Because Style is not 1 size fits all.
1 photo, 4 writers and their perspective on a given style.
There is something quite naughty in the idea of a man not wearing socks. Even in this age and time of anything-goes and widespread laissez-faire, the sight of a naked ankle is commonly considered a tad wild, not exactly appropriate. Fact is, the codes of men’s dressing are so narrow, very little is allowed to shake the game a bit. And nothing shakes the game, let’s admit it, as a hint, just a little hint, of flesh. The subtler, the better: if flashing the chest out and loud is probably too much, the ankle, safe down there from intruding gazes, sounds like a much more viable option. I personally stop wearing socks as soon as the weather permits, and sometimes even in the dead of winter. I like to show the weakness of nudity with pride, especially with formal wear. After all, I am exposing my Achilles’ heel to the all-pervading pineal eye of our media-obsessed society. This picture makes me think of a club: a selected coterie of daring gentlemen who show their weakness with pride, like I do. Admittance to the group requires to pass exams in perfect rolling up and mastering color block; demonstrating the ability not to ruin your feet while wearing sturdy lace-ups and slippers in the peak of summer is mandatory, too. Foot covers and sockettes, in fact, are definitely out of the question.
By Angelo Flaccavento
His work can be seen in GQ (Italy), GQ Style (Italy, Russia, Germany), Hunter mgazine, L-‘Uomo Vogue, Il Sole 24 Ore, Luxury24.it, Dapper Dan magazine.
Some Brooklyn Kids:
“You know you see us
Our parents and
our parent’s parents
built these brick cities”
“back in the day
the paint was fresh
and the copper shined
but blues settled on the stones.”
“When our mothers spit us out
the city was faded and gray
our brothers gave highlife
neon facepaint hightop fades
and graffiti faces to
but those shades faded too
now the shades remain the same.”
“So we went back to brighter times
decided to walk the blacktop
in shades that blare out
to become kids again in these bricks
and plant new life between the cracks.”
“Yeah, we know you see us
city does too
where we go the eyes follow.”
Time doesn’t change itself, just people. And we’ve grown. We’re de-industrializing ourselves. Our parents’ street styles were immaculate and cosmopolitan and pressed and sharp like the lines on peace treaties and master plans; we learned from them what it meant to be chic and elegant.
But our style was always like a parade and wherever we stepped out the streets would light up and the music would pour out our pockets and smiles (or disapproving scowls) would dance onto faces. We’re returning to that, finally. Style is no longer something mysterious.
Style is now about how well we can express the way our souls feel.
By Dane W. Verret
view his work at http://amadaneuspoetry.tumblr.com/
*Guy in yellow pants addresses his team*
“Slippers? Check. Colorful, rolled pants? Check. Except you, guy in the skull-and-crossbones khaki shorts, you botched it. Well, and you, red pants guy, you’re pushing it with that bunchy knee thing you’re doing – but, still passable.
To the rest of you: Today is our day, gentlemen. Today we strut smoothly in the name of catwalks. We shake hands confidently in the name of Macchiato/cigarette breaks. We pose effortlessly in the name of VMAN, and we smile appreciatively in the names of Cavalli, Ferragamo, Armani and Varvatos.
We are Modern Man. Stilettoed women steal glances at us, PR companies want us in their front rows, men covet our cuffing skills and we dry clean everything…even our teeny tiny Euro-briefs. Now, before we disperse and conquer the sartorial streets, don’t forget the Modern Man rules:
1) Spritz that cologne, or go home.
2) Accessorize right, remove rings pre-fight.
3) Act humble, never mumble.
4) Either stand up extra tall, or lean suavely against a wall.
5) Don’t stare don’t care, don’t sweat don’t forget: always check the weather, because these slippers can’t get wet.”
By Mihal Freinquel /
He who masters style is he who molds fashion into becoming an extension of himself. The person that masters style is the one that can paint a picture on the inside of your eyelids - you’ll see them even with your eyes closed.
When asked to define it the first thing that comes to my mind is that style is one’s individual take on fashion and beyond, which allows him/her to express themselves in a way that reflect their true self. It’s that simple, no song and dance, no magical rhetorical soliloquy that transforms the uncool to cool, nor any one size fits all that
guarantees a super stylish easy fix. Now ask me if all styles are cool, work and deserve mention - I’ll tell you that’s a whole other conversation, but I will hint that styles that move me are those that cater to both the spirit and soul to some extent. Having said that let me focus on the photo at hand. Multiple chaps, pretty much the same
canvas - pants and slippers, but what is golden is their individual brush strokes, each ones different interpretation and take. Each person chooses a different color and rolls his pants leg up a little differently which in some way makes you wonder why that way and not one of the other ways?Ultimately the person looking gets a different taste of style via similar fashion.
I must confess that the beauty of style is not limited to what the designer intended or what’s seen on the catwalks, instead the beauty and poetry is reflected in the creativity of the individual that masters it. While fashion focuses on trends, style is ultimately what you do with what you have it’s about your interpretation and improvisation. Great style is dressing the very unique individual that you are more so than the body that owns you.