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(“As hip-hoppers aspired to look like rich people, they took a keen interest in the preppy clothes that were very fashionable in the 1980s. And because it was grounded in a culture of poverty, the look seemed far more accessible - like an all-ages punk rock show - despite its price tag.Īll this comes, oddly, after years of preppy and “white-seeming” major fashion brands (from Ralph Lauren to Vuitton) being propelled to success by black consumers.
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Though it was always prohibitively expensive, it was very often based on outfits New York’s hippest street rats pieced together from whatever they could barely afford or steal. Take, for instance, Hedi Slimane’s Dior Homme line from years past. But lately, chic clothing appears to be trending toward privilege far more drastically than it ever has before. Having lived in New York and Los Angeles, I’m keenly aware that fashion has never been about inclusion - be it for the benefit of minorities (save gays), the poor or really anyone outside of a few major, expensive, Western cities. Peterman’s “ owner’s hat,” introduced thusly: “Some of us work on the plantation. Just like these pants.” Well then! At that point, I say to hell with the subtlety call them the Sorry, Darkie Breeches: “From solid European stock and for solid European stockholders.” Here’s the company’s description of a pair of its tweed slacks: “Did you know that Verdi wrote ‘Falstaff’ when he was 80? … Verdi, Walt Whitman, the Mellons. The company Seinfeld so often mocked seems more eager to revel in blue-blooded patriarchy than a Buckley sipping highballs on a yacht on Long Island Sound. Then again, would anyone ever sell a “plantation bullwhip”? J. Because not all plantations got fat off slave-labor and it’s a bit silly to necessarily associate the two. Of course, perhaps I’m being hypersensitive. Over at J.Crew, a new arrival is the “ plantation madras” button-down, a breezy, colorful shirt just in time for the annual thaw, not to mention a thing whose name I can’t help but associate with slavery. (For example, American Apparel, the general store for Midwestern kids with ambitions to do coke with Josh Hartnett in Lower East Side bathrooms, offers leggings in Night Fever Navy.) What was jarring, however, was how frequently these hints of old money airs turned up to pollute my shopping experience. Like any major clothing company, Polo hawks a lifestyle - or at least the dream of a lifestyle - just as much as it hawks shirts and belts. I was disappointed, though not necessarily surprised. Instead, here I was being reminded that my grandfather was a butler and my grandmother a maid.
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But I quickly abandoned both for a nice dark green - that is, until I clicked on the drop-down box and saw what specific kind of green I was about to order: “Old Money Green.” I considered Aviator Navy and Polo Black. “Perfect, fuck it, I’m done,” I thought, dragging the little hand across the screen to the small square color swatches. Still a believer in all clothes skinny, I clicked on the Slim-Fit Custom Chinos, tailored things described as “polished casual.” They looked to be snug in the ass like my old jeans but not something I’d be embarrassed to wear to an impromptu wedding or funeral. I went to Polo’s web site, believing, as the ads have told me to, that Ralph Lauren is the lead purveyor of exactly that which I sought: pants! Classic, proper pants for American men who are through wearing only black denim to hide spilt beer but not through with having a certain interest in what messages their aesthetic sends to the world. On the eve of my 28th birthday last month, I sat down to my computer prepared to purchase what my dad calls “proper pants.” Closer to 30 than I’d ever been before, I decided I’d like to enter the next couple of years owning at least a few pairs of trousers that weren’t denim, or at least not denim purchased at Uniqlo (one of the better reasons to live in New York, in my opinion).