the modern uniform, a manifesto

January 13th, 2010 • posts i've written

Shopping for men’s clothing is absurd.

If I were to draw a shopping spectrum with metrosexual on one end and douchebag on the other, you could clump every major men’s retailer at one or the other extreme.

Well, let me tell you about my boots.

My boots are four years old. I bought them before my first Chicago winter in a tiny shop in Wicker Park. I’ve never owned rain boots and I’ve never needed them. If there’s a thunderstorm or a blizzard, I wear these boots. I’ve worn them through weeks of endless snow, through mush, through filthy ice, pouring rain, and everything New York has since spat at me. I’ve replaced the laces and finally decided to have them resoled last month. Meanwhile, the leather ages beautifully and the fit never suffers. My boots have mass but aren’t heavy for weight’s sake – as an urban dwelling man, I walk comfortably for hours in my boots when called upon.

When I visited my cobbler to have my boots resoled – he marveled at them – How much did you pay for these? $900 I’m guessing? These are beautiful!

Men want to own boots that last for years and still get envious stares from their cobblers (I can tell you a very similar story about my Father’s peacoat, which is almost forty years old and I wear almost every single day).

Men don’t want to shop in stores that clearly only have men’s clothing to keep boyfriends and husbands occupied while they wait on their wives and girlfriends.

Men want to be respected for their style and their intelligence.

Men want attention to detail. Men want nails and stitching. Not glue.

Men want articles of clothing that gather stories of their own; artifacts of a long and important life – their own.

Men are willing to pay for craftsmanship, durability, and fashion – and they don’t need a visible label to tell anyone how much they paid.

Men don’t want a wardrobe, they want a uniform. Not the indicator of income level, job rank, or pay grade uniform – men want the uniform for a life that that doesn’t pause in front of the closet, doesn’t window shop, doesn’t fidget in dressing rooms, and doesn’t consider outfits in the mirror in the morning.

Men want a uniform for a life of purpose.

Of course, I’m talking about a specific kind of man here. Me. But I don’t think I’m alone.

If I could build a pair of boots, I would. If I could stitch a sweater, make a shirt, construct a jacket, I would probably leave behind my digital job and open up a tiny shop just far enough away from some busy corner.

I’d make clothes that came with five year guarantees and free repair. Instead of no-questions asked, I’d make you tell me the story about the rip on your elbow or the torn button from your jacket. The best stories would be retold.

I’d never change sizes – a 31 would stay a 31. I’d never buy cheap materials or trim corners. I’d never sell out to a transient fad but somehow I’d stay inconspicuously ahead of the curve. I’d show men how clothes should be worn, respected, and repaired on their own (if they preferred it). I’d outfit them head to toe if they needed it and I’d never stitch a label anywhere in plain sight. No matter how popular the clothes became, I’d never put on a show or parade models in my clothes. I probably wouldn’t advertise, but I’d be willing to share a whiskey with anyone that introduced a friend to the shop. That said, I probably wouldn’t be rich – but then again, my purpose isn’t to end up with everyone’s money.

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Tags: clothing, Fashion

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