The Humor Issue
Featuring some of the my favorite, funny people in fashion.
In the endless pursuit of projecting an image of status or cool, or both, I think menswear sometimes forgets to be funny. Forgets that it is funny, because let’s be honest, thinking this much about clothes borders on the absurdist. Of course there have always been exceptions: Jack Spade was funny, Mark McNairy has always been funny, and SSENSE’s recent out of home campaign was really funny. But I think, on balance, the industry could use a little more levity, hence Mensweird’s first Humor Issue, featuring original pieces by Evan Widhu (a talented writer and illustrator; see above), Dan Carroll (one of the funniest people I know), and yours truly. I hope you enjoy.
The Return of The Style Squire
By Evan Widhu
[Editor’s note: As part of our commitment to bringing a historically balanced perspective to Mensweird, we asked The Style Squire to revive his monthly column for our latest issue. His writing originally appeared in various legacy menswear publications until several inflammatory comments on Men.Style forced him into hiding/advertising.]
Bemelmans Bar has been overrun by TikTok influencers. JNCO jeans are back on the streets. Women are being invited to Pitti Uomo wrap dinners. Today, anarchy reigns in both the great houses of European fashion and the great moodboards of Instagram. In moments of dark uncertainty, I’ve always found there’s one sure indicator of truth: internet listicles. But who to carve such a digital stone tablet of menswear wisdom? As I told the judge in my third divorce proceedings, I’m never one to shy away from a challenge. Some might say I was fired from my last paying gig for gross irrelevance. Others would swear I was canceled. I, on the other hand, insist that I’ve been taking a 10-year sabbatical to launch my DTC no-show socks brand. Whatever you make of the Chapter 9 of my personal brand, I feel it my moral duty as a man of huge discernment to again squeeze into my L.B.M. DB and set forth my commandments for how to be an absolute style god in an age of sartorial chaos.
Cultivate Personal Style (But Run It By Me First)
To anyone who thinks I don’t value individuality, I’ll point out that I was the first person to be permanently injured from wearing double monk straps with one strap unbuckled. So go ahead, rock crop tops with embellished Y2K denim. Get a dangly earring AND a pearl necklace. Dress solely for your own joy… Just kidding, I don’t believe in any of that. Style can only be achieved through huge individual sacrifice, total abnegation of your own personality, and memorizing all the comments on r/NavyBlazer. Our menswear higher powers, Edward VIII and Steve McQueen, revealed the ancient truths through their Tumblr disciples and now it’s up to us to forever live by their teachings. If you absolutely must do your own thing, follow the other “freethinkers” to that one store on the Upper East Side that sells weird, dainty loafers with tiny little bows on them.
Trust In Slim Fits
Call it the “Lagerfeld doctrine.” Suits just don’t look right unless they’ve been vacuum sealed to your body and raw denim needs to be so tight you risk sexual side effects every time you sit down. Sure, big pants are the big thing right now, but I will insist that loose clothing is the first sign of a disordered mind, or at least someone who’s never been able to put “creative” in their job title. Just like very loud plaid blazers, tie bars, and gatekeeping style columnists, indecently skinny clothing is forever relevant.
Every Generation Is Cursed To Suffer Through Its Own Preppy Revival
At any given time, we’re only six months away from someone we know and love saying, “I’ve been thinking about boat shoes.” Like hordes of cicadas or El Niño, piles of cable knit cashmere will always reemerge to tie themselves in a stranglehold around the necks of unsuspecting youth. While Ralph Lauren again laughs from on top his throne of polo pony bones and bleeding madras, all we style minded can do is suffer through the same think pieces about Oxfords and go-to-hell pants. One morning we’re certain to collectively wake up, as if from an extended Bloody Mary hangover, and remember that, yes, this shit is hideous for at least another 10 years.
Invest In The Things That Separate You From The Haters
At New York Fashion Week Fall/Winter 2012 I would have been crushed by a crowd of street style bloggers trying to capture the release of Nick Wooster’s latest calf tattoo if not for the repelling effects of the “Campari and shell cordovan leather” scent I was wearing. So I say, go long on noxious colognes, large sunglasses, and Uber XL rides. (In case you’re looking for the affiliate link, just know the fragrance was later recalled by the FDA after being tied to brain swelling.)
One Hand-Sewn Buttonhole Is Bliss, But Two Are Remiss
I have no idea what that means but it sounded deep when I yelled it at the bartender after drinking Gay Talese under the table at Donahue’s Steakhouse.
In closing, I’ll leave you with some final capsule collections of menswear wisdom: Be kind to each other. Rosé all day. Call your daddy. Ok fine, I am just reading the T-shirts in my stepdaughter’s closet, but I don’t know how to actually end an article now that it’s considered “gross” to have an unpaid intern write one for me.
So You Want to Start a Menswear Brand
By Dan Carroll
If you’re reading this, you’ve had the thought, “Hey, I’m a guy, I like clothes, maybe I should start a menswear brand. How hard could it be?” Well, not hard at all, Chad. We’re assuming your name is Chad, Chad. Just follow these simple rules and pretty soon you’ll be taking a bow at Fashion Week on behalf of all the designers who will do all the actual work.
Be your own unique self.
If you plan on having any kind of retail or social media presence you’re going to want to show people you’re old school and truly unique from everyone else. This is why you’ll need countless pictures of Paul Newman, Steve McQueen and JFK on sailboats everywhere. Nobody has done this before.
Using vintage cars is non-negotiable.
If you’re not using old cars in your imagery, you’re missing the point. You appreciate the classics, right? That’s why you need to have either a wood-paneled Wagoneer, Land Rover or more recently a Bronco, 4-Runner or any other off-road vehicle to drive the beautifully paved Merritt Parkway to your office. You’re also going to want to juxtapose some luxury with utility to show the world you’re rich but still a laid-back guy. And so help me god, if you’re not going to show a Christmas tree on top of your vintage Porsche in December, you might as well just get a job in insurance.
Vocabulary is everything.
Repeat after me: heritage, timeless, classics, vintage, heirloom-quality, hand-crafted, artisan. You don’t need to know what any of those words means but put them in front of everything to let people know you take clothing seriously.
Break the mold.
Nobody has your taste, especially all the brands you’ve been buying the same things from your entire life. Now it’s time for you to really show them your special vision by making what you feel are icons: t-shirts, jeans, khakis, sweatshirts, button-downs, and sport coats for days you feel fancy. Sure, you’re going to steal pieces you’ve had forever and have a tech designer recreate it for you, but do they have your special logo? Yeah, we didn’t think so either, maverick.
Straight up lie about your life.
Look, nobody wants to hear about how hard you work and the massive losses you’re going to take because the menswear industry is supposedly “oversaturated” and your “impossible-to-replicate” commodities that can’t get shelf space in supposedly “dying” department stores.
Tell us about the trips you’re taking with your perfect family and vacation homes and show photos of everyone laughing and beautiful status symbols and landscapes. Don’t show all your marital arguments about losing so much of your nest egg in the business and the tantrums from your kids because they never see you because you’re busy on work trips to China negotiating eyelet prices for your Sperry Top-Sider knock-offs. We want to believe your vision is so successful that your life is a romance. Reminder: Don’t forget to show your vintage car you drive.
Last, but not least, love the work.
Remember, you’re in this because you love the business of clothing which often takes place in windowless factories with underpaid craftspeople. You’re not at all doing this because it’s a vanity project often associated with models, exclusive parties, a luxury lifestyle where you are seen as both a smart business person but also an artist and get to see your name on things. You’re not doing this because all your rich friends from your frat went into finance and made insane amounts of money and to make yourself seem superior, you bailed and made it seem as if you could no longer ignore the muse. You’re not doing this because menswear hasn’t changed in about 50 years and you can essentially phone in every “collection” because what ends up selling are basics on sale because men in America are afraid to express themselves artistically due in part to a capitalistic society that rewards not straying from the norm. You’re in this, because you just really fucking love pants, Chad.
Behold, It Is I, Year-Round Shorts Man!
By Michael B. Dougherty
Greetings, cold blooded citizens. I see it has dipped into the low-40s and you have begun to swaddle yourselves in shawl collar sweaters and fuzzy parkas. But no, not I. The wind chill may have sent you scurrying for your basements and attics, and the slumbering stockpiles of woolen pants and thermal underwear that lay within, but my lower half remains unperturbed.
I was wearing these shorts when May's first thaw began to warm your hearts, and I wore them when August's dread humidity stifled your lives with its hot garbage breath. And lo! I'll continue to wear them during November's driving squalls and December's frigid dawns. For my fleshy legs are enveloped by invisible down, my sclerotic veins pump Thinsulate, and these American Eagle Factory Outlet cargo shorts should be lined with asbestos, for my marbled thighs are like molten magma.
I fear not the drafty room, the icy morning car, or the sub-zero dog walk. But you? You shiver and sheepishly hand over your money to L.L.Bean for flannel-lined this and fleece-lined that. I feel for you, really I do.
Am I a foe of pants? A hater of trousers? A dungaree denier? Quite the contrary. I have several pairs of Russell Athletic sweatpants piled in a bedroom corner. And just the other day I cast a wistful glance at my pleated jeans not an hour or two after wondering if my favorite tear-away track pants were still safely stored in the dryer. But several years back I experienced an awakening. I freed myself from society’s scornful eye and rejected its haughty pronouncements, proudly wearing shorts to Uncle Larry’s funeral and my fourth court appearance. And during the winter season, when passing youths loudly wonder “HOW’S YUR NUTS?!,” I pay them no heed. Besides this waist band is tied, there are no strings attached to me.
A new fallen snow has appeared overnight, you say? It’s of no concern. In fact, I may just pair these oversized basketball shorts with my trusty flip-flops, if you want to know the truth. Sure, I'll join you for a steamy cup of mulled cider or even top my crown with a watchman's wool cap. But to cover my lower extremities would be to deny the world, or at least this post office, the occult knowledge I've gained over the ensuing decades since Greek Week my freshman year.
And that is... well, just stare purposefully at my wan kneecaps on this bracing February afternoon and discover it for yourself.