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I got this from a pirated copy of Take Ivy.

With global warming rearing its (what I imagine) ginger head and record highs heating North America like an iPad warms up a Brooklynite’s vintage Kelty rucksack, it’s time to talk about summer style.

I, like most pale, scrawny style bloggers long on opinion and short on everything else, prefer the winter months, as the climate affords us to swaddle our unsightly, Mr. Burns-like bodies in fully canvased jackets, shawl collar sweaters, and knits from English subsidiaries. That said, even we have to eventually accept that the Earth, indeed, orbits the sun and seasons change.

So where do we go from here? Like most of America’s cultural problems, the answer probably lies in an understanding of history. Or, more specifically, a fetishized version of history.

Ah yes, was there anything the Sixties didn’t get right? Public smoking, dubious gender norms, un-ironic nerdy glasses — it was really the decade of decades. It was a time of earnestness, of social change. It was a time when even radicals dressed like a young Republican mixer. Just check out this photo from a1963 meeting of the Students for Democratic Society (photo below), whose Port Huron Statement turns 50 this year.

This pic could have been in 'Take Ivy' but I guess we can blame poor planning on SDS' part.

Just look at these guys. It’s a post-political menswear fetishist’s** wet dream. This picture could easily be on a dude’s Tumblr, with #ClassicStyle and #VintagePrep dutifully attached. So many OCBDs and khakis of appropriate length. So many great plastic rims and well-parted hair. The fact that most of this clothes is probably American-made makes me all warm and giddy inside. And even the very name of their manifesto, the “Port Huron Statement”, has just that right secret blend of New England flavor and self-reflective wryness to be the perfect title for the next Vampire Weekend album.

It’s no mistake that this preppy aesthetic makes sense for sweltering heat. Lots of cotton keeps you cool, and less flammable. Shorts with short inseams keeps you, and your thigh tatts, ventilated. Trim silhouettes flatter you body, even as you lose five quarts of liquids an hour through sweat. I mean, can you even bring to mind another hot weather style that is both as functional and pleasing? Sure, you could go Full Retard with the jorts and Windows 3.1 Philip Lim shirt, but then you wouldn’t be able to look yourself in the face without your reflection asking you existential questions like, “Who are we, anymore?” and “Is this what we wanted to be when we grew up?” Or you could go for the Southern Gothic with the seersucker suit and straw hat, but then you’d have to own a plantation, and those things don’t come cheap, even on eBay, not including upkeep on mint juleps, so your only other recourse would be to start a national chain of fried chicken restaurants. And then you’d be fat.

Just stick to the classic Take Ivy text — trim cotton trousers, oxfords, optional socks, lightweight crewneck sweaters, contradictory air of white guilt and privilege, etc.

Radical manifesto directed at an apathetic, apolitical middle class (preferably written on an iPad): optional.

**I’m talking about myself.

NYC is full of stereotypes. People here talk funny. They’re rude. They belong to ethnic groups renowned for their parsimony or vulgarity. The validity of these do not interest me, or at least cannot be untangled in a short format digital weblog. Instead, I do want to discuss one common perception of New Yahkers: We always wear black.

Turns out it’s true. I once found myself walking onto a crowded subway car and everyone around me was wearing black. Not shades of gray or navy — deep black. And not just coats — shoes, pants, hats, sunglasses, shirts were all painted in that somber tone. I thought for a moment I had strayed onto some morbid Improv Everywhere routine.

You don’t really notice until you leave New York, or you see others encroach upon her. Americans wear lots and lots of color and lots of plaid.  You can always spot the tourist on a NYC street because they will have on some hypercolor ski jacket. I do not know why people wear black here. Maybe because, with the rotting subway benches, stained subway doors, and strangers of ill repute, it’s best not to draw attention to oneself, or at least wear clothing that will not be easily marked.

I just acquired my first black jacket: a Barbour International. I got it because I was feeling especially effeminate  and wanted to summon the spirit of Steve McQueen. Also, because it was on sale. Now that I do have it, I feel a special kind of pride, like now I’m one of the herd called New York. But I also feel the security of black. Like a Cloak that casts +5 agility and +2 dexterity, my jacket helps me blend in. It draws away light. It is urban camouflage. It is armor.

In this view, black clothing does offer protection. New York is as safe as ever, but one always gets the feeling that one could be singled out by some predator, be they street vermin or street police, and wearing black helps you get all Ninja Gaiden amongst the concrete.

A “Gaiden” and a McQueen reference in one post? You bet.

Further to the other day’s post (see below) there IS a chance that a young(er) fellow can be hors categorie. Who is this guy?

via (The Sartorialist)

There exists a grouping of men that are hors categorie - beyond categorization. Seriously, what would you file this guy under? Streetwear? Prophet? Urban shaman? Maybe just a man trying to make his way through the world.*

I don’t know what you need to have in order to have hors categorie but it usually it’s a combination of hard experience and age. My grandfather regularly wears a suit from the 80s topped with festive party hat he got from his nursing home and yet he looks tough. Probably from the years of living in a worn torn nation? Nothing goes with formal attire than a thousand yard stare across the valley of death. Hey, my daily commute of 25 minutes is my version of building character, right?

Whatever it is, young men typically are not hors categorie. It’s the difference we owe for being youthful and generally more slender. I don’t know if my and subsequent generations will ever get beyond category, or if we’ve automatically doomed ourselves with our incessant “reblogging” and sending shirtless pics as a way to impress females.

Stay classy, prophet.

*This is a subcategory of “preppy”.

And the last thing you want to do to your subject, be it a deer or a hipster wearing a John Deere hat, is spook him. I have to trash a lot of pics because people look spooked. They’re tense. Constipated. Or overly self-aware.

Not Taka. The Japanese in NY are absolutely “killing it.” If I had to describe what he was wearing to you without a picture to illustrate, you would have think I had a stroke. Floppy Ivy hat worn a la Leonardo Da Vinci. Tweet blazer and matching vest. Yellow scarf. Long Coat with purple facing. The dude was like the Japanese Renaissance version of Harry Potter.

*I said cock. Heh. Edgy bastard.

Also, the people who shop there, even just in passing, look awesome. They explode the typical style archetypes with fists of dynamite and mouths of cotton. I cornered a group of young people (who know doubt were on their way from a music video shoot inside a pho restaurant, as young people nowadays tend to be).

There’s something about standing around with smoldering ember in your hands that make you look badass. I’m thinking this is how cave men used to feel. “Dude, have you seen Oggdor’s new Flaming Wooden Stick? It’s awesome. I think he got it at Best Buy.”

Flash forward like 50,000 years (or three hundred in Bible Time) and go from a savannah in Nigeria to Alphabet City…

But there was a few goodies in there. Take this gent below. Remember that all around him were lowered Civics, raised monster trucks, and tons of grown men dressed like 15-year-old boys.

**NO ONE calls “Orange County” “The OC”, I merely did it to annoy myself. Mission accomplished. Asshole.