all day in bed in a vegetative state, fed through a tube in her nose and attached to a life-support machine. Her lawyer, the sinister Maître Suzanne Blum, kept her under close surveillance. Blum could be charming, but (according to Vickers) she was a ruthless, wicked crook. Claiming to act as the Duchess's devoted friend and protector, she fired her respectable English lawyer, sacked the Duchess's loyal servants and banished her old friends, such as Diana Mosley. The royal family was kept away. The big question concerned what was to happen to the Windsor loot. Lord Mountbatten tried to wheedle his way in as an executor, but Blum saw him off. There were tales of bonfires of papers. While the Duchess lay unconscious upstairs, the dishonest butler filched her love letters, which he found stored in a shoebox, and handed them over to Blum (at a price) for safekeeping. Jewels and furniture mysteriously disappeared.

The writer Michael Bloch appeared on the scene, acting as Blum's assistant. It was his job to write the story of the Windsors, using the letters that Blum had removed from the villa. Blum claimed that the Duchess had signed a document giving her authority to publish her papers. This was dated 1975, when the Duchess was still in possession of her mind - but it only appeared ten years later. Vickers is convinced that the document is a fake, and Blum did not own the copyright on the Duchess's letters. Under French law she didn't have power of attorney over Wallis, but no one intervened from England to challenge her iron grip over the Duchess.

Wallis died in 1986, aged eighty-nine. Bloch's edition of Wallis and Edward's letters was serialised in the Daily Mail to coincide with Wallis's funeral, and Bloch and Blum netted a seven-figure sum. Two more books by Bloch followed, each more far-fetched than the last. The final volume claimed that the Duchess was really a man. No one ever saw the Duchess's will. Blum sold her jewels through Sotheby's for a staggering £31 million, which she gave to the Institut Pasteur: a generous gift, but there's no telling whether this was what the Duchess had intended.

Vickers's account of the Duchess's long, horrific death and Blum's machinations is a page-turner, piling on detail after grisly detail. Since he first visited the Windsors at the age of twenty as a researcher for Burke's Peerage, Vickers made it his business to keep a watchful eye on the villa in the Bois de Boulogne, occasionally stopping outside to observe the light burning in the upstairs window; he got to know the Duchess's secretary and the Duke's private secretary, two of the more decent characters in the story. He had the foresight to keep a diary, and this allows him to tell the story in the first person, a device that gives the book a gripping sense of urgency.

The story of her death, which forms the greater part of the book, Wallis's life comes as something of an anticlimax. Vickers insists throughout that Wallis was someone to whom things happened - she was no adventuress, merely a drifter. She was born Bessie Wallis Warfield near Baltimore. It's a surprise to learn that the Warfields were a posh Maryland family descended twice over from Henry III and that Wallis came from a higher stratum of American society than Jackie Kennedy or Princess Grace. But she was a poor relation, and a difficult childhood had left her financially insecure and with a need to dominate. After the collapse of her first, brief marriage to an alcoholic airman, she spent a year in China. Vickers dismisses the theory that it was here that Wallis learned exotic sexual techniques - though he does quote Lady Gladwyn, the wife of the British ambassador to France, who told him that the Duke of Windsor was unable to perform and that the Duchess knew how to cope with the problem. 'There was nothing Chinese about it. It was what they call oral sex,' she said.

Husband No. 2, Ernest Simpson, was an Anglo-American businessman. The couple lived in a flat in Bryanston Court, and she socialised with the American colony in London. Simpson's sister was a friend of the American Thelma Furness, then mistress of the Prince of Wales, which was how the meeting that changed Wallis's life was arranged. Few could explain the attraction Wallis exerted on the Prince. She had a raucous voice and an overlarge chin, and she was uneducated, with no interest in music or art.

It is well attested that Wallis tried to stop Edward from abdicating. She wasn't in love with him, didn't want to be queen and was horrified when she realised how much he was giving up. Although she allowed herself to be persuaded to divorce Simpson, she apparently failed to see what was coming. Vickers argues that Edward alone brought about the abdication, and there was no Establishment plot to get rid of him. Marriage condemned Wallis to a lifetime dedicated to entertaining the spoiled and childlike Duke. By all accounts he remained devoted to her. She dominated him, and she was fortunate that an empty life of socialising, fashion and jet-setting suited her far more than it did him. It was the Duke, not Wallis, who cared that she wasn't styled HRH - this meant that women were not expected to curtsey to her - and who nursed her in-laws' petty slights.

The Queen allegedly once remarked: 'The two people who have caused me most trouble in my life are Wallis Simpson and Hitler.' Hugo Vickers's compelling account makes one feel that Wallis did the Queen a favour. She made a success of a marriage she had never really wanted, and kept the restless Duke of Windsor safely anchored for thirty-five years. She certainly didn't deserve the ghastly death so hauntingly described here.

Jane Ridley's biography of Edward VII will be published by Chatto & Windus next year.

(@philabooks|booksellers carries all books by and about the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, or at least endeavours to do so. Unfortunately, this title is not yet in its catalog via http://www.philabooks.webs.com/). 





Saturday, 19 December 2009

Fashion

 
'Pant,' 'Britches,' and Other 'Thongs'

By Richard Carreño
Junto Staff Writer
What is it about the American apparel industry and 'we the people' that it caters to that we can't ever seem to get some basic fashion facts straight? Basics as in the terminology for those everyday two-legged garments men and women wear to cover their torsos -- otherwise known as 'trousers' 'pants,' and, less today than in the sleek sixties, as 'slacks.' And how can we forget omni-present 'jeans'?

We might all put one leg in after another like everyone else, but, for many, that's about all we agree on when it comes to the garments that conceal our torso, rear, legs, and, of course, our privates underneath. 

Ever since boys and girls outgrew diapers and got into 'pants,' the American lexicon has grappled with what to actually call those things we graduated into. Plural, singular, who wears what where, spelling, usage are all part of the muddled, troublesome terminological thicket that doesn't seem to go away.

Even a ready reference to those cherished garments in which we shake our booty, strut our stuff, and often conceal our anatomical imperfections has some exceptions.

But, first, think plural. Derived from 'pantaloons,' from way back when, even the abbreviated form 'pants' is always spoken of in the plural. Like 'scissors,' 'pants,' 'trousers,' 'slacks,' and the like are a plurale tantum, a noun that is always in a plural form whether it refers to one or more.

Besides 'pant' sort of has a fey ring to it, not the kind of thing that most men -- including Sponge Bob Squarepants -- really want to be wearing. Though, perhaps, pegged-legged Long John Silver could get away with it.
  
Similarly, it's'breeches,' as in 'riding breeches,' not 'breech.' And spelling counts. Never, ever 'britches.' No wonder the once popular Washington-based men's haberdasher, 'Britches of Georgetown,' is no more.

Plurale tantum also applies to undergarments: It's 'undershorts,' or more specifically 'boxers' and 'briefs,' for men; 'panties' (small pants') for women. Exceptions: the slang 'undetrou' (men) and the increasingly popular 'thong' (women).('Thongs' would literally mean wearing two or more thongs at one time, probably a more complicated wardrobe function than getting trussed to a chastity belt).

Never mind about 'bloomers' (plural). They went out with the girdle (singular).

Collective nouns for 'underthings' are, of course, singular. It's lingerie' and 'underwear,' for example. 

Who wears what where? Men wear 'pants' in America and 'trousers' in the UK. Men in the UK also wear pants -- but they're underwear. On the other hand, women wear 'knickers' rather than 'panties.' Knickers? In America, they're the trousers that golfers used to wear. Some still do.

'Pants' and 'trousers' also have some putative class distinction. At least, according the late Nancy Mitford, a keen observer of Society's one-upmanship based on lingustic usage. In the UK, she noted in Debrett's U & Non-U Revisted, 'trousers' is considered upper class usage. In America, just the opposite: 'pants' is posh. 

In both countries, thankfully, women wear 'slacks,' 'hot-pants,' 'short-shorts,' 'cut-offs,' 'Capri pants,' 'hip-huggers,' and the latest in two-legged attire, 'skinny jeans.' Never, 'jean.' But you know that.

Whether you're a woman wearing 'low-riders' showing off your a derriere 'coin slot' and a thongy 'whale tail,' or a male sagger wearing baggy jeans displaying colorful undertrou, remember you can always proudly tell the world who's wearing the pants by getting the names right-- even if you call them slacks, trousers, or breeches. Otherwise, you might get tagged as just another pantywaist.

Monday, 14 December 2009

The Sporting Life


Picqued by Pinque

By Jim Reeds
Special to Junto
Pink can mean the red coat worn in fox hunting (a.k.a. ``riding to hounds''). One theory about the origin of this meaning refers to a tailor named Pink (or Pinke, or Pinque). I am interested in establishing the truth or falsity of this theory, which I call 'The Legend of Tailor Pink.'


What follows is a list of essentially all discussions of this point that I have found in print. If you can supply any information on the subject, please let me know, at this address: reedsj@dtc.umn.edu Oxford English Dictionary, 1933 (Neutral)


To begin with, the OED gives many examples from the 1800's of the use of the fox hunting sense of ``pink.'' Note that the OED does not mention the Tailor Pink story.
6. Scarlet when worn by fox-hunters; a scarlet hunting coat, or the cloth of which it is made.
1834 DISRAELI Corr. w. Sister 15 Feb., Although not in pink, [i] was the best mounted man in the field. 1860 R. E. WARBURTON Hunt. Songs 1. (1883) 143 A sect..Who blindly follow, clad in coats of pink, A beast whose nature is to run and stink. 1861 HUGHES Tom Brown at Oxf. They are the hunting set, and come in with pea-coats over their pinks. 1889 Daily News 12 nov. 5/2 Scarlet, conventionally known as `pink', will, he trusts, last as long as fox-hunting. 1900 Ibid. 24 Feb. 6/7 A short coat in hunting pink.
b. transf. A man in `pink'; a fox-hunter.
1828 Sporting Mag. XXI. 323. Even in the strictest College a pink could unmolested walk across the Court. 1849 SHAIRP, in W. Knight Shairp & Friends (1888) 44, I see the pinks flocking out to the `meets'. 1869 E. FARMER Scrap Bk. (ed. 6) 91 Pinks call for their second [horse] to finish the run.
...
2. Applied to the colour of a hunting-coat; see A.6. 1857 TROLLOPE Barchester T. xxii, He.. could not be persuaded to take his pink coat out of the press, or his hunters out of the stable.
Anole Hunter, 1929 (Pro)


Anole Hunter (pseud. for Everett Lake Crawford), Let's ride to hounds (Derrydale Press, New York, 1929), page 64:
For as soon as you don pink (really scarlet but called pink for a tailor who was famous for his hunting toggery) you are a marked man.
Mureau and Evans, 1961 (Pro)


Charles Mureau and David Sandford Evans, The Pink Coat, or The Why's and Wherefore's of Fox Hunting (Hill'n Dale Press, Calabasis, California, 1961), page 31:
The reason for the ``Pink'' coat is that a tailor by the name of Pink was the original designer and maker.
Johnston, 1962 (Pro)


Lyle T. Johnston, 1962 Collier's Encyclopedia article on Foxhunting:
The word ``pink'' does not refer to the color of the coat but is a term applied to the state of being formally attired for hunting. It is thought to have had its origin in a tailor by the name of Pink who, in the old days, is supposed to have made the most perfect attire for hunting.
Self, 1963 (Pro)


Margaret Cabell Self, The Complete Book of Horses & Ponies (McGraw Hill, New York, 1963), page 277, has a variant spelling:
These coats are called ``pink'' coats, after a famous tailor named Pinke.
And, in a 1963 edition of a work first published in 1949 (the earlier edition of which I have not seen), The Horseman's Encyclopedia (A. S. Barnes and Company, New York, 1963), page 261:
These are commonly called ``pink'' but not because of their color. A famous London tailor named ``Pink'' or ``Pinke'' gave his name to the hunting coat and they have been called ``pinks'' ever since.
Bloodgood and Santini, 1964 (Anti)


The entry for ``pink'' in The Horseman's Dictionary compiled by Lida Fleitman Bloodgood and Piero Santini, E. P. Dutton, New York, 1964, page 150:
Etymology: Variously ascribed to the `pink' colour of a faded old hunting coat or, without any basis of fact, to the supposed name of a hunting tailer, called `Mr. Pink.'
Longrigg, 1975 (Anti)


Roger Longrigg, The History of Foxhunting, Clarkson N. Potter, Inc., New York, 1975. On page 119:
Red was known sometimes as red, usually as scarlet, and very occasionally as pink. (Cook, in 1826, is one of the first to refer to pink; he does so once or twice as a change from scarlet; this is true of `Nimrod' into the 1840s, Surtees into the 1860s, Sidney into the 1870s. Scarlet remained the normal word into the last quarter of the century. The origin of `pink' is obscure enough; its elevation into shibboleth is baffling. There was no leading tailor of the name -- to dispose of a frequent explanation -- in London or any hunting centre.)
In a letter dated 22 April 1993, Longrigg expands on the last two sentences: use of ``pink'' in speech has been a snobby social class marker (similar to the ones given in Mitford's Noblesse Oblige but for a slightly different social stratum). ``Tailoring is a trade as well documented as cabinet making,'' and if there were a tailor Pink, Longrigg's search would have turned up some documentary record.
Bryant, 1992 (Pro)


Bonnie Bryant, Snow Ride (Bantam, New York, 1992) has another variant spelling:
``Did you know that's not actually pink?'' Carole asked.
``Sure, they're red,'' Stevie said. ``I still don't know why they're called pink, though.'' ``It's P-i-n-q-u-e,'' Carole said, spelling it out. ``It doesn't have anything to do with the color. Pinque was the tailor who designed it.''
According to a letter dated 6 August 1993, Bryant learned the story -- including spelling -- by word of mouth in about 1959 or 1960. Clothiers


A number of clothing retailers in both England and America repeat the Tailor Pink story in their advertising literature. None has been able to supply any evidence for the story.
Problems with the Tailor Pink story


If there was a tailor Pink (or Pinke or Pinque), what was the street address of his place of business? When was he born, when did he die, where is he buried?


Why is there almost a century's gap between the first use of the word ``pink'' for the color of a red hunting coat and the first appearance of the tailor Pink story? Why did the tailor Pink story appear in America decades before it appeared in England? And why does the word ``pink'' appear in lower case (at least in the 19th century) when eponymous words such as ``Wellington,'' ``Blücher,'' ``Stetson,'' ``Levi's'' and so on are usually capitalized in English? Speculations


Here are some of the theories of the origin of ``pink'' and the tailor Pink story that I have run across or have invented:
  1. The coats are called pink because they were invented by tailor Pink.
    Maybe the tailor's given name, or nickname, was Pink.
  2. Transference of meaning from ``pink'' as meaning fashionable dandy, common in the first decades of the 1800's.
  3. Transference of meaning from ``pink'' meaning pinnacle or excellent extreme, as in ``pink of health'' or ``pink of courtesy.''
  4. After a season's use, a scarlet coat fades to pink.
  5. During rain, a scarlet coat's dye washes out to pink.
  6. In the U.S. Army, a certain kind of officers' dress uniform is called ``pink''; in the British army in the 18th and 19th centuries uniform coats were scarlet; maybe there is some connection between these facts and with pink hunting coats?
  7. ``Pink'' was useful as a shibboleth, a social class marker, and hence persisted in use longer than most slang words.
  8. The tailor Pink story was attractive as a ``logical'' explanation to those stung by the accusation that ``pink'' was used as a shibboleth.
  9. There was a tailor Pink, a character in a novel or play, given -- following a practice common in Victorian humorous writing -- an occupational surname, similar to Trollope's Dr Fillgrave or Surtees's Peter Leather, etc. Somewhere along the line people forgot he was fictional.
Of the above, I lean toward theories 2, 3, 7, 8, and 9.
Acknowledgments


Many thanks to these people, who have kindly helped me in my search for information: Bonnie Bryant, Richard D. Carreño, Kristine Carroll, Andy Clark, John B. Glass, A. H. B. Hart, Denise Hughes, Roger Longrigg, John A. V. C. McGrath, Alexander Mackay-Smith, James Mullen, Charles A. Mureau, Aryk Nusbacher, Hilarie Orman, Sarah Pallas, J. Peterman, Diane Reichard, Catherine Rogers, Laura Rose, Brian Scearce, Matt Simpson, David Stockton, and Peter Winants.
Last modified 1 Jan. 2004.


(Jim Reeds reedsj@dtc.umn.edu).

Monday, 16 November 2009

At RISD

Remembering Richard Merkin



         


Artist and RISD professor Richard Merkin in 1976.


 This just in from the Rhode Island School of Design:

Author Tom Wolfe and other luminaries are expected to attend a celebration honoring Richard Merkin, the longtime RISD professor, New Yorker contributor and bespoke fashion icon who died Sept. 5 at his home in Croton-on-Hudson, N.Y. The event, which will include an afternoon program of toasts, testimonials and film screenings at RISD followed by dinner at the Providence Art Club, will take place Saturday, December 5.

Known as much for his style sense as he was for his stylish drawings and illustrations, Merkin cultivated a persona that combined elements of the Edwardian dandy, the bourgeois-defying artist-bohemian and the Jazz Age hipster. It was a look Merkin himself neatly summed up in a 1967 interview, telling a reporter "My sartorial aspirations lie somewhere between the Duke of Windsor and the Duke of Ellington."

According to RISD, the festivities will begin at noon with a screening of two of Merkin's favorite films — the Marx Brothers comedy "Horsefeathers" and the Todd Browning creep-out classic "Freaks" — at the RISD Tap Room (55 Angell St.). At 4 p.m., it's on to the Chace Center auditorium for toasts, testimonials and recollections, followed by dinner ($50 per person) at 8 p.m. at the Art Club.

Needless to say, attendees are urged to wear "snappy clothing."
Bill Van Siclen 

Thursday, 10 September 2009

Richard Merkin RIP

All Boutonniere-ed Up
By Richard Carreno
Junto Staff Writer
There were two sides to Richard Merkin, artist, writer, bon vivant, flaneur, raconteur, bull-shitter, who died Saturday, at 71, in New York of a heart attack. There was the Providence, Rhode Island, Merkin. There was the New York Merkin. There were probably other 'sides' to Merkin that I didn't know. But the list I mention, based on the I Merkin I knew in Providence and Boston, seems enough for one life.
It was a life that shared generously with those, like me, who needed guidance in men's fashion -- oh yeah, Merkin was a toff, too -- and a glib, cheeky quote for an upcoming newspaper story.
The Merkin I knew -- mostly in the 70s and 80s -- was a teacher, as well. (He was a graduate and a long-time instructor at the Rhode Island School of Design).

His presence in Providence as a man-about-town was legendary. I don't think anyone else in Prov at that time was wearing a bowler as everyday hatwear. And Savile Row bespoke suits. And Lobb shoes. The bowler, from Lock, not surprisingly. Or anyone who sucked up as many fancy-Dan cigs (Turkish tabac, I suppose) from a silver case. We used to meet for lunch, drinks. He'd show me around the galleries near Brown. Hey, I was getting an education.
That was the New England Merkin. Image-wise, an Amtrak ride away in New York, I suppose he cut a similar swath, with his favourite croc shoes and boutonniere. But that was the West Side Merkin I didn't know -- the writer for GQ, a pornography boffin, and, in later years, a cover artist for The New Yorker. (How could this immaculate man, seriously, be an artist? Where was the paint under the fingernails? Merkin's nails were always buffed).

There was yet another Merkin. He was also a man of letters. His GQ column was named 'Sense of Style' -- a direct steal from George Frazier's old col in Esquire. He was one of the acolytes of Charlie Davidson -- he of The Andover Shop in Cambridge -- as was Chris Lydon and, to a much lesser degree, myself, as well. We were all sorta Frazier manque, especially after George died -- what was it? -- in 1971.
Still, there was the Merkin-Frazier controversy. It was probably even reported in The Boston Globe. That would be, of course, the old Boston Globe. The Globe that Frazier used to write for. Frazier thought it correct to wear a pocket hankerchief and a boutonniere at the same time. Merkin thought that was painting the lilly. High dungeon, that stuff. 

For all of us, the big cheese was John O'Hara. From O'Hara, all flowed. And, yes, O'Hara sided with Merkin regarding the pocket square/boutonniere dust-up. I think Charlie, ever the fiercest Frazier-ite, even agreed with that. 
___________________________________________________________________________________________ 
Richard Merkin was born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1938, and held degrees from Syracuse University and the Rhode Island School of Design. In 1962-63 he received a Louis Comfort Tiffany Foundation Fellowship in Painting and, in 1975, The Richard and Hinda Rosenthal Foundation Award from The National Institute of Arts and Letters.



Merkin began teaching at RISD in 1963 and remained there for nearly 40 years. During this time, he built his reputation in New York. He was represented in the permanent collections of The Museum of Modern Art, The Smithsonian Institution, and the Whitney Museum, as well as many others.

Merkin was a Contributing Editor for Vanity Fair since 1986 and was a regular contributor of illustrations to The New Yorker since 1988, as well as Harper’s and The New York Times Sunday Magazine. From 1988-1991 he wrote a monthly style column for Gentlemen’s Quarterly. In 1995, he illustrated the book, Leagues Apart: The Men and Times of the Negro Baseball Leagues, (by Larry Ritter). He wrote the text and captions for The Tijuana Bibles, (Simon & Schuster, 1997).


He also had the distinction of appearing on the cover of the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album, (back row, right of center).


Richard Merkin died on September 8, 2009 from a heart attack. He was 71 years old.

Friday, 14 August 2009

Chapeaux





Why Sidney Greenstreet
Was Cool in his Panama Hat

By Andrew Hamilton
Junto Staff Writer
Mount Shasta, California
My information is that they make Panama hats in Ecuador, in the towns of Montecristi and Cuenca, because the straw grows there. They're called Panama hats because they were sold to Gringos at the Canal. The initial standard was the optimo style, the one with the Sidney Greenstreet fore-and-aft ridge down the centre and no sweat-band, so you could roll it up and stuff it into a tube. The hat tyle still exists. So do the tubes. (See Lock's in St. James's, London).

The weave pretty much defines the quality, and there is a wide range. Check the feel of a $49 Cuenca against a medium-grade Montecristi, costing, say $250 in the bargain bin. The finer the weave the better it looks and feels and the least likely it is to break or fray. The finer weaves get pretty supple, which is probably why they go for the Trilby or fedora style, since the material is too soft to support much snap in your wider brims. I got mine about half an inch too wide, and it's a little floppy in a breeze.

Just wore my superfino to the 45th high-school reunion, where a the sun beating down on precancerous balding domes inspired a number of guys to wear white fedoras. I was sort of embarassed, because next to the real thing they all looked like they were wearing party favors or those hard-hats disguised as Stetsons. Didn't want to seem to dis my cohort via ostentatious head-gear.

Christy's in London sells a lot of Cuencas. A market Cuenca is not as well-made as a Montecristi and is usually a starker white from bleaching the straw.

You can tell a Cuenca by the edges, which are usually cut, folded, and sewn back, sometimes covered with tape, and even wired, while Montecristi straws are woven tightly back into the brim leaving a smooth, slightly irregular edge. Also, a Cuenca sombrero is not as somber, and you can see lots of light coming through if you hold it up to the sun. Look closely at the brim and you'll see changes in the weave, with looser weave toward the inside letting. A Cuenca also often ends up with a cloth sweat-band, which wouldn't answer in a good Montecristi. Would be like tying your burgundy Lobbs with plaid laces.

To the undiscerning lubber's eye, however, a good Cuenca hat looks about the same as a Montecristi. It's when you get down into the Macy's or Samaritaine collection of clown hats where the difference is apparent
.



Monday, 2 February 2009

Fashion: Dunkin' Toe Nuts



Slush Puppies:
The Last Frontier of Fashion

By Liliane L. Clever
Junto Staff Writer

What's up with this latest 'bare legs/no stocking' fad for women?
I fully understand this trend in warm climates and of course during the summer.  But in the winter?  I saw a young woman this morning with little sandals -- the kind you would wear on the hottest day of the year -- with bare legs and bare feet.  She seemed oblivious to the cold.
Let me understand -- are young folks on a special diet that protects them from the frigid temperatures? Here I was in my usual get up: pants and reasonable shoes. I was actually shocked and wanted to say something to her. This whole thing made me feel so out of touch and extremely old fashioned.
Yes, stockings are the invention of the devil. They can be tight, uncomfortable, and are expensive -- but they do keep you warm. They also put a barrier between your real self and the world, making you more 'respectable.'
I am telling you, what is the world coming to!  
Part Two: The Summer Feature -- flipflops 24/7 come rain, shine, and come shit! The sandal/flat thing with no socks, etc. Huh? Yes, are they inoculated, or just extra footwear at work? Actually, not reserved for young women.
Men? The winter look? No hats, just a fleece, no umbrella.
Is weather the last frontier of fashion?

Thursday, 29 January 2009

Media Fashion


Blahniks, right








High Fashion, Low Taste

By Richard Carreño
Junto Staff Writer
Surely it comes as no surprise that we live in a branded society -- from aspirational names like 'Ralph Lauren' for the middle middle class to 'State Property' for an up-and-coming urban gangsta getting on his street cred. Even the J. Crew brand seems a bit ambivalent about its association with Michelle Obama and the girls. (The company doesn't want to ruin a good thing).

For a fashion critic, then, untangling such a disparate web of societal coda requires the tenacity of an investigative reporter and the observational skill set of an anthropologist.

TV hokum like 'Access Hollywood' doesn't count. Because designer gowns don't come with labels the size of licence plates (hey, why not?), the so-called reporters on such LA-based television shows as Insider and such get to ask the luminaries what designer was responsible for clothing their slinky backs. That works.

It's a symbiotic relationship that satisfies all the stake-holders -- the designers get free publicity, the luminaries get to wear, on loan, stunning attire for while, and the hacks get to pander to their salivating audiences. (Incidentally, why do these hacks just quiz female luminaries about their clothes? Is there a sexist thing going on? Don't enquiring minds also want to know what their fav male rapper is wearing? 'Fubo', peut etre?).

Anyway, as I was saying.... There's nothing new about this.

What is new is that main-stream media is now also getting into the game -- at least, my home-town screed, The Philadelphia Inquirer.

There was once a time when fashion reporters, the best of them, were that curious combination of sceptical reporter and scientific sociologist. I'm thinking Kennedy Fraser, Allison Lurie, Caterine Milinaire, Alan Flusser, Anne Hollander, Paul Fussell, James Laver, Thomas Carlyle -- yes, that Thomas Carlyle. The idea that these writers wanted to impart was how fashion figured in social and societal standing -- their subjects swished in a microscope lens. Marylin Bender in he New York Times established the new-era genre. The Washington Post's 'Style' section evolved it to a cheeky art form.

So, what's up at The Inquirer. Access Hollywood, anyone?

In fact, The Inquirer has created a similar form of self-serving fashion reporting -- thanks to the pen of its, ahem, fashion columnist Elizabeth Wellington.

In Hollywood, it's all business. In Philadelphia, it's all silliness -- complicit suck-up silliness.

What's the deal with Wellington? Week-in, week-out (actually every Wednesday in the paper's Social Circuits page), Wellington chronicles the activities of Philly's 400. Never mind how pathetic their activities are -- the usual tred-mill of charity balls and free-will offerings. What's worse, Wellington, getting her you-go-girl Access Hollywood on, has begun asking these Society minions to identify the maker/designer of their clothing.


Curious about this is that there's no business payback in such questioning -- just a dizzgusting display of poor taste. In these times, a if you've-got-it-flaunt-it way-to-go seems unbecoming, to say the the least. For The Inquirer and Wellington to be the driver of such nonsense is even more shameful.

So, thanks to Wellington, we learn that matrons (most on the south side of middle age) are wearing gowns by Oscar de la Renta, by Versace, by Marchesa, and the like. We also learn -- Wellington's investigative skills know no bounds -- that one skinny minnie is shod by Manolo Blahnik. Elizabeth, this is newspaper you're working for. Pluuze! For Sex in the City, head north! what's next? A knickers report?
In my years as a fashion writer for The Hartford Courant (Henry McNulty, where you be at now?), two of my favourite sources always stressed non-branding.

One was a old geezer whose suits came from Anderson Sheppard, his shoes from Lobb, and his hats from Lock. If you asked him where he got any of this stuff, his standard response was 'Oh, I had it made,' or, 'Oh, I don't remember.' 'People who ask about clothing are just trying to ingratiate themselves,' he said.

Elizabeth Wellington, meet old geezer.

My second source went even further. She ripped out all labels. Any identifying mark was scrubbed. 'It's nobody's business where I buy!' she's declared.

Yo! Elizabeth. Yo! The Inqurier