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It is a grim feature of modern life that we treat downtime as a pit stop between bursts of usefulness. In the United States, where the Protestant work ethic took the deepest root, even Sabbath observance was shaped by the belief that unproductive time required moral justification. Writing in the early 1930s, Bertrand Russell warned that “immense harm is caused by the belief that work is virtuous.” By 1948, the German philosopher Josef Pieper offered a more forceful philosophical defense of leisure. His book Leisure: The Basis of Culture, published in the wake of one of the largest labor strike waves in US history, pushed back against what he called the tyranny of “total work,” a condition in which the modern human is reduced to their measurable productivity.

If leisure needs any justification at all, it can be found in the breakthroughs it enables: Darwin doing his deepest thinking during long walks at Down House, Beethoven composing "Symphony No. 6" in the countryside, Newton developing the foundations of calculus while on a two-year leave from Cambridge. But framing leisure in terms of output, or even as a way to rejuvenate us for labor, still reduces it to an instrument of the state or market. Instead, Pieper argues that leisure is a necessary condition for the soul. The Greek word for leisure, scholē, is the root of our word school—not a site of vocational training, but a space for contemplative stillness. Leisure ensures that “the human being does not disappear into the parceled-out world of his limited work-a-day function, but instead remains capable of taking in the world as a whole, and thereby to realize himself as a being who is oriented toward the whole of existence.”

In the last few years, I’ve been doing a series called “Excited to Wear.” It’s my way of sidestepping the pointless exercise of defining menswear “essentials,” a concept that flattens the richness of style into generic shopping lists. Instead, I prefer to discuss clothes that excite me as the seasons shift. This spring, I’m drawn to clothes that reflect work and leisure—not as polar opposites but as parallel expressions of human wholeness. After all, spring and summer are the seasons for idleness, marked by bikes that creak out of garages and folding chairs that live in trunks. This list is about the clothes I like to wear for light work on warm afternoons and dawdling on cool evenings. It’s clothes for gardening, brunch, and listening to rediscovered LPs. Hopefully, you can find something here that inspires you for your wardrobe.

In 2008, a StyleForum member shared photos of a bespoke shirt they had made by the renowned Neapolitan shirtmaker Anna Matuozzo. Though the images have since been lost to time, they showed a blue-and-white Bengal-striped dress shirt made from Carlo Riva cotton, featuring a semi-spread collar and some extraordinary details. The buttons were firmly shanked, the sleevehead and yoke showcased delicate shirring, and fine, nubby topstitching traced the seam running along the shoulder—all hallmarks of careful hand tailoring. At the time, the price for such a shirt—bespoke, cut from an adjusted block pattern, and crafted with the highest degree of handwork—was 350 Euros. The price was considered so stratospheric at the time that it sent several forum members reeling. One distinguished member with decades of bespoke experience questioned the rationale behind spending so much on a dress shirt. "If an errant meatball rolls down your body, it's done," he cautioned.

I was reminded of this painful lesson last year while getting dressed. A decade of dipped garlic naan and Vietnamese spring rolls rolling down my gullet has nudged me up a size. Unlike jackets, shirts don't have seam allowances, so I've had to rebuild my shirt wardrobe. A few weeks ago, I published a post about which shirts I find useful in a tailored wardrobe; this one is about casualwear.

Like my "Excited to Wear" posts, this series is full of personal prejudice. Over the years, I've found that dry, generic lists of "wardrobe essentials" are rarely useful or interesting. What I enjoy reading most are people's unapologetic opinions on clothing. That said, casualwear presents a unique challenge. Unlike traditional men's tailoring, which follows a relatively narrow set of conventions, casual dress is vast and varied. Much of what I'll cover here will only resonate if you, like me, enjoy dressing like Bob the Builder. Still, I hope you find one or two things worth considering.

I believe it was in an old blog post on A Suitable Wardrobe where I came across a Bruce Boyer quote—and I paraphrase—that a well-curated wardrobe is the best incentive to stay in shape. By "stay in shape," he meant staying the same size, of course. If you've invested a considerable amount into clothes that hang without a pull or a ripple, you probably don't want to gain or lose too much weight, either way.

That quote recently came to mind as I started rebuilding my shirt wardrobe. I had a moment of realization last year, much like when Daisy buried her face into Gatsby's collection of sheer linen and fine flannel shirts, sobbing, "They're such beautiful shirts." Except, mine weren't so beautiful—they were so slim. Things I bought fifteen years ago no longer fit, as I've gone up a size. Unlike tailored jackets, button-ups don't come with inlays, so I've been slowly rebuilding my shirt collection, piece by piece.

This process has made me reflect on what constitutes a genuinely useful shirt wardrobe. The tattersalls I thought would go nicely under rustic tweed jackets—while technically true—barely saw any use over the past fifteen years. The discounted Margiela shirt I bought as an experiment looked more like a bad Kickstarter project than thoughtful avant-garde, as I never really had the right pieces—or personality—to make it work. So here's what I think should be in a basic shirt wardrobe. Like my "Excited to Wear" posts, this is filled with personal prejudice and bias—it's simply about what I think should be in my wardrobe. But hopefully, you find this more interesting than generic guides about how every man should dress. This guide will be broken into two parts: shirts for tailoring and shirts for casualwear.

Even when it's online, and you can shop from the comfort of your home, Black Friday always feels like a mad dash to find the best days. To simplify the landscape, I round up the best menswear-related promotions every year and post them here, along with a selection of notable picks at each store. These guides are designed to cover almost every budget—from relatively affordable basics to designer items—so there's something for everyone. This year, I've organized the list to move from "general and affordable" to "specialized boutiques with higher prices," along with a smattering of shoe deals, underwear sales, and grooming products at the end. 

J. CREW: UP TO 50% OFF; PRICES AS MARKED

I've always felt that J. Crew is one of the better one-stop shops for men just starting to build a better wardrobe. The prices are accessible, the designs are classic, and the quality is reasonable. However, it helps to know what to buy. 

About eighteen years ago, Monty Don, the British horticulturist and human Peter Rabbit, penned an article for The Guardian titled “Dirty Dressing.” It was about how to dress for the dirty task of gardening. “Never wear tight trousers,” he advised. “Always buy trousers at least one waist size too big, make sure that the pockets are big enough to comfortably hold penknife, hanky, string, phone, pencil, labels, and perhaps a mint or two. […] If you are not familiar with their joys, high-rise trousers are fantastically comfortable and keep your lower back warm. My children still squirm with embarrassment every time they see me in them (which is most days) but that is probably some kind of seal of approval.”

I remember being charmed by his intransigent views; each proclamation was stated matter-of-factly without the need for justification or even elaboration. “Do this, that, and the other thing.” Sometimes, it feels like writers are unwilling to criticize anything nowadays or put their foot down on something they know. This admittedly includes me, a menswear writer who feels it’s impossible to responsibly dole out generalizable menswear advice because people have different needs, personalities, and lifestyles.

So, in the last few years, I’ve been doing this series called “Excited to Wear,” which isn’t about things everyone should buy—no one can recommend those—but simply the things I’m most excited to wear for the new season. These posts allow me to get a bit Monty Don-ish, with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek and with the recognition that I’m only speaking about my personal views. Here are ten things I’m excited to wear as the weather gets cooler. There's also a fall/ winter playlist at the end for you.

For the past few years, at the start of every season, I've made it a tradition to publish a post about things I'm excited to wear. These posts are a deliberate shift away from the conventional notion of "wardrobe essentials," a concept that has, in many ways, lost its relevance as people lead different lifestyles. They also allow me to just talk about things I'm excited about. I think that emotional connection—rather than a coldly calculated and rational approach about supposed "essentials"—is a much better way to build a wardrobe, as it makes you think about what you'll love wearing ten years from now. I've been encouraged by readers who tell me they find these posts useful in helping them build a wardrobe. So here are ten things I'm excited to break out this season, along with a Spotify playlist at the end that will hopefully set the mood.

THE POLO COAT

Like many things, the game of polo is an international phenomenon with cultural origins now long forgotten. The modern version of the game was first played in Manipur, India, where locals called the fist-sized wooden ball pulu, a Tibetic term later anglicized to polo. In the mid-19th century, British cavalry officers picked up the sport in India, imported it to England, and then spread it around the world during the height of empire. It’s through this intoxicating mix of sport and nobility that polo has become such fertile ground for menswear. The game has given us the button-down collar, jodhpur and chukka boots, Jaeger-LeCoultre’s Reverso, and the most recognizable menswear logo. It has also given us the polo coat—the most American of dress outerwear styles.

For the last few years, I've been doing these posts about things I'm excited to wear for the season. They're a way for me to talk about things I'm excited about without getting into the fraught concept of "wardrobe essentials" (which feels increasingly less relevant nowadays when people have such different needs and lifestyles). Still, readers have found these posts to be useful as seasonal style guides. Here's this year's "excited for spring" post with a bonus soundtrack at the end. You can check previous years' posts for 2018, 2019 (I also did one for summer), 2021, and 2022. 

CHAMBRAY AND SILKY SHIRTS

I've always been primarily an oxford cloth button-down guy. I admire the style's place in American clothing history, as well as its casual, rumpled nature and bookish appeal. However, in the last few years, I've also added two other shirt styles to my regular rotation: snap-button Western shirts, mostly those rendered in denim or needlecord, and silky shirts made from slippery materials such as rayon, Tencel, and actual silk. 

For the past few years, I've been doing these posts every season where I talk about what I'm excited to wear for spring/summer and fall/winter. I usually do these at the beginning of the season. This one comes a little late, but on the upside, I get to talk about some new things I've purchased and have been wearing. There are also more links to in-season options. 

Flamborough Marine Guernsey

Daniel Day-Lewis once said he hates to be "dressed." By which he means, "dressed by others." He rejects the conventional photoshoot routine as an artifice—photographers and stylists carefully dress their subjects in clothes borrowed from fashion labels, often those advertising on the pages next to the celebrity being featured. So when DDL was photographed for the cover of W Magazine a few years ago, he brought with him a small duffle full of his own clothes. His wardrobe that day included a thoughtful mix of styles: a bespoke three-piece Harris tweed suit made by a tailor in New York City, a blue plaid shirt, a white tee, some rugged jewelry, a pair of slim-straight selvedge jeans, a striped Breton pullover, and some rugged work boots he designed himself. "I want to wear soft, comforting, plain things," he told the interviewer. When the article was published, a small line was printed below each photograph, taking the place where brand names would usually appear. Each line read: "All clothing his own."  

Bespoke tailoring and the restaurant industry share something in that they both use the terms "back of house" and "front of house" to describe how their businesses are structured. "Back of house" refers to the behind-the-scene activities that customers typically don't see, such as the cutters, tailors, chefs, and line cooks who prepare the things that are eventually given to customers. "Front of house" is a little different. In the restaurant industry, this term refers to the customer touchpoints, such as the waitstaff and host who work to create a pleasant experience. The front of a bespoke tailoring house, which can consist of salespeople and fitters, also provides those things. However, they also offer something more important: a sense of taste.

George Wang, the founder of the Beijing-based bespoke tailoring company BRIO, works the front of house. When you commission something here, you're not just paying for the skillful craftsmanship that goes into each garment, but also George's sense of taste. He's the one who created the company's overall aesthetic. He's also the person who will guide you through decisions such as fabric choices and stylistic details. George tells me that each customer is different, and it's important to be sensitive to a person's needs, lifestyle, and even personality. A conservative businessman who needs a winter work suit has very different requirements than a young creative who wants something to wear to summer parties. It's easy to trivialize this service now that there's so much information on the internet, leading people to believe they can do everything independently. But over the years, I've come to appreciate how useful it is to work with a tailoring house that has both "front" and "back" staff persons (tailors, while wonderful, are better thought of as technicians than stylists). At Rubinacci, Mariano does the vital work of ensuring every client walks out of his shop looking "right."

I often ask George for his opinion on things, such as the right fabric to use for a project, what color the lining should be in a folio, and what watch best matches a certain kind of wardrobe. He always gives me an answer that feels like a step above what I would have initially considered. Instead of the usual recommendations for linen, wool-silk-linen blends, and Fresco for warm-weather garments, he recommended to me slippery Super 150s wools in colors such as light blue, coral, and citrus yellow. He also turned me on to London Shrunk, as well as world-class makers such as Sartoria Corcos, Sartoria Marinaro, The Work, Saic, and Masahito Furuhata. In a word, I find his taste to be sophisticated. So, for the last entry in this series, I'll start with George's thoughts on how to develop good taste. 

It has become fashionable to discuss classic clothing with the same cynicism once reserved for topics such as capitalism or the media. Across menswear message boards, posters frequently type out terms such as classic or timeless with alternating caps (cLaSsIc) or recurring spaces (t i m e l e s s) to signal that they're above such simple ideas. To be sure, traditional clothing has had a difficult decade. During the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic, some of the first companies to file for bankruptcy were suit retailers, Brooks Brothers among them. Additionally, men who invested heavily in soft-shouldered sport coats ten years ago have since traded their Aldens for Nikes, as they've found that tailoring is too formal for their environment. Looking back, many of the things championed as timeless, classic, and trend-resistant ten years ago—slim suits, cutaway collars, and double monks—barely lasted more than a few seasons. Meanwhile, designer labels such as Margiela, Rick Owens, and Engineered Garments have been selling the same styles since the early 2000s, as their clothes are too niche, conceptual, or expensive to ever reach mass consumption and thus over-exhaustion. 

Timelessness is often oversold, but in recent years, I think the pendulum has swung too far in the opposite direction. It's a mistake to think that terms such as classic don't mean anything. Certain styles, such as trousers made with moderate proportions or oxford button-downs that fit and flatter the wearer, are relatively resistant to trends. Classic tailoring also holds a special place in our culture because it's the lingua franca of menswear—a language everyone understands, regardless of their background. Many designer aesthetics require specialized knowledge to appreciate, such as the shabby look of Kapital or the sculptural quality of Issey Miyake's futuristic creations. But almost everyone can appreciate how a man looks in a well-tailored, moderately proportioned suit because of what it represents in our collective memory.

When it comes to matters of taste, few people have a better record than beloved menswear author Bruce Boyer. I first saw Bruce online when Scott Schuman posted this photo of him on his site The Sartorialist around 2007. I was struck by the tastefulness of the outfit—a brown checked tweed with taupe trousers, a green striped tie, a light blue shirt, and a tan mac raincoat that reached Bruce's knees. The thing is, Bruce dresses the same today as he did back then, and in every other photo ever posted of him. On the inside of the dust covers for his books Elegance (1985) and Eminently Suitable (1990), you can find black-and-white author photos of a younger Bruce not only wearing the same things—a semi-spread collar shirt with rep striped tie and either a navy double-breasted blazer or houndstooth tweed—but even clothes in the same proportions. In a Permanent Style feature, Bruce flipped over the in-breast pocket of one of his sport coats to reveal an Anderson & Sheppard label typeset with his name and the date "9/5/83." Imagine never bricking a single fit for nearly forty years (possibly ever). So I asked Bruce: how does one develop good taste in clothes? His answer is below.