While in Missouri, I tried to toss a serve on one of my dad’s old wood racquets, and well, I failed miserably. Eventually, as I got the hang of it, I noticed as the ball would hit the racquet, the sensation was completely foreign. When I brought this up to a friend who plays a lot of tennis, he directed me to this article.
I have one in Brooklyn. When it gets warmer, I’ll try to convince someone to pick one up as well. I love the idea of playing a purer, cleaner, perhaps more physically challenging game of tennis.
And as a style item, one need look no further than Diannie Keaton Hall, Woody Allen, and Jack Lemmon.
If I started a clothing company, I’d want the hang tags to tell the garment’s story, like a J. Peterman catalogue dangling there for customers to read as they hold my creations.
Inspired by 45rpm’s NYC Denim Diary, I thought I’d provide a diary entry of my own for the pair pictured.
:: A.P.C. Hipsters, size 30, purchase in mid-September 2006 ::
The second pair of jeans I bought from Jean Touitou are my favorite. The Cures cut too close to my calves. Hipsters, with their wider leg, suited my gams just fine. Purchased to celebrate the opening of a play I’d produced with some friends, I remember someone commented on their “shine” at the after-party. These were straight-up, raw as the law selvedge denim. My boss called them my “tighties” for the first couple months. I wore them to sleep a few times hoping they’d loosen up a bit. I wore them nearly every day. In December of that year, I had about an inch chopped off the cuffs. I didn’t wash them until March, and by that time, despite leaving them in a freezer for a couple days, they’d knock people out with their smokey smell. Now, I put them in with the regular laundry; I don’t turn them inside out; I wash them once or twice a month. All the fading, whiskers, holes, and stains are of my own doing. They have torn twice. I’ve had them repaired by some folks in Cincinnati who do a bang-up job. Unless I point it out, the repair goes undetected. Over the holidays, they incurred another hole. Like The Pretenders, they’re going back to Ohio.
I’ll have a full write-up on denim repair in a couple weeks.
That’s it for now, I’m all plaid out.
Photographer David Friedman traveled to a Kentucky denim distressing factory. The photos are so beautiful, but I do not understand why a pair of jeans needs whiskers upon purchase.
I am back now. Updates galore to follow.
Excellent When to Wash Guide c/o Valet.
Watching The Winter Classic today on NBC, I noticed several of the Red Wings players wearing Farkas Eye Black. As much an aid to reduce the sun’s glare as it is an intimidating war paint of sorts, eye black has been used by athletes young and old for years. As a kid, I can recall stashing a tin of my dad’s shoe polish in my bat bag and slashing the stuff across my face the day of the big game. According to UniWatch, Detroit’s equipment manager, Paul Boyer, ordered several tins of the stuff for today’s match. Traditionally worn by athletes playing outdoors on sunny days, it’s been years since pro hockey players – in their air-conditioned arenas – had to worry about the blinding sun, but as anyone who’s ever skied on a sunny day can tell you, sunlight bounces off the white stuff like nothing else. I’ve had a heckuva time tracking down old-timey photos of hockey players sporting eye black. Hopefully, I’ll have something for you later. Until then, retired Blackhawk, Bobby Hull and 46 y.o. former Hawk, Red Winger Chris Chelios show off the throwback jerseys for each team.
Farkas Eye Black, $7, available at Uncrate.
The Detroit News featured Farkas in a story on January 3rd.
The Triple Guard Stripe Tie, henceforth the Jennifer Aniston Tie, from Black Fleece, Thom Browne’s line for Brooks Brothers is on sale for $112.50, down from $150.00. Get it for no other reason than to say at a party, “Yeah, it’s that tie.” Hi-Def photo c/o A Continuous Lean.
Fellow St. Louisan Charles Eames and I wish you and yours a Merry Christmas!
With our first serious dumping of chowdah this weekend, I certainly felt the call of the wild. Fairly certain these surfers on Long Island did too. Photos c/o The New York Times.