Growing Up in Paul Stuart

Photos for The Trad by Alice Olive



Clinking glasses, smooth conversation, easy sophistication. All that was missing was a cloud of cigarette smoke and it could have been the Pershing in Chicago with Ahmad Jamal playing Poinciana. Cue the video while you scroll down the slides and you'll get the vibe of the night. Elegant, but not stuffy. Cool, but not hip.

From 1992 to 1997, I worked in the Chicago Hancock and would step through the lobby Paul Stuart store on my way to lunch. I always felt like a grown up in Paul Stuart. I still do. When I felt the need to pull the trigger on a serious suit for a first meeting with George Steinbrenner, I chose a Paul Stuart navy, two button, side vent. It's a standard. Like Paul Desmond's, Take Ten. It gave the cocky confidence I needed  and like the insurance I was selling, it gave me peace of mind. 

It was an honor to do a window (Video here)  as well as meet some folks who read The Trad.  Young and old were there last Thursday night without a flip flop in sight.  Many thanks to Cain, Mona and Tom for making me look good...despite having misplaced my lips somewhere between 1999 and 2002.  Also, to the best photographer, in or out of Australia. 

Ever Have One of Those Days?

I've always thought horror was all about putting a bad day in perspective. Just when you think it can't get any worse...Someone takes a crap all over your tee shirt. 

Edgar Allen Poe's, Go To Halloween Pant

My inspiration for my 'Halloween' pant
is dear friend, Michael Rowe.
Horror writer extraordinaire,
he's kicks my ass
to write serious prose.

A 'Go To Halloween' pant
doesn't make much sense,
since wearing is limited to a day.
But there's a lady I know,
she can be quite cold,
but with her - there's little to pay.

She has a little place,
all alone by the sea.
She's starving for attention you see.
Tell her you're in the business,
and she'll knock half off,
my dear friend, Annabel Lee.

Get Plaid

Come on by and say, "Oh, hey."

Bespoke Drawers - Not In Any Stores

I like to match my boxers to my shirts.  It's just a thing I do. Call David Mercer for details. Not about my boxers but about his boxers.  

Paul Stuart's Mad for Plaid

Six bloggers & editors kick Simon Doonan's ass in the Fall windows at Paul Stuart. 

Leif Ericson Day

Isn't this holiday thing gettin' a little outta hand?

Brenda Patimkin, I love you...

Goodbye, Columbus



I only watch on it on Columbus Day. Otherwise, I might watch it every day just for my favorite line, "Ain't that the fucking life."

Belly Dancing & Plaid in 1980

Fayetteville, NC, 1980

It was a strange day.  I was about 30 days short from getting out of the Army.  I had just bought a plaid sport coat for college at the PX with the help of a buddy in G-2 who had worked in a haberdasher somewhere in Alabama.  I was asked to take pictures of my Sergeant Major's wife's belly dancing class.  I suppose they're all still waiting for prints.

One of the dancers, who was married to a huge MP, was having an affair with a buddy of mine. But he didn't have a plaid sport coat. It helps to have a plaid sport coat on a strange day.

Belgians...

Flickr Set Here

...and the Dutch

Flickr Set Here

A Man of the Tablecloth

Stewart Voegtlin has been hoisted around here on a number of occasions. His writing is ballsy, introspective, straight shooting and damned funny. We have a lot in common. I wish I could say it was our writing but it's more like our waist size and inseam. He did an interview with film maker Joe York for Oxford American Magazine and you can catch it along with some of Joe's short films here. Above, I posted a nice little film about a Thanksgiving squirrel hunt.

I'm not big on squirrel but this takes me back to 1968 and North Carolina. My mother's family'd set out a long table of food in the kitchen every Sunday. They'd cover it with a table cloth and as folks came and went during the day, they'd lift a plaid corner and help themselves to a spoonful of sweet potatoes, slices of cold country ham or, my favorite, a big wet slop of banana pudding.

In Stewart's interview, York explains the connection of food and how it relates us to a place. All of us. Regardless of where we're from. It's a wonderful contrast to sitting in a Starbucks, sucking on a latte, picking at a cardboard scone and reading this on your iPad while ignoring everyone around you.

That's not a criticism. I do it too.  It's just how it is, but it helps to believe that no matter how bad shit gets with increasing isolation in our world,  food is our savior. Instead of kneeling in a pew on a Sunday -- I'd rather lift a table cloth with Voegtlin.

The Best Laid Plaids

Imagine what it would be like to have an unlimited budget at Paul Stuart while sipping single malt as three store employees wait on you hand and foot.  Go ahead and imagine away... because I don't have to. 

A Femme Era: October 1986

Freddie was my roommate at the Aetna Casualty claims school in Hartford.  He was black but sounded white.  Like he was from Texas -  which he was.  He called me "buddy" and "pardnuh." Talked about golf and bass fishing nonstop.   We were in a recently constructed dorm called Aetna University which sat directly across the ersatz 18th century corporate headquarters. 

Every Friday at 4:30 PM, we stood at our window and watched the female employees flood out the front doors of what looked like a giant Ethan Allen.  Oddly enough, there was amazing diversity for an insurance company in Hartford.  And there were beautiful women...which is why we were standing there in the first place.

I leaned towards the women I thought were "put together."  Freddie liked the sluts.  I'm not sure if that's a Texas thing as much as a golf and bass fishing thing. Either way, Freddie's aesthetic didn't extend much beyond big tits and a high tide butt.  It didn't take long for each of us to understand the other's taste and point out what we thought the other might appreciate.

ME

(pointing)

There ya go, Freddie. Massive hooters in a maroon pant suit at three o'clock.

FREDDIE

Little rough even for me, buddy.   Cheap dye job and nail extensions.

ME

You didn't know what nail extensions were until I told you.

FREDDIE

When's your girl get here?  Eleven o'clock -- Coming down the sidewalk.

ME

Too much makeup. Around six I think.

FREDDIE

Mystic should make for a  nice weekend. Ever been?  How about that senorita crossing the street?

ME

 Face is too squished in. Never been.  How 'bout, Jackie?

FREDDIE

You mean in our class?

ME

Yeah, she's in Tulsa. I bet she fishes.

FREDDIE

She bites her nails.  Can't stand that. Here ya go.. parking lot.  Green top...

ME

There's worse things than biting nails, Freddie. What green top?

FREDDIE

It's like a green jacket. She's got a scarf on.

ME

The blonde in the paisley skirt?

FREDDIE

That's the one, pardnuh.

ME

Cute walk.  She looks like...

FREDDIE

Doris Day.

ME

I was gonna say my girlfriend. 

FREDDIE

That's right up your wheelhouse. Go on down and say, hey.

ME

Freddie...

FREDDIE

Yeah?

ME 

That is my girlfriend.

FREDDIE

No shit.

ME

Yep.

FREDDIE

That's like passing some kind'a weird ass test, pardnuh.