In today’s post I’m going to sing the praises of an article of women’s clothing which alas seems quite unfashionable these days, whereas it should be as perennially popular as blue jeans: the loose, baggy, off-the-shoulder sweater. Here’s an example:
The wonderful thing about this garment is that it looks sexy: that slightly impression of wantonness coupled with (in some cases) a tantalizing glimpse of the breast whenever the lady leans forward makes, for me at least, a hugely-erotic sight.
It’s completely ruined by the appearance of a bra strap, by the way; the whole essence of the thing is near-nudity, even under so large and thick a garment.
Now I know that Not All Women Can Go Braless… but actually, a loose floppy sweater does an excellent job of concealing loose, floppy breasts, for example, so what would be unthinkable with any other garment top is not at all out of the question with a wide, loose-topped sweater. Here’s one with a very loose neck:
In each of the above cases, the model has a fairly modest bust — but a larger one would make the garment quite sensationally sexy.
While I quite like the Victorian “below-the-shoulder” (i.e. both shoulders uncovered), it’s a little more overt (albeit also very sexy too):
…but this one is definitely reserved for the Young ‘N Perky Set because of its tightness.
But a big ol’ floppy sweater falling off one shoulder?
When I see articles like this, I just shake my head. Go ahead, read it and see the glaring omission.
A well-built jacket will keep you dry in the field whatever the weather, protecting you from rain, wind and keeping you warm during the winter months as well.
It shouldn’t just keep the elements out though. The best waterproof shooting jacket will be made from a silent material too – keeping any noises that might disturb or spook your target to a minimum.
Other features to factor in are the number of pockets, which are useful for carrying cartridges in; a colour that blends into your environment; and good breathability.
Not all waterproof shooting jackets are equal though. Read on to find out our pick of the best you can currently buy.
Well, any such list which doesn’t include the peerless Barbour jacket isn’t a list at all: it’s a fraud no doubt perpetrated by Commies*. Here’s a pic which encapsulates all that is good about the thing:
I’ve owned a Barbour jacket now for about 12 years, and it’s still in excellent shape. (I left it at The Englishman’s Castle after my last trip Over There because a) I didn’t have room in the suitcase and b) I hardly ever wear the damn thing in Cuidad Tejas because it only rains here about twice a year vs. twice a day in Britishland. I left my wellies there for the same reason.)
Here’s the thing: when I have worn the Barbour Over Here, I have had people comment favorably on it every single time I put it on — whether at gun shows, shooting events or just visits to the supermarket. They’re not only wonderfully durable, they’re also good-looking — and they never go out of style.
Mine is the shorter “Cowen Commando” style (almost like a bomber jacket):
…but I hanker after the longer “Bransdale” style as in the first pic.
Sadly, we don’t get the range of Barbour jackets Over Here that they offer Over There, but you could probably order the one you want (Bransdale or Beaufort would be my recommendation) through Orvis or Nordstrom. They are not cheap (around $300), but you’re buying it for life, so it’s a bargain. My Younger Readers could expect at least 30 years out of a Barbour — for the Olde Pharttes, it’s truly a lifetime purchase.
For the ladies, there’s the cold-weather Dartford:
The men’s equivalent is the Oakum:
Don’t thank me; it’s all part of the service.
*That’s only mild hyperbole. In class-obsessed societies like Britishland, Barbour is the absolute uniform of the upper classes — add a customized Land Rover / Range Rover and a matched pair of Holland shotguns, and the Labour Party will hate you on sight.
Some men have admitted to keeping underwear for more than 20 years, a new poll has found. Clothing firm Tom Clinch conducted a poll, which found that the average British man only buys new pants once every five years.
Put me in the “5 years” category, for one simple reason. I only wear undies from Marks & Spencer, I buy about 20 pairs at a time, and I rotate them conscientiously.
And they’re all black. I’ve been buying these for over twenty years:
One style, one color. Life is too short for me to waste time on stupid shit like deciding which underwear to wear every morning, but least I’m not the guy who takes 20 years to decide to get new ones. (Seriously?)
And all that said, life is too short for me to write about this nonsense, and for you to waste your time reading it. We now return to our regular fare of guns, Commie-hatred, ill-tempered invective and patriotic bodacious wimmens (sample below).
If ever there’s evidence needed that fashions go in circles, take a look at this foul trend:
We used to call that a “convict” cut (somewhat ironic, as the pic is of Australian Shane Warne) or else a “boarding school” cut — which I remember with loathing — and the last time it was popular was in the 1940s, seen here on George Orwell:
I myself think it looks like shit, regardless of era, but it’s all a question of personal taste; and if that’s going to be my biggest complaint of the day, we’re not doing too badly.
Anyway, when I think of some of my own hairstyles, worn proudly back when I were a yoot… actually, Warnie’s isn’t so bad.
Over at Knuckledraggin’, Kenny posted this interesting gif:
…and it got me thinking.
I’ve never bought into the whole jewellery thing. It’s not just my long-time hatred of the loathsome De Beers diamond cartel and their criminal business practices (although that certainly plays a part), but there’s a part of me which just applies commonsense and cynicism to the whole ethos of “precious” metals and stones.
The “metals” part I can sort of understand because they at least have useful properties for some applications, and ditto diamonds when used industrially (cutting, grinding and what have you).
But as decoration? What a load of old bollocks. Wearing diamonds as decoration, in necklaces, pendants, bracelets and (ugh) engagement rings is really just a way to say, “I’m rich and can afford to spend money on these useless baubles as a way to show off my wealth”.
In the old days, jewellery was used by royalty to show their social superiority over their subjects. Nowadays, when some illiterate oaf who is able to string a series of mumbled rhymes into a “song” can load up his neck, chest and teeth(!) with gold and diamonds — well, that kinda devalues the whole thing, doesn’t it? Except that’s precisely the point of expensive jewellery.
I don’t care much for most modern terminology / slang, but I love the word “bling” because it describes perfectly the inherent emptiness and worthlessness [sic] of slapping shiny rocks onto everything in sight.
Don’t even get me started on those tasteless morons who load up their (already-expensive) wristwatches with jewels, driving the price into the stratosphere for absolutely zero added utility*. Here’s one example:
And when I said “stratosphere”, I wasn’t kidding. I don’t know the cost of the above — Graff is remarkably (and understandably) coy about publishing prices for their watches — but one of their other timepieces (which is too ugly for me to picture here) went on sale for $55 million. Small wonder that these and their ilk are the preferred watches of drug kingpins, Arab oil sheikhs and Russian oligarchs — breeds not known for their exquisite taste — because that is the target market of all jewellery: people with newly-acquired wealth who have to show it off.
In a way, though, I’m glad that these parvenus pricks buy into this nonsense, because it enables us to label them, correctly, as “suckers”.
So when somebody looks at a diamond pendant and sniffs, “Glass”, I’m the guy who replies, “Who cares? It looks just as pretty.”
And if it gets lost or stolen, you can simply shrug and buy another one, more or less with the loose change in your pocket, while the owner of the identical-looking “genuine” diamond item has to open negotiations with the insurance company.
Next week: art.
*Longtime Readers, by the way, know that I love expensive watches — my “lottery” watch is a Vacheron Constantin Royal 1907 (retail: ~$50,000) — but that’s (much) less than the sales tax one would pay for Graff’s foul “Hallucination”.