Posh Cloves

I’ve had several requests for details on the Goodwood Revival dress code, with requests for things such as tweed / waxed cotton jackets or trousers (“pants” in Britspeak are undies).

If you want to go Amazon, just search for “Walker and Hawkes” under Men’s Clothing and pick out what you want. (Warning:  their sizes are Brit dimensions, i.e. smaller than our generous Murkin ones, so if for example you wear a U.S. X-Large, get their XXL.)

W&H are a cheaper choice than Barbour, who are filthy expensive, so there MAY be a quality / longwearing compromise involved, but so far I haven’t had any issues.

If like me you have an issue with woolen pants (itchy), then go with corduroy, such as the Orvis offering.

I have to get it all together before my trip Over There next year…

Horrible

I’ve never understood the appeal of the sulky-looking Oz actress Rebel Wilson, unless it was some kind of social compensation for her (over-)weight.  Still, I have to give it to the girl, who got sick of only being offered “fat-girl” second-fiddle movie roles and decided to lose some tonnage.  So she did, going from gargantuan to merely plump in the space of about a year (and good for her):

Of course, her reduced tonnage meant that Rebel could now choose from a wider pool of boyfriends (and arguably a better class thereof), which she did when she started banging Anheuser-Busch heir Jake Busch.  They’ve since apparently broken up, but before they did, they appeared in public together at some dress-up function, and this is why I put the “arguably” in front of “better class” earlier.  See if you can spot the sartorial faux pas  in the pic below:

Seems to me that if a girl goes through the grueling year-long grind of exercise and diet in order to make herself look more attractive, the least her boyfriend could do was not show up sockless and wearing bedroom slippers at a formal function.

Which is why the title of this post refers not to the pouty Oz chick, but to her ex-boyfriend.

Pick One

I filched a pic from Knuckledragger, and here it is:

I’ve added letters to each style, and your task for the day, should you accept it, is:

Assuming you had as much hair as the models above, and had to choose one of the above for yourself today, which one would you pick?

(Bonus points if you actually had that same hairstyle in the 70s).

I’ll start the ball rolling:  K.  I have no problem with the style.  (Actually, during the Bass Guitarist Years my hair looked more like J, but we won’t talk about that now.)

Stupid Ranking

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.

Makes you want to own one, doesn’t it?

Sparklies

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:

“MasterGraff Ultraslim Tourbillon” (AFP PHOTO / FABRICE COFFRINI)

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”.

Appearances Matter

Despite the “we’re all equal” trope that seems to be all the rage today, !Science! tells us that it just ain’t so (emphasis added):

People perceive a person’s competence partly based on subtle economic cues emanating from the person’s clothing, according to a study published in Nature Human Behaviour by Princeton University. These judgments are made in a matter of milliseconds, and are very hard to avoid.
In nine studies conducted by the researchers, people rated the competence of faces wearing different upper-body clothing. Clothing perceived as “richer” by an observer—whether it was a T-shirt, sweater, or other top—led to higher competence ratings of the person pictured than similar clothes judged as “poorer,” the researchers found.
Given that competence is often associated with social status, the findings suggest that low-income individuals may face hurdles in relation to how others perceive their abilities—simply from looking at their clothing.

I’ve banged on about this topic several times before, but now that I have !Science! to back me up, I’m going to say it again, with feeling:

Appearances matter.

Dress like a slob, get treated like one.  Even worse, if the above study is to be believed, is that if you dress like a slob your competence  is going to be dismissed, especially when compared with someone who doesn’t look (as I’ve said before) as though he’s just come from a beach party by way of working on his friend’s car.

It doesn’t matter, by the way, how unfair  you think this prejudice is;  it’s simply the way of the world, and bleating about the unfairness of it won’t change a thing.