Hip Hop for White Folks: Wish You Were Here

Hip Hop for White Folk: Straight Up Menace

Capsule: Orange Crush Exports

Vintage dealer Jess Tart takes me back to 1970's Colorado Springs and a friend who was so laid back I don't think he had a pulse. His favorite expression, "Bummer, but it's cool" was American poetry to me. Jess has managed to create a Mischianza of vintage American poetry that suits my, "Fox Terrier on Jolt" attention span just fine.

Jess operates out of Tacoma and probably teethed on army surplus seeing his Dad is George Tart of Tart in Olympia. All the designers know Jess. You should too. I have never seen so many Filson Cruisers in one place, and from every decade back to the '40s, all in various stages of frayed and fried patina.

Give him a ring and he'll spell out the ground rules. There was something about a $1,500 minimum if you want to shop the warehouse. Bummer, but it's cool.

Orange Crush Exports, (253) 565-6887, orangecrushexports@mac.com

Hip-Hop for White Folks: Hey Ya!

UNC Chapel Hill, 1968

 

A musical series selected by best pal & crime novelist Wallace Stroby. For staying alive during the most depressing time of the year. I just love green and orange. Series yearbook photos sourced from Yackety Yack

Capsule: Autumn Winter 2012

In a sea of hi water-turned up denim, Red Wing work boots, black beards and more watch caps than there are in the U.S. Navy -- beneath all the pretentious bullshit -- there's... money to be made.



This is a trade show. No different than the Metal Fabricators in Chicago or General Aviation in Orlando. While a 200 page book lists exhibitors; it also tells another story. That of a small and hip sounding haberdasher with sales and PR contacts at Nike.


The ersatz hip are avoided easily enough. This year a number of vintage dealers, many known only to the design community (and the Japanese), threw open their doors to everyone. You didn't need admission to check out what Capsule called, "Added Awesomeness." Use of over enthusiastic PR talk aside, the "Donut Shop" concept worked nicely and details of the best vintage vendors will follow tomorrow.


Santa Maria increased the sophistication factor ten-fold. Not sure the throngs of Jethro Bodine impersonators understood what it was for.



Santa Maria burning papers emit a scent not unlike what you would have smelled in the 13th Century. Makes sense. They're made exactly as they were in the 13th Century.

Tretorn's line for Spring and Summer is filled with color. I couldn't help but notice a combination that'll be hard to secure in Gainesville.



Wood chips and the 2nd floor represented, "Above Tree Line - focused firmly on performance outdoor apparel."



I never did understand this.



But I understand this - Lots of business cards. Many from Ted (the fuck stick) Harrington at Terrapin. Ted and I both share this affectionate nickname from our fathers. I'm guessing if you're under 40 your father didn't call you fuck stick. Turning you into an entitled and spoiled shit... Ted's working on the cards.



Tom Beatty of Wm J. Mills & Co, purveyors of awe-canvas-someness, has lots of serious waxed cotton this year. Rugged looking but with an elegant aesthetic.



John Gluckow of Strongarm C&S, a vintage dealer in the Donut Shop section, had more vintage T&A than I've seen in a long time. More from John tomorrow.



Andy Freidman of Abington by Timberland, probably the kindest human being in NYC, brings back the waffle-stomper craze of the '70s that I lived through in Colorado Springs. It looks authentic but the boot is light and much more comfortable than my concrete Vasque boots of 36 yrs ago.


Arrived early in hopes of missing late riser designers. Still, Bloody Marys were offered up in a bar/lounge that looked more like a VIP club in 1970's Romania.



Paul Mole (Full Transparency- My barber) provided straight razor shaves but I guess I was too early or they were too hung over. Which worked for me. Not sure if a free straight razor shave from a hung over barber is worth it.



George Tart, another vintage dealer, cranks open a 1920's tractor umbrella. More on George and our conversation tomorrow.


And you never know where the Saigon Electric Works patch will show up.

Manhattan Morning Commute

Ranger Boat to Statue of Liberty, NYC, Winter 1985

On A Road: Beatties Ford

"Forget, Hell"

In 1968, we lived in a small southern town near a large lake north of a big city. The state looked like a fireman with Virginia as the helmet. Despite its appearance, I was sent to the principal when a classmate told my teacher I said hell at lunch. I had just seen John Wayne in 'Hellfighters' and knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. A rich fireman.

The south was a strange place in 1968. Very Christian but not very accepting. My classmates told me John Lennon would go to Hell for saying the Beatles were more popular than Christ. I couldn't say Hellfighters but there was nothing wrong with turning your nose up at a "Nigger Toe" nut or saying someone was 'going to Hell.' Especially John Lennon.

We watched news film of white lanky policemen with weak chins and angry German Shepherds attack protesters in the streets while Walter Cronkite seemed embarrassed to be in the same room with the footage. You didn't have to be Walter to know that something was crazy wrong. What no one knew was how much worse it was going to get.

Ignorance was carried like battlefield flags to the infield of NASCAR tracks. Restaurants proudly proclaimed, "We Reserve The Right To Refuse Service" while a Disney-like cartoon of a short fat Confederate general, grumbling, "Forget, Hell" spoke to something far darker.

There was a lot of ugliness despite plain front khaki trousers and button down oxfords. Made in the USA labels hid Mill Towns 10 miles from my home and and a hundred years from 1968. George Wallace bumper stickers were as thick as pine trees and friendships dissolved when I wore a HHH pin to school. "Forget, Hell" will always mean something different to me.

Public Relayo

Garmento: Someone active in the New York garment district

Public Relayo: Someone active in fashion public relations. Especially in New York

You're gonna love this place. LOVE. IT. Sure, they stole the idea but fashion's about stealing. Don't let anyone tell you different. Most people do nothing with an idea. Yeah, they created it but did they sell it? No, they did not. Is that my problem? No, it is not. Am I Gandhi?
No, I'm PR.

Let's go in. Wow, check it out. Is this fantastic or what. Look, Japanese magazines. They rule. The magazines not the Japanese. You ever work with 'em? I have. They're morons. Who don't pay. Tried to stiff me. No one stiffs me. I wouldn't leave their office until they paid me. And I told 'em that. I didn't get it all but I got enough.

I don't work for free. I don't do anything for free. Some clown wants me to write a post for his blog? Fuck you. I don't do anything for nothing. See, that's your problem. You're like Michael Keaton driving around retards in a van. What was that movie? You don't know that movie? I thought you knew movies. Oh, wait...no one has ever seen the movies you like.

Is that a nice sweater or what. Feel the wool. Who cares it's $400 and they made it for $20. Who's gonna pay the rent? You? With what? But seriously...it's all bullshit. Just a sec...I gotta say hi to someone. Steve! Tasty goods. Dude, is that a Sub? Awesome. Vintage?! Get the fuck outta here! Things must be good. Later, man. Love the concept.

There's a story for you. No taste. Folding folding shirts at Abercrombie and Fitch less than two years ago. Now he's a designer. Totally ripped it off. That's how it works, dude. Play the game. Look, I gotta get some bubble wrap to send a client a case of Barritt's.

You mind if we go in here for a sec? Cool. Hey! Bubble wrap?! No? What the fuck good are you? Can you believe that? Fucking UPS store and they don't have bubble wrap. What's the point. If they were in the funeral business people wouldn't die anymore.

So, where was I. So, Steve is taking it up the ass at A&F. I mean, no one should ever have to work retail. One day he's downtown and there's this guy who has Steve's tasty plus a thousand degrees. Steve would have to stand on Mt Rainer to blow this guy. But who knows about it? I'll tell you who. No fucking one. So, the guy gets ripped off. Down to the floor boards and Steve's wearing a $15,000 Rolex. Why he got a GMT is beyond me. It clashes with his red beard. You got time for lunch? My treat 'cause I know you're fucking destitute.

This shit is all good. I love it here. Order anything. Anyway, I meant to tell you about that interview you did. Look, he's a decent guy but he's dead. No one talks to him anymore. No one gives a shit. And I know he has integrity and that shit you call soul. Whatever. But he's no longer in the game. Used to be. Not any more. You wasted your time. Then there's the other extreme. The woman who sent you that ridiculous tie -- from where? From Fargo or someplace? Dude, more wasted time. I mean if you're ever gonna buy me lunch you gotta knock this shit off.

Fuck, I ate too much. You walking north? Cool, I'll stroll with you as far as 12th. Like the shades? They sent 'em free. I hear working with the French is as bad as the Japanese but they pay more. Look! See that guy? There...in the waxed cotton coat. That guy is dressed like that 'cause of me. No one was wearing this shit until me. So what he looks 50 -- What's your point? Yeah, you may have bought a coat like that when I was 10 but when did you start wearing it again? When I said so. That's when. Jesus, you fuckin' old guys crack me up. Keep screwing with me and no one'll ever talk to you again.

A Club With Style

The New York Athletic Club

I belonged to a club in Chicago which enjoyed reciprocity with the New York Athletic Club. The access to other clubs can easily be worth membership in a local club alone. Especially if you travel a lot. The NYAC offered clean rooms at a decent price and was loaded with character.


N.Y.A.C - Home of the lottery dinner

On the one hand, it could take hours to get through dinner. Forgetful waiters, lost entrees, missing drinks. On the other, you might never receive a bill for that dinner. You just never knew with the NYAC. One morning after a swim, I sat alone in their massive steam room. I was taking off my trunks when a woman walked in. She looked the other way as I tugged my trunks back up. You just never knew...


Jr Suite - far left two windows on top floor

There was a junior suite I always asked for on the top floor. The first night there, I came into my room from dinner but couldn't find the light switch. The door slowly closed but an open window offered light in the dark room. I slowly moved to the window and could see an apartment building across the street.


The building across the street

I watched as a man in an art filled living room sat on an ugly sectional watching his big screen television. I could just make out his bald head and saw he was smoking a cigar and watching David Letterman. Without turning on a light, I moved to my television and turned it on. I found the Letterman show, tuned the picture dark and left the sound on.



I took a beer from the mini-bar, turned the desk chair towards the window, sat down and watched Letterman from across the street. He wasn't always there and once I had to sit through Leno, but the NYAC always made feel like a real New Yorker.

Women With Style

Looking Great, M Magazine, January 1985

I was showing a friend of mine from London the party pictures in Tattler magazine on a north bound Metra train from Chicago one afternoon. We were on the 5:07 express drinking Old Styles and I was pointing to a picture of BBC news presenter, Alice Beer, who was showing major cleavage while holding a drink and a cigarette.

Mutley looked at me and said, "You do know that none of those people would ever talk to you?" Same can be said for the people in M Magazine's Looking Great column. A cute red head at the Surf Club told me, "Sweetie, I did not move to Manhattan to meet a park ranger."

M Magazine was my fantasy back then. Better than Playboy or Penthouse because there was a chance, albeit small, that you might actually run into one of the women in Looking Great. That "chance" brought the fantasy a little bit closer. If only I could've afforded cashmere socks.

Clothes With Style

"M" The Civilized Man - January, 1985 (click in image to enlarge)



Clothes With Style by Robert Bryan: "In this increasingly less-than-perfect world, the man who dresses with style - that is, appropriately to the occasion as well as to his own personality and station - almost always stands out."



"...real personal style is never too obvious, it is usually best expressed in dress through subtle touches...putting on pigskin gloves with a very dressy Chesterfield coat..." RB



"...there is a demonstration of particular personal style that does not overshadow the thing that should be noticed first: a man's face, disposition and personality." RB



"And there are some almost shabby things -- an old felt hat on a man who can wear one, or-



...your favorite well worn tweed sport jacket -- that convey much more personal style than anything brand new." RB


"What appears natural, and is natural when worn by one man, becomes an obvious affectation on another." RB



"...dressing with style is simply a matter of following one's informed common sense. It doesn't take a Douglas Fairbanks Jr. to know that a dark suit and white shirt are fitting for important or sober occasions-



...while a paisley sport shirt and a pair of well-worn khaki trousers are indigenous to a Saturday afternoon stroll." RB