11/25/2023 0 Comments Minimalist style guysI wanted to be one of them-or all of them. I spent hours on Scott Schuman's newly launched street-style blog, The Sartorialist, studying lo-res images of peacocking men in Milan. And I had a suit of armor made from the purest cashmere.Ĭlothes soon became my fixation. I didn't have a father, but I had a father figure. In the mahogany dressing room, when a tailor slipped a perfectly cut jacket onto my shoulders and I stepped up to the mirror, the confusion of the past few months melted away. This was to be the day he bought me some proper clothes. One sunny morning, the day after Thanksgiving, he drove me from Greenwich into Manhattan until we alighted on Paul Stuart, the Waspy enclave on Madison Avenue. To project okay-ness to the world when what you feel is anything but okay. You're not self-aware enough to even comprehend what you're doing to soothe yourself. And holes like that take so long to fill that you don't always realize what you're stuffing in there to fill the void. I didn't consciously grieve his suicide through fashion. In school, I simply chose from what I saw at the mall: Gap, Structure, and Abercrombie.Īnd then on the morning of September 11, 2005, a few years after I'd left the nest, my recently divorced father walked onto the Piscataqua River Bridge and jumped. My stepmother, like a Tenenbaum, never left her tennis warm-ups. Dad? He kept to a strict uniform-L.L.Bean khakis, a blue blazer, and sockless Sperrys. My mother still dresses like she would have at Woodstock-flowing tunics and flared jeans. I grew up in Maine, where “style” means Elmer Fudd hats with earflaps. I have no family history of sartorial excess. But she couldn't have known how deep it went, couldn't have known what clothes had come to mean to me-or what, on every level, they were hiding.
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