Archive for Chiseled jaws
It had been months since the Yankees had ravaged this part of the county, stealing every waistcoat, cummerbund, and cufflink between Atlanta and Macon. Still Beau Beauregard felt the sting. Blue was not his color.
He had torn out the linings of his silk smoking jackets just to make a filter for tea. His pocket squares were now reduced to handkerchiefs. It wasn’t fair! He thought of boyish Beau who had never tied a cravat let alone caught a sow. He thought of his silk Morocco green slippers and how the ladies gathered around him at the barbeque (so long ago!) as he lifted his trouser cuffs. It was well known that he had the largest feet in seven counties. It was a scandal with he had his evening britches tailored five inches too short. Was he no better than that gigolo Patrice Zouard who died his hair pink and downed creme de menthe like it was a tonic?
The house faced east, windows full with the morning light. It was too hot to stand here much longer, there were chores to be done. He let the heavy drape fall, concealing the room once again in shadow.
How could he have been so blind! The curtians! He ran from window to window, laughing. He would be green-eyed Beau once more!
Paisley jacket and trousers. Button fly with genuine mother-of-pearl. Whether you lie, steal, or cheat, you’ll never be underdressed again.
It’s rare that we stumble upon a style icon so precocious that he’s not even into his double digits. We are pretty sure we were wearing socks on our hands at that age. (Trend for Fall 09! Les Mani-Chaussettes!) So it is with great pleasure that we intoduce our first J.Cruel Man: Arlo Weiner. Mr. Weiner is the eight-year-old son of Mad Men creator Matthew Weiner, and the pedigree is evident. Join us for a gallery of great moments in style for this J.Cruel Man.
How do you say “elegance” in Nazi?
Hooded duffel coat with brass buttons and Bemberg lining.
How do you say “My calves are perfection but the Bavarian breeze is so chilly?”
Argyle knee socks.
You know these things. You are the man with the answers, the man who’s finally found a coat with enough Lebensraum for his delts. Just because you’re an Aryan monument doesn’t mean you have to stop being a naughty schoolboy.
“Herr Doktor! Herr Doktor!”
You lift a hand, continue on your way across the sqaure. Dusk. Cobblestones. The smell of mulled wine. Lights in the windows behind lace curtains. The clock strikes eins, zwei, drei, vier. Marta said she would make Linzerschnitten today.
Why did Dr. Strangelove get out of his wheelchair?
He was trying to get a better look at your outfit.
Hooded Duffel Coat in navy. Aran Cable Button-Front Cardigan. Argyle Over-the-Calf Socks.