Nothing relieves a bad case of cognitive dissonance better than seeing someone whose style you admire sporting the same article of clothing you were feeling iffy about.
Philip Crangi in a Barbour International jacket (photo by Tommy Ton for GQ). Once in a while, there surfaces a street style photograph that speaks to you so intimately that it breaks through all the clutter out in the blogosphere, one so rich with inspiration you know you'd be looking back at it for months.
The hair, on the head and on the face, the dark round glasses with gold arms, the luxuriously yet casually knotted raw-edged two-toned wool scarf (any ideas on where I could find something similar?), and the perfectly distressed waxed cotton jacket all form the costume of what I'd imagine an aristocrat who's fallen out of favor with the nobility and now spends his days creating art in New York City's gritty Lower East Side, yes! That's what he'd wear.
I haven't been getting as much wear as I wished from the same Barbour jacket I picked up in London a few months ago:
I purchased it new, and well, that seems to be my major bone to pick with it. The buttons are a conspicuous bright gold, and the fabric almost too sticky and too heavy with wax.
To get the aging process started, I plan on wearing it in the rain tomorrow. While I'm at it, I might as well roll in the gravel and drag my back along the entire perimeter of my apartment building's coarse brick wall. Dear friends, Englishmen and Anglophiles alike, have you any suggestions on how best to weather my Barbour?