Tucked into the foothills of the Appalachians, in Ashland, a town borne of the once-thriving Pennsylvania coal mines, sits a two story house. That house is home to one of the last great American shirt makers, Gitman Bros.
“This was Shelly Gitman’s home away from home,” Gitman President John Minahan explained when I visited last May. “He’d use this place to get away from the wife whenever he needed to.”
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Joe Gannon is great. The way he encourages me to post more often, the way he’ll whisper a story idea in my ear and beg for none of the credit when the story’s well-received, or the way he’s introduced me to a great many ridiculously out-of-this-world cool things, at times our relationship feels more like that of a father and son than of two friends with similar interests and a similar disposition.
Then, I remember he’s actually a dad, and from the sound of things, a pretty great one. The other day, he called me, “Quade’s going through one of those ‘Exactly like dad things.’” He went on to break it down, head-to-toe, from bikes to button downs, the kid is his father’s son. Joe wrote a letter to Quade for Father’s Day. He was kind enough to share it here.
Sam Parker shoots from the hip. Sounds like the title for a Western, better yet, a song title. Short and sweet. That’s how Sam likes things. Make the trip to Context in Madison. Get Sam to show you around his shop. You won’t regret it. You’ll come away with more than an appreciation for fourteen ounce denim and grilled sirloin steaks the size of your skull. You’ll come away with a friend. Sam Parker, friend to all. You heard it here first. I’m posting his response as is, because it’s just that great.
The day I met Lee Norwood, he’d just won an eBay auction. He won a pair of antique fraternity graffiti corduroy pants from my alma mater. Traditionally, the pants were passed among classmates and emblazoned with particular catchphrases or logos. After telling him the tale of those trousers, after hearing him speak of his father with such regard, after watching his enthusiastic retelling of his recent trip through my parents’ home town where he discovered some of Kansas City’s classic barbecue joints, I felt a kinship with someone whose talents as a designer I’ve always held in such high regard. He’s taken the house that Ralph built and turned it into something else entirely. Combining his love of workwear, antique militaria, vintage, and prep school dress, Mr. Norwood’s helped Mr. Lauren create a world all its own, and subsequently wreaked havoc on bank accounts worldwide, not least among them mine.
But that day, more than the clothes or the barbecue, the importance of Family really stood out. Here, Lee shares a bit about one of the members of his family, his daughter Hattie.
A master in the art of living draws no sharp distinction between his work and his play; his labor and his leisure; his mind and his body; his education and his recreation. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence through whatever he is doing, and leaves others to determine whether he is working or playing. To himself, he always appears to be doing both.
- Francois Auguste Rene Chateaubriand
I first discovered this quote while reading Yvon Chouinard’s Let My People Go Surfing. Reading that book changed my life. I began to seek out ways to achieve what Chateaubriand saw as masterful living. And so far, it’s worked. I sometimes marvel at the wicked amounts of fun I get to have every day.
Matt Baldwin, owner of Kansas City’s Standard Style, like Chateaubriand before him, never appears to be working too hard, and if he does appear to be working, he also appears to be having the time of his life. In a business where appearance is everything, I think Matt’s gone beyond appearances, and his hard work as a man, a husband, and a father have paid off in big ways. I admire Matt for attempting to master the art of living.
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Not long after we met, I ran into Billykirk’s Chris Bray on a chilly, Fall Sunday at the Brooklyn Flea where he entrusted me and Brandon Capps with the care of his daughter Matilda while he shopped for saddlebags and Civil War memorabilia. It was then that I saw this man for what he really is: an old softy and one of my favorite people on this Earth, downright. He, like his brother, Kirk, has a natural warmth and a smile that goes on for days. Happy-go-lucky, and with good reason, he’s worked hard to get to where he is, and he’ll only continue to succeed in the game called Life. However, at the end of it all, it’s patently clear, his children, as with all the dads in this series, are his raison d’être. He lights up at the mention of their names. Since that day at the flea market, just about every electronic correspondence has included a picture of his Free-Spirited, Tie-dyed and Tutued, Beaded, Beatnik Beauty, Matilda. While I’ve yet to meet, Willa — surely not a reflection of my babysitting skills — the newest Bundle in the Bray Bunch, as long as dad is around, I’m sure no moment is spoiled spreading the love. And if the eight photos attached in his e-mail to me for this post are any indication, occasionally, the man loves to show off. And with kids this adorable, who wouldn’t?
Ben Ferencz, creative director at Freeman Transport, sent over this beautiful, handwritten note to his daughter, Evelyn. Reading it, I got chills. The good kind. Thanks for sharing, Ben.
There are those who know him as The Sartorialist’s infamous Professor Badass and others who know him as the striking face of a recent look book for Hickey, I know him as Kevin, a good fashion editor, a better man, and one of the best dads around.
Reassured.
After returning from lunch with Unabashedly Prep’s Fred, someone in my office asked me how I felt each time I made a new friend thanks to All Plaidout. The kindred spirits that exist, that feeling of familiarity that happens in spite of having never met, it lets me know that I’m not alone. I always worry that marching to my own drum means that I’m doing something wrong. And then someone like Fred comes along, and we speak the same language, and we share a common bond — granted it may have begun as something superficial like a love of oxford cloth button downs — we quickly realize, our bond is formed in something deeper, more meaningful. After listening to Fred talk about leaving a life in banking to follow his passion for photography, I felt better about the path I’ve taken. Fred wrote the following letter to his boys, and in it offers some advice we could all use.
In the few interactions I’ve had with Mac McMillan, I’ve found him to just be a solid man, always there when I need to ask him for advice, or, in this instance, for a little help. Alongside his wife Kat, Mac recently introduced neckwear line Pierrepont Hicks to much fanfare and within good reason. Their ties are as a tasteful an update as you’ll find.
Thank you, Mac, for sharing this beautiful letter to your daughter, Camille.
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