Don’t get stressed out by the fashion guy
on writers and style
A month or so ago, I was driving home from surfing on one of those blissy California days where, through the windshield, everything was dusted with sunlight. I had KCRW going in the background and, having just spent three alone hours in the ocean, I was a bit blank-headed; a bit receptive.
This was the mid-spring1, sometime after that piece in the New York Times Magazine got everybody talking about the return of baggy pants. And, as I listened to a KCRW story titled ‘So Long Skinny Jeans’, I had a sort of pose going on in my head — you know how sometimes you try out those poses in your head — where I decided this is silly, I don’t actually care about fashion.
But then they played a quote2 from this fashion writer named Kimberly Chrisman-Campbell, who said: “Dress is a form of communication, and I think we neglect it at our peril because we are communicating to other people whether we mean to or not.” And yeah, she’s right. And just like that, my trial-balloon pose of I don’t actually care about fashion was deflated.
So, for the past month or so, I — like a lot of men — have been checking in occasionally on that menswear writer named Derek Guy who does these viral Twitter threads where he breaks down fashion.
And he trashes a lot of people’s fashion — athletes and politicians but, as often-as-not, he says nice things about people. He’s wholesome in an arena that’s defined by vanity — he uses Mr. Rodgers and Kermit the Frog as style icons. If you send him in your picture, he might say something nice about you. But anyway, one of his recurring themes is: everybody’s clothes are too tight. This is an oversimplification, but largely, the fashion guy is on the baggy clothes train.
But the whole baggy clothes conversation kind of develops this question that’s been bugging me: what are we trying to communicate when we dress like the New York Times says we should?
I have this friend, this incredibly well-dressed French-American woman, and for years, I bounced fashion ideas off her. No extravagant queries, I just wanted to look like I fit in on Capitol Hill (I suppose that was what I was trying to communicate). But I’d ask her things like should I buy Charles Tyrwhitt shirts or Brooks Brothers?
My friend lives a few thousand miles away now, and though we still talk from time-to-time, I haven’t asked her what she thinks about the baggy clothes trend. But I suspect she’s on-board — we used to sit outside this cafe on 14th street in DC and watch the people coming home from work. And I remember time-and-time again, she would point at some man passing in a slim trenchcoat, shake her head and say "trenchcoats are supposed to be loose. You’re supposed to be able to hide things in them.”
Anyway, one day, we were sitting outside the cafe and having one of our broader conversations about books. I don’t remember the specifics, but we were arguing about something in L’Etranger and I mentioned how beautiful Camus was. How everybody always says that. And how he’s a sort of style icon. And she — my friend — slid her sunglasses down and said very seriously that yes, he’s among the best-dressed writers in history, but Camus’ beauty has nothing to with what he wore. It’s his writing that’s beautiful.
And this dug us into another conversation — one about which writers dressed well. And, though we made different lists, we each agreed that our favorite writers — Camus, Kerouac, Kundera, Didion and Steinbeck — all dressed well and the ones we didn’t like all dressed horribly.3
And I’d forgotten all about that conversation until the other day, when my wife and I were leaving a fundraiser on the westside and I was annoyed because I’d worn a suit-and-tie (and nobody wears a suit-and-tie on the westside). I glanced despondently at myself and moaned oh, the fashion guy would tear me apart for this.
I was in a slump for a while, for a good twenty minutes or so, until I remembered that conversation about the writers. And, curious about our hypothesis, I googled all those writers we’d agreed dressed beautifully. And none of their outfits blew me away. I didn’t feel like any of their clothes were communicating anything. And that made me feel better because they were all still so beautiful and the beauty had nothing to do with their clothes. I decided not to worry too much about the baggy pants or the fashion guy or what my clothes are communicating. And this time, it wasn’t a pose. I quite simply decided fuck it. Which is always a nice conclusion.
And now, obviously, here are some pictures of well-dressed writers.
It strikes me that spring is the time when the we all decide what we’re doing fashion-wise. I know the fashion weeks are in the fall, but the awards shows are in the spring and they shape American culture far more than all those unhappy people in Milan.
I looked up the story so I would get the name and the quote right. Here it is if you’re so inclined. And support your public radio station.
I don’t remember the whole list of ‘poorly-dressed writers’ but I do remember that Nicholas Sparks was on there.
I'm only familiar with a few of these writers. I tend towards the more casual like Kerouac and Camus. I also tend more towards Costco clothing and less towards Brooks Brothers.