The problem with buying nice things is never the cost of the items themselves, but the costs that can come after. Anthropologists call this the Diderot Effect, which is named after 18th century French philosopher Denis Diderot, who penned the essay “Regrets on Parting with My Old Dressing Gown.”

In it, Diderot rues throwing away his old gown after receiving a beautiful scarlet one from a friend. While initially delighted with the gift, his pleasure turned sour when he realized that nothing in his home properly reflected his new garment’s elegance. His tapestries were too shabby; his chairs creaky. So, one by one, he replaced his familiar, but well-worn furnishings with things that were fancier. He replaced his straw chairs with an armchair covered in fine Moroccan leather; his old desk with an expensive writing table; and his previously beloved prints with pricier paintings. 

In the end, Diderot found himself in debt and not even that comfortable in his new surroundings, as he realized his old possessions were just as good, if not better. “Why didn’t I keep my old dressing gown,” he lamented. “It molded all the folds of my body without inhibiting it; I was picturesque and handsome. The other one is stiff, and starchy, makes me look stodgy. There was no need to which its kindness didn’t loan itself, for indigence is almost always officious. If a book was covered in dust, one of its panels was there to wipe it off. If thickened ink refused to flow in my quill, it presented its flank. Traced in long black lines, one could see the services it had rendered me. These long lines announce the litterateur, the writer, the man who works. I now have the air of a rich good for nothing. No one knows who I am.”

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As the world gets smaller, so do our possessions. What may have been that stack of books and papers you’d schlep twenty years ago is now just a few PDF files. The daily newspaper is now online. And your iPod, which used to be a technological wonder that fit your entire music library into the palm of your hand, has disappeared into your phone. My daily carry nowadays is usually not more than my laptop and its accompanying charger – and all that neatly fits into a portfolio, which I think of as a modern briefcase. 

Folios are surprisingly uncommon here in the US, but they’re tremendously useful. For one, they’re easier to manage than a traditional briefcase. If you’re running through the city, climbing in and out of cabs, it’s easier to reach into your belongings when you don’t have to fumble through a bunch of clasps or buckles. Plus, unlike a backpack, a folio doesn’t have any straps that could ruin a tailored jacket’s shoulder line. 

The downside, of course, is that they don’t carry very much (by design). But who carries more than a couple of electronics nowadays? Lunch gets eaten on the go and I’m not health-conscious enough to carry a water bottle. Plus, leather bags are heavy, which means I only break them out when I need to. Take it from the Japanese, who are often photographed with a folio under their arm. If you’re walking around the city all day, you’d be happy to not have to carry around five pounds of luggage. 

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In 1936, the editors of Apparel Arts published “Permanent Modern,” a fourteen-page article introducing their vision for the ideal menswear store. The article spares little in details. Included are elaborate floor plans and descriptions of the materials that should be used for the architecture, fixtures, and display cases. According to the editors, things should look modern, but not “voguish modern,” as you want to catch the customer’s eye, yet also make the place feel inviting. They even specified the lighting and air conditioning systems (two whole pages were dedicated to that). Should the reader want to implement their vision, they included a directory for the contractors, suppliers, and equipment manufacturers who could help with the store’s construction.

The store they imagined was grand – something like a Saks Fifth Avenue, but solely dedicated to men. There were five retail floors, each dedicated to a certain class of items. On the first floor, you had accessories and footwear. Moving up, there were sport, prep, and university clothes; then high-end tailoring; and finally moderately priced attire and boy’s clothing. The basement floor was to be a club lounge with fruitwood furniture and a fully stocked bar. And at the top-most floor, there would be a penthouse restaurant with an open-air dining terrace. Apparel Arts’ editors imagined that the terrace could be converted into a skating rink in the wintertime, which could also double as a stage for showing clothes on live models. 

 

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It’s hard for me to imagine going without a pair of sneakers this time of year. Summer is about having the windows down and volume up, biking somewhere on a hot afternoon, and hanging your feet off a picnic bench while BBQ-ing with friends. Camp moccasins and penny loafers can be great for these sorts of things, but I also like having a pair of casual sneakers you can wear with jeans and camp collar shirts. 

I’ve cycled through a bunch over the years, but find I keep returning to the same ones (although, the first pair below were recently acquired). If you’re looking to get a pair this summer, here are some of my favorites. Since they’re mostly designer shoes based off classic silhouettes, I’ve included links to the originals, which are much more affordable. As sneakers go, the build quality between the low and high end of the spectrum is smaller than it is in dress shoes – almost everything is in design. I like the uniqueness of these versions, but their designers found the originals to be inspiring for a reason. 

Visvim Bamboo Skagways

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Well, this is a surprise. The summer tweed I ran last year made it onto The Sartorialist, the first men’s style blog I ever followed. Pictured above is Kenji of Bryceland’s wearing the fabric in a handsome double-breasted. Bryceland’s, by the way, recently expanded into Hong Kong, which has made it possible for them to fulfill online orders. That means they now have a functioning webshop for those located outside of East Asia. 

Many thanks to everyone who supported that cloth run, by the way. It was genuinely fun to organize. Below are photos I’ve found around the web of people wearing the cloth – Max from the Armoury, Pete in San Francisco, Sartoria Formosa’s bespoke tailor Dionisio, Mitchell at Menswear Musings, and Andy from San Jose. 

No Man Walks Alone, a sponsor on this site, still has a few ready-to-wear sport coats made from the fabric. You can knock 10% off the listed price with the checkout code DWW10. It’s a wonderful cloth, I think, if you love the texture of tweed, but want something that’s light and breathable enough for summer. More details of the cloth can be found in this old post. I’m also planning to organize more custom cloth runs in the future, although I can’t imagine another one being featured at The Sartorialist. 

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By their nature, basics aren’t very exciting to talk about, but they also form the backbone of our wardrobe. I imagine that’s one of the biggest challenges for Luca Faloni, a relatively new Italian company specializing in fine dress shirts, knitwear, and leather goods. They started in 2013 on the idea of selling high-end Italian products directly to consumers, cutting out the middleman and offering more value (a common marketing angle these days, even if the idea of value is more complicated in reality). But there’s an important difference between them and other brands doing the same thing. Since their items are so basic and simple, on first blush they can seem indistinguishable from the thousands of other products online. Think of how the market for white t-shirts work – since t-shirts are mostly fungible, they compete on price. 

Luca Faloni, the company’s founder and namesake, recognizes this. “We rely on word of mouth and repeat business,” he says. “Selling classic men’s shirts and knitwear on the internet comes with a lot of challenges, namely the customer can’t feel the materials. But we hope to offer such tremendous products, customers come back after their first purchase.” For Luca, this distinction on materials is paramount. He prides himself on using top-end Italian yarns, such as Cariaggi cashmere. In fact, the entire production process is done in Italy, from the yarn spinning to the cutting-and-sewing (although the fibers themselves are sourced elsewhere). 

The collection here is simple and likely wouldn’t catch many eyes on Instagram. In today’s attention economy, wardrobe basics such as these can fly by our screens. At the same time, they also form the foundation of the “casual Italian” look that’s popular among men who are trying to find new ways of dressing down their tailored clothing, or wear slightly more refined versions of casualwear. Luca Faloni has slim-fit linen shirts, in both spread and band collars, then some brushed cotton equivalents for cooler days. These are single-needle sewn with mother-of-pearl buttons and crows foot stitching (typical for this price point). They also have some basic knitwear, including plain crewnecks and shallower v-necks, as well as linen shorts. The entire collection has that semi-resort vibe that’s common in Italian casualwear. 

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To understand male fashion today, you have to go back to The Great Masculine Renunciation. Somewhere around the time of Beau Brummell and The French Revolution, European elites traded their sumptuous garb for utilitarian clothes that underscored their commitment to work over aesthetics. Ornate fashion was for women, not “serious men” focused on living out a life of the mind. The difference between these two eras couldn’t be starker. Just compare how extravagantly King Louis XIV dressed to the sobriety of President Macron.

This split in history, which divides men’s dress like the BC and AD periods of the Gregorian calendar, explains our attitudes towards male jewelry. Jewelry has a strange place in the world of men’s accessories. Scarves, gloves, and wristwatches are acceptable because of their utility; pocket squares and neckties are OK for no other reason than tradition. But once you get beyond a modest wedding band, the idea of a man wearing something ornate, expensive, and metal seems tacky. They offend a certain sensibility we find difficult to pinpoint or even justify, but nonetheless stand by. 

After the Second World War, jewelry has come in and out of fashion depending on how we feel about gender and class. In the 1970s, when it was socially acceptable for men to show a more feminine side, hippies and counter-culture types wore bracelets and necklaces; high-flying business elites wore flat links with pinstriped suits in the ‘80s; and surfers have been known to use Saint Christopher medallions as good luck charms. Throughout these periods, many men have worn jewelry well – even magnificently. Like others in the Harlem Renaissance, Langston Hughes occasionally wore a silver onyx ring to show a bit of personality. Marlon Brando, James Dean, and Paul Newman sported chunky, silver ID bracelets with jeans and t-shirts. And Yves Saint Laurent, one of the chicest to ever wear a suit, accessorized with a precious metal bracelet. 

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