silly boy suit

by cfmullen ••• In Hitchcock’s North by Northwest, Cary Grant played the original Mad Man and he wore a gray suit. Wait; let me restate the importance of what he wore. He, Cary Grant, wore “the suit.” The precise nature of the fabric and the maker of this iconic garment are often disputed. However, what is not open to conjecture is the fact that this suit defined taste and style in men’s clothing forever. Forever. It was impeccably cut, not drapey or overwhelming or skimpy or foolish. The lapels were precise, not too wide or too thin. The pants were sensible, not too full, or too narrow. This suit was so perfect, one might never even notice it. •••Today, one can’t help but notice what is considered fashionable in men’s suiting. I call it the Silly Boy Suit. Created by Thom Browne and various design lemmings, this look is guaranteed to turn any grown man, of any age, into a little boy. ••• Some say Pee-wee Herman (circa 1985) is the muse for this trend, with his jacket two sizes too small and pants just long enough to be called capris. But Pee-wee was comedian and he dressed purposely to make people laugh. ••• Is this new fashion statement any more foolish than the Nehru jacket, the love beads thing, the Yves Saint Laurent-cinched-waist-suit-phase, the polyester disco craze, the 80’s retro-1940’s-double-breasted period, the Miami Vice pastel moment, the Pat Riley too slicked back for its own good era, or the countless casualties of the Casual Fridays generation? Obviously not. ••• Considering all of those fashion faux pas of the past, I can say with certainty that these Thom Thumb suits will soon join the list of shouldn’t have happened.  Thankfully, even immaturity can go out of vogue. ••• After 50 years, that elegant gray suit of Cary Grant’s is a suit you could still wear –any time, any place, on any occasion. And believe me, at any age, it will never make you look silly.

dance fever

by Jeanne Chinard ••• There are moments you know that New York still has a creative heartbeat because it hasn’t lost the capacity to surprise you - one of those rarer and rarer times when a relaxed Sunday stroll turns into a heart-pumping smile-inducing memorable wow. It happened to us on May 22nd. ••• We had just left the Strand Bookstore and were beginning a leisurely stroll down University Place when we saw what we thought was a typical New York parade. New York in May is a festival of street fairs and parades. We have seen plenty, so we weren’t intending to watch this one. But what stopped us in our tracks wasn’t just any parade - it was a river of exuberant dancers leaping and jumping and pirouetting through the air over the hard asphalt of the New York City streets. ••• There were hundreds and hundreds of dancers. Some danced on floats, but most were on foot. Or stilts. Or sliding down poles. There were Swing dancers, Samba dancers, Tango dancers, Indian Bhangra dancers, Ecuadorian dancers, Congolese dancers - each group more energetic and enthusiastic than the last.  A cacophony of global musical genres fused together as one group finished and another began. Almost six thousand dancers from everywhere in every style - Argentinean to African, Meringue to Martha Graham, Bollywood to Boogie Woogie.. ••• Cynicism, worries, the economy were all swept away by the intensity and joy of each one of these passionate dancers. Watching them soar between the buildings was a revelation. The costumes, the colors, the diversity of people, dances and musical styles were mind-boggling. We didn’t want it ever to be over, so we followed the dancers to Tompkins Square Park, where the parade ended and it was clear the party was just beginning. ••• Having been New Yorkers for years, it is sometimes hard to allow yourself to see things in a fresh way, but this was absolutely one of the coolest things we have ever seen in the city. It left us uplifted and smiling for the rest of the day. The Annual New York City Dance Parade http://danceparade.org/EE/

is it your cup of tea?

by cfmullen ••• I really do love the excitement and spectacle of The World Cup. How could you not enjoy the pomp and circumstance that surrounds it. 

The colors, the venue, the genuine exuberance of the South African people, the fanatical crowds: it’s compelling TV. But boy, to be honest, soccer is a difficult sport to watch. ••• As much as I try to stay interested and attuned to the “action” on the pitch, I just can’t help picking up my iPad and drifting off into my Apps. However, I do leave the match on as background noise (thank you vuvuzela players). And when I hear the roar of the crowd and the announcer shouting “GOAL”, I look up and watch the replay - which unfortunately happens only about two, or maybe three times, in ninety minutes. Consequently, I’ve played a lot of Scrabble while watching the World Cup. ••• Now, I know that one has to make an effort to be a “forward thinking, not gonna grow old and set in my ways” kinda guy. So I will accept the challenge that is the World Cup. I will learn to like and appreciate the intricacies of the sport. I will try root like a true fan.

(And by the way, who knew that soccer was a hand-eye coordination sport? Good thing that English goalie never played catch as a kid.) I will yell “goal!” at the top of my lungs at the appropriate times. I will buy

a soccer ball and kick it around the yard with my beloved brown lab, Bert. But world, I’m sorry, I will never able to call soccer, football.

not your father's razor blade

by cfmullen ••• I was thirteen. A new double sided blade was in the “safety razor.”  The brush was soaped and ready. Soon, the fuzz was gone, replaced by tiny pieces of red, spotted toilet paper. My first shave. I was a man, albeit a bloody one. ••• And like all men who choose to face the world clean shaven, I’ve gone through my fair share of techno blade improvements, double edge, triple edge, glide strips, space aged coating and mega steel. All these advancements left me, to some extent, lacerated and exasperated. So, resigned to this reality, I bought the cheapest disposable I could find and slashed away - until one day last February. ••• I was in the shower, needed a shave and spotted my wife’s silly looking humvee of a razor sitting on the shelf. I picked up this menacing object and counted the blades in the ugly orange cartridge. Five. Seriously, five. What kind of marketing hyperbole did my wife fall victim to? Too lazy to get out of the shower and get my disposable, I skeptically proceeded to use her odd razor with its awkward angle. ••• Hmmm, I thought. Close shave? Nick free? It was far more than I had hoped. ••• My wife told me that this was no girl’s razor that I had used. This was a man’s Fusion. Who knew? ••• There is a learning curve with this razor. You use fewer stokes. You pull slower. The angle can be difficult.  But I tell you, the shave is amazing. ••• Yes, I know that the Fusion looks like another gimmick, with a design that resembles a gaudy, painted, four-by-four on steroids. But, please,

don’t let the hideous aesthetics of this razor deter you from trying it. ••• Stay sharp.

AllSaints Day

by Jeanne Chinard  • • • On a recent Sunday in the Merry Month of May in Manhattan, we had just left the (first annual?) New York City Dance Parade, which we had come across quite by accident. We had been carried down Broadway, swept up by a river of exuberant dancers from everywhere with every style - Argentinian to African, Merengue to Martha Graham. After the parade sadly ended, we continued strolling down Broadway until we spied a number of seriously affected hipsters (all pretending not to be seriously affected hipsters), coming out of a large store. • • • Expecting to see a new Apple store, we were surprised to find a two-story window filled from bottom to top with the most incredible collection of vintage sewing we had ever seen.  Row after row of glistening, shiny, black forms with brass wheels and sensuous curves – a celebration of the days when the handmade came from the well designed. • • • I remember being very small, sitting on the floor and watching my English/Irish mother, her hands flying at her cherished machine.  I would go with her when she shopped for patterns and fabric at the  5 & 10.  When she wasn’t whipping up chic sheathes and voluminous shirtwaist dresses for herself, she would be smocking exquisite little pink dresses for my sister and me to wear on Easter Sunday.  All that flooded through my head and I hadn’t even walked into the store. • • • But there we were, as another British invasion from the High Street decamped in Soho. So as incongruous as it was, we happily joined the flow of hipsters of all ages who exuded high voltage energy as we moved past the looms and presses that displayed everything from rolled up jeans to quirky boots and featherweight shirts. • • •  I found a soft, red plaid flannel shirt with a hood, traditional yet with a twist – a great choice for any guy who wouldn’t be caught dead in the short, skinny Thom Brownish pants, which were plentiful and looked great on the twenty something sales associates. For women, there were printed shirts and plaid dresses – deconstructed and draped at angles, yet still beautifully finished, not funky. I adored, but walked past the sweet, puffy micro mini skirts & made a beeline to a dynamite khaki raincoat with an unexpected ruffled collar that I could actually wear – and wear everywhere. • • •  And cool enough, AllSaints is the first store I’ve seen that used iPads as part of the displays, carefully placed around the store to provide online access to merchandise & information. You just know it’s only the beginning of what the iPad will do for retail. AllSaints isn’t new to the Sates. But its steam punk meets fashion vibe is a sexy, refreshing change from the sad, cloned, superbox mall brands that surround it on Broadway. • • • After you walk through a store like AllSaints, you realize that most American brands today aren’t suffering from a lack of sales, but from a serious lack of imagination. • • •   AllSaints 512 Broadway nyc  http://www.allsaints.com