The Trad Tumblr

A Mischianza of images, most of which did not make it to The Trad for various reasons. The Trad Rejection Collection

You Can Beat Douchebaggery!

If you can't afford Unpretentiousil because you blew your book advance on a Rolex Sub, Mark McNairy could care less. 

I Collect: Polaroid, Vinyl, Viewmaster, Vintage Paperbacks...

Definitive, hilarious, genius. 

Trad Xmas List: Flor Rose Prosecco & French Kissing in the USA

Flor Rose Prosecco : Not for your typical Commie

As vulgarity and coarseness become substitutes for wit and taste, it's important to remember that while the Cold War losing Russians & Chinese are buying up most of Manhattan and all reserves of Krug and Cristal, wine doesn't have to be expensive to be rich.

It's been said the Soviet Union went broke trying to keep up in the Cold War. That might stem from a poor judgement of value. The best car, the best tailor, the best art, the best missile system... like a newly minted Lotto winner, the Commies always associate the best with expensive.

A quick aside.  I went to a party on Park Avenue -- Somewhere in the 70's. You know... the private elevator, 15 rooms, flowing halls...striking. The owner, with homes in Beverly Hills and Palm Beach, sold his company for stock to a much larger competitor.  Problem was he couldn't sell the stock for five years.

As the stock price tumbled south, he called the new owner. "Look, you gotta let me sell some of this now before it goes even lower."  Instead, the owner just offers more stock. This fella tells me that reluctantly he takes more stock.

 Laughing hysterically, next to his grand piano, he raises his left arm and points to the ceiling while a $22 plastic Swatch sneaks out from under his shirt cuff, "Just as the five years comes up," he says, "Up the stock goes and it just keeps going up!" I watch his Swatch as he jabs it at his ceiling, "Up! Up! Up!"

A ten million dollar pile on Park and the guy's wearing a plastic Swatch. I know a Manhattan hipster who owns four watches worth $200,000, and he rents...in Little North Korea.

This guy probably serves Flor Rose Prosecco (availability here). At $17, it comes in an even more impressive magnum for around $28. That's a lotta holiday value for the buck. Served chilled, it's refreshing and bubbly soft with a grown up after taste that contrasts against prosecco's typical viridity. If champagne is like sex (and it is), then Flor Rose is a lot like French kissing. Not in China or Russia, but here...in the USA

Ft Bragg's Fashion Elite

Velvet slippers for the quiet professional...


"You know what Delta's gonna do when they see these pictures?"


"We gettin' hazardous pay for this?"



About to deliver some humanitarian assistance...



"All we need are some 8x10 head shots and we move to NYC..."



"Hey, at least you didn't have to empty the shitter like the guy in the yellow coat."



"That's odd. I only get the funny feeling when I climb rope."



"Could you get me a Latte?"

GQ Style Spring Summer 2012 (click image to enlarge)

Designer Adam Kimmel styled a photo shoot with the 3rd Special Forces Group at Ft Bragg. Usually a reader will alert me to a story like this and save me from open-mouthed shock at a public magazine stand. GQ Style-U.K. calls the piece, "The Quiet Professionals." There's some irony for you. I don't think anyone at Ft Bragg will be calling 3rd Group quiet anymore.

Kimmel had 'Marlboro Man' photographer Jim Krantz shoot the spread for the magazine whose, "... challenge was to take fashion clothes and put them in the context of the Green Berets without making it look outlandish." You can see more of the Green Beret photo shoot here at Jim's web site. Jim must love shooting things that'll kill ya.

I don't think it looks outlandish. Silly, yes. I doubt Kimmel knows much about the Green Berets and probably less about the sacrifice a Staff Sergeant makes for $36,000 a year. But in fairness to a clueless hipster fashion designer and British fashion magazine -- the U.S. Army said yes. Which makes me wonder about future military collaborations with magazines.

Playboy's, "Threesome in an Abrams." Field & Stream's, "Fishing with Grenades." And Out Magazine's Norfolk Seamen, "We Don't Drink and We Don't Cuss - Nor-Fuck! Nor-Fuck!" Tax dollars subsidizing fashion photo shoots for British fashion mags. We called that FUBAR when I was in the Army - Great name for a magazine.

Haspel Fall Winter: Bespoke at Cost

My relationship with Haspel goes back 32 years. Not that we were close, but it was the poplin and seersucker suiting of choice save a short stint at Brooks Brothers and employee discount addiction.

Haspel carved out a narrow but deep niche in cotton suiting for the South. It was cheap, washable and most important, it was comfortable. Southerners attending Princeton brought Haspel to the southern most second most southern Ivy college and it caught on. In a big way.



What didn't catch on was Haspel in Fall & Winter. The romantic association with Summer's cotton, half linings and character filled wrinkles may have helped traditional offerings but a "Stick to your knitting" attitude by customers may have doomed Fall & Winter from the start.



I walked into the 25th floor loft of the Bryant Park Hotel earlier this week and could not believe it was Haspel Fall - Winter. The silhouette is London. You see that first. And it's a London of the '30s. This is Flusser's turf but at a fraction of the price.

Single breasted peak lapels, double breasted chalk stripes, brown window pane, ticket pockets, double vents...They are the details that drive men to bespoke tailors because they're impossible to find off the rack.





Silhouette and details are carried over to tweed and herringbone jackets. What you see in the windows on Savile Row or in Holland & Holland. Haspel avoided the Hipster runoff so popular with Heritage brands. Every day PR firms send out videos of a watch cap wearing guy in a three piece suit chopping logs with a $500 Challis National Axe to a steel guitar soundtrack.



Haspel seems intent on pursuing grown ups. Guys who work in banks, insurance companies and those other holdouts of employment where coat and tie are still expected. Men who are married with kids and don't have $5,000 for a suit or $500 for an axe.


Contrasting fabrics of cotton, corduroy and suede are hidden under sport jacket collars. If you ask me, they should stay hidden but you do what you have to.



Fabrics are thick with character, texture and color. This is warm stuff. I'm not sure how much use it will see in Haspel's hometown of New Orleans.









Now comes the bad news. Made in Indonesia. I'm not sure outta what. Maybe wax paper and toad shit for all I know. But, good news for pricing. Suiting is $595 and $695 ($100 & $125 for vest) while sport coats are $395 and $495 Like I said, you work someplace where a suit is required and your 401K and college funds are hoovering most of your take home pay... This is great value.



If, on the other hand, you chop wood in a three piece cashmere suit with a $500 axe, and have no kids...Well, there are plenty of people here in NYC who will be more than happy to assist you. For Haspel retailers go here.

Friday Belt: T & A with Lord Chet

173 Years of Tradition - $19 a case

I first sampled Lord Chesterfield Ale by Yuengling back in 1985. It was introduced to me by a fellow park ranger at Valley Forge and I became a fan before I knew what hops even were. It's hoppy but not like an IPA. Crisp. Drinkable as all get out. I'm having one with Herr's Old Bay Potato Chips right now. Masses of red Old Bay are seeping between the keys of my laptop. Who cares. 'Tis the season...

There was talk of Yuengling from the PA guys when I served time at Ft Bragg -- Home of the Airborne and the cultural arm pit of North Carolina. Beer in NC was about as Wonder Bread as it could get. Bud, Miller, Stroh's. I'm falling asleep just thinking about it. The PA guys had their own language. Most of 'em were from Southeastern PA. "Pottsville, you bet!" Maceko would yell. Mace went on to OCS and was commissioned in the Infantry. A solid guy, Mace.


Like most of the boys from PA, they were who they said they were. One guy came back from a friend's funeral in Lancaster with a '72 red Cadillac convertible that was left to to him by the deceased. He knew it was a piece of shit. Told me it was a piece of shit. But if you told him it was a piece of shit... he'd take your head off, then your arms and he wouldn't stop until he was chewing your heel.


Today, I'm happy to say many of my friends are from Pee A, and I'm even happier I can secure a case of Chet for $19. That's a steal. While the hip suck on PBR, compare their tatts and sigh with resignation that everyone is hopping on their wagon -- Try the hops from Cascade via the Lord -- I don't think the Hip'll make it here for another year or two.


Turnbull & Asser, 50 East 57th Street, NYC

The one place you will not find the Hip is Turnbull & Asser. While working in London 20 years ago, the 20-something fashion plates would turn up their nose at contrasting (white) collars and cuffs. "Old fogey, mate. What are you? 50?" Well, yes. 20 years later. This is home to serious sartorial savvy. No Red Wings here. This is serious ass dressing and unlike Lord Chet, it don't come cheap.


Vintage T&A from the 1940s

But you do get what you pay for. Impeccable tradition, value and quality. Are you paying $150 for an alpha (S,M,L,XL) shirt with unmatched stripes yoke to sleeve and made in some place you can't pronounce? Yes? Then you need to have your head examined. Turnbull & Asser offer custom belts...with one hole. I love that idea. One. Hole. Very understated.


The, "How Much Beer Are You Drinking Belt."

I fell for this belt during my last visit at the new store in New York. I wish this was around when I was 25 with a 30" waist. Not that I could afford it then...or now. I'll tell you this...if I keep drinking Lord Chesterfield I'm never wearing this belt.

Sub Rosa Hip - Johnny Quest

Jonny Quest Opening Titles from Roger D. Evans on Vimeo.

Back in the early '90s, I was often asked who Tintin was. " Europe's version of Johnny Quest..." was my cool and sweet reply. Anyone old enough to drive understood. It's different today. People who are cutting edges in 2011 were wearing Baby Gap and watching Rugrats in 1992. They know all about Tintin but haven't a clue about Johnny.

Quest was an animated Saturday TV cartoon with an opening that was slicker than owl shit. Save for the questionable relationship between Johnny's father, Dr Benton Quest and Roger 'Race' Bannon (pretty sure Mom wouldn't allow me to go anywhere with those two), it was the shit.

I've been reluctant to bring J.Q. up for fear every hip edge-cutter will glom onto Quest, suck him dry and toss his blond locks and Tim Matheson V.O. into the East River by next Tuesday before the Tintin premiere. Or...it just might be I'm that hipster. Please don't hate me.

Many thanks to commenter and friend, D.B. for the heads up on the Roger ('Race') Evans trailer above. See the original below.

127th Annual Upper Class Twit of the Year

Many thanks to Main Line Sportsman and his keen memory for recalling this classic Monty Python skit. What was laughed at yesterday is tweedy fashion today. Check in next week when we'll explore Williamsburg heritage inspired by the sartorial aesthetic of Jethro Bodine.

Contestant No. 1 - Vivian Smith-Smythe-Smith, He's in the Grenadier Guards but can count up to four.

Contestant No. 2 - Simon-Zinc-Trumpet-Harris, He's an Old Etonian and married to a very attractive table lamp.

Contestant No. 3 - Nigel Incubator Jones, His best friend is a tree and in his spare time he's a stock broker.

Contestant No. 4 - Gervaise Brook-Hamster, He's in the wine trade and his father uses him as a waste paper basket.

Contestant No. 5 - Oliver St John-Mollusc, Another Old Etonian, his father was a cabinet minister and his mother won the Derby.

Are You A Nurd?

National Lampoon - The Gentleman's Bathroom Companion, 1975 (double click to see how Hip)

Hipster Puppies

Genius available here


here’s what i think of you, and here’s what i think of jonathan fucking franzen

no, gary, i will not give you a ride to the fucking farmer’s market

there was an npr story about that, let me find it


when suggesting lunch options downtown, mike always pronounces phở extra correctly


gunther saved the pbr, and therefore saved the fucking day


the last time rufus rode his tall bike, he spent a month in a neck cone


enzo would usually throw a fit about the service but the bartender is hot

"God Tells Me What To Do But The Devil's My Secretary"

Subway Inn 143 E. 60th St at Lexington Avenue

The first of a series celebrating NYC dive bars. And while the honesty can be too much -- a good dive bar is a refreshing contrast to the vacuous sports bar where Bud Lite consumption is subsidized by insurance company expense accounts belonging to pasty white men in golf shirts, Dockers and Cole Haan Kilties.

The Subway Inn's neon is like a roaring Christmas Eve fire to the eyes of the afflicted. Tourists hurry their children by and must wonder how something so low brow can be so close to Bloomingdales and the Container Store. It's almost impossible to see into the bar through the window but once inside any sense of real danger is left to unknowing imaginations.

I was weaned as a 19 year old on the strip bars along Hay Street in Fayetteville, NC so my bench marking may be out of whack. The inside is not dangerous at all. In fact, the place could use a rougher crowd. Certainly a poorer one. Shots are $5 and bottled beer is less. Hipsters take over on weekends and regulars have it on week nights but to see the hard core pop in around noon. A beer at lunch ain't gonna kill you, but the guy at the end of the bar might.

Rating: The Classic 8/10

The Bachelor Party

(L to R) Wild East, Foosko & Sgt Nick Penis - Deer Path Inn 30 June 1988

23 years ago tonight some old friends, relatives and in-laws gathered at the Lantern in Lake Forest for my low key bachelor party. The image above is of the 'After Party' complete with Pabst Blue Ribbon. Amazing how hip we were and didn't even know it.

One of my friends asked my father that night what his experience in Vietnam was like. Dad shrugged and said there wasn't much to tell. Everyone nodded and the conversation moved
quickly to the Cubs and the merits of Old Style. The night winds down as in-laws leave but old friends wanna go all night.

Wild East and Foosko. decide to reenact Lobby East dorm life with a purchase of the cheapest beer available. Army buddy and Chicago local, SgtNick Penis comes along for the ride. Sadly, Red, White and Blue is not available so two sick packs of PBR go from the Lantern to the Deer Path Inn only four blocks and a low crawl away.

A month or so later the old man is visting D.C. and offers dinner at his favorite French restaurant in Old Town Alexandria. My bride asks Dad, in a break after escargot en croute but before steak au poivre, what it was exactly he did in Vietnam. Dad sips his Beefeater martini and tells my wife it was just like the mafia. "They'd come down to the village. Kill some locals. We'd go up the mountain and kill some of them."

While the rules of time, place and occasion are invaluable for apparel -- there is some wisdom in applying the rule to story telling. You don't wear a white dinner jacket to a bachelor party nor should fatigues be worn in French restaurants.

Looking Closer

What amazed me when I first saw red stripes with a navy and yellow polka dot tie (M Magazine- 6/87) was clarity. Looking closer, I see primary colors from 7th grade art class. I can do more: Reverse the tie and shirt color. Use navy /yellow rep instead of polk dots. Red gingham shirt instead of stripes. The choices are endless.

That's looking closer. Using your own creativity in the most basic of functions -- getting dressed. And it should only matter to you because only you will know. That's really what life is. And then it won't matter how much money you make or what parties you go to. Something far better is going on since you're making the rules.

It's funny. People I know who work hard at being fashionable usually hail from very un-hip pasts while people who distance themselves from hip are some the hippest people I know. I wonder why that is?