Esquire’s second annual edition of The Big Black Book: The Style Manual for Successful Men should come with a warning label: Devout Marxists, or even emotional neoliberals, shouldn’t read this, because it’s known to cause high blood pressure. and, in some cases, cases, serious heart attacks.
Then again, the welfare of leftists may not be top of mind for those who, in the words of editor-in-chief David Granger, seek to help define “that fine line between pursuing quality and indulging in extravagance.” . Because, as you’ll no doubt be surprised to discover, quality, as defined in this context, is extravagant, and in things like buying time on private planes or arranging to have custom shoes made from exotic animal skins, the material here is to political correctness as Dick Cheney is to Al Gore, or as he is now known, Saint Albert.
In that same Granger note, though, there are hints that the keen minds at Esquire are well aware that many readers will be more of the Syms-educated consumer variety than the Gordon Gekko variety. Let’s put aside that the paperback version of the Big Black Book is red (“Yes, we know it’s red,” the cover notes, preempting wise men everywhere). “For the most part,” Granger writes, “we grew up in homes where someone worked hard for a living, and most of us had parents or grandparents who believed in one of the defining character traits of the last century: thrift.” Could Hearst’s secret marketing studios locked away in an undisclosed location indicate that at least a sizeable portion of Big Black Book readers remain in those homes? That there are jerks like me looking through the glass at the kind of people who will spend their next $2,450 on a deerskin bag instead of dividing it up among their kids’ 529 college funds but, at the end of the day, they’ll be slipping that check CollegeBoundFund in your declasse cuckoo mailboxes? I suspect they do.
And it is for this reason that I sat back and thoroughly enjoyed this elegant, clever, well-researched, and sumptuous catalog of expensive-to-get items.
The gurus of the good life slowly ease us in with the at least mildly plausible Hogan leather bomber jacket ($1,590) and $1,295 Gucci wingtip pumps. Those are among “The Essentials”. And here I thought the essentials were my $45 loafers from DSW and my members-only 15-year-old jacket that my wife (I assure you, honey) plans to secretly give to a shelter the next time I leave town (she calls it my “Walter Matthau jacket”). The $998 Moncler jacket looks very comfortable, except for that annoying global warming thing that kept our air conditioning running well into October.
A $615 Mont Blanc Meisterstuck 149 Gold Plated Black Resin Fountain Pen ($615)? Unlikely, though fountain pens are the kind of pretense I’m susceptible to, but duly noted items for the starchy villain or eccentric hero of my next (ie first) mystery novel. (“Undeterred, Herr Strechen uncapped the Meisterstuck from him and proficiently fingered the golden tip of it. It was then, with a shudder, that Samantha realized her fate was sealed.”) Should Herr Strechen wear a Kilgour Wool “Killer Suit” ($1,790)? ? Maybe a silk Gucci pocket square ($110)?
Much of the pleasure of reading The Big Black Book comes from remembering that not everyone works in IT. I mean, there are still people like the designer Taavo Somer and the tailor Martin Greenfield who make vintage suits out of dead wool from around the 1940s and 1950s. Or Marcus Wainwright and Nathan Bogle, English immigrants in New York who make jeans out of denim produced on old shuttle looms. Or the 83-year-old Belstaff from England, which replicates Steve McQueen’s favorite waxed cotton biker jacket. “It is rumored that he “once” spent a night with his then-girlfriend, Ali MacGraw,” the book informs us, “to stay and wax his Belstaff. This was no euphemism.”
I enjoyed reading the story of the little suit and the pictorial timeline that traces its lineage from Harold Lloyd, through Benjamin Braddock, Mick Jagger, Elvis Costello, and Pee-wee Herman.
I’m not the type of person who could, with a straight face, wear David Yurman’s gorgeous stud profile ring, but it’s something to aspire to, I realize as I look at Lendon Flanagan’s gorgeous signature photo. That’s in a section called “The Little Things,” which also ties vintage to voltage with lavishly arranged collections that bundle, say, a $125 Yves Saint Laurent leather bracelet with a Motorola Motorazr V3i phone ($290). . I was enjoying the fantasy until I came across the $3,200 Ralph Lauren Purple Label Crocodile Skin Mouse Pad. Note to HR: Any partner using one of these is clearly embezzling.
“The Long Road” features a fun little essay on how and where cashmere is produced. “The Leather” is a subtly fetishistic romp through shoes, gloves, and purses made from a variety of skins, from the traditional calf to the eyebrow-raising goat, Russian reindeer, ostrich, and peccary (a cousin of the wild boar). ), to the creepy lizard, stingray, python, and crocodile.
The items get heavier midway through the book. The Land Rover Defender 110 (starting at $39,365) looks much more serviceable and considerably less objectionable than the Hummer you might see strutting down Deer Park Ave. in North Babylon, Long Island, as long as you keep the lights purple. And the Ford Focus ST ($36,247) looks downright sensible. Are you in the wrong post? Ah, there’s the catch: you can only get it in Europe, so there’s that little add-on. The Alfa Romeo 8C Competizione ($184,289) really does drool, and I say that as a guy who doesn’t get too carried away with cars. I think I’ll have Herr Strechen’s bitter wife, Gerthe, I’ll call her, take one to Dresden. (“As he revved up his 4.7-liter V-8, she experienced sweet sixth-gear torque that gave her all the pleasures unavailable to her domineering, orchid-obsessed husband.”)
The eco-resort in the Maldives seems a little too laid-back for the Stechens ($540 a night off-peak), but let’s get ’em flying, shall we? In an eight-passenger Dassault Falcon 2000 ($25 million).
I’m in love with Zenith’s Grande Chronomaster Open XXT watch ($21,500), but I’m afraid it won’t hold up to the sweat and sunscreen on my jogs as well as my Timex sports watch ($35, Sports Authority).
“The Bespoke Life” clues us into the world of tailoring, and the distinctions involved in peak lapels, shrunken suits (sorry, Pee-wee, but it still looks a bit limited, albeit modern), and so on. . . The assortment of hunting-themed outdoor clothing is a bit aggressive – surely one might want Wellington boots without the double-barreled accessory. But the etiquette and history behind various long coats (Chesterfield, evening, tweed, etc.) are illuminating.
Even the Marxist might secretly skip to page 153, as the “Information” section has valuable guidance on such matters as organizing closets, folding shirts, tying shoes (tied straight, crisscross, underneath), hand care, and foot massage (oh come on, you know you care about the former even if you don’t confess to wanting the latter), Dopp kit organization, barber terms (thin, layered, choppy, shaved, textured), spot removal both body hair (a thankfully laissez-faire approach) and blemishes (I paid particular attention to that one, given my sad history with sauces, dressings, toothpastes, and childish spit of all kinds).
Keep close to you the practical guide on how to combine suit, tie and shirt patterns; distinguish between natural, roped, and padded jacket shoulders; the subtle variations between Windsor, half Windsor, four-in-hand, and Pratt tie knots; and textile prints (crystal, houndstooth, bird’s eye, etc.)
The “6 Drinks Every Man Must Master” is also helpful, but while I’ll be getting the dry martini, old-fashioned hot whiskey punch, and possibly even the Hemingway daiquiri, when was the last time a dinner guest demanded unconditionally a Dove? or a caipirinha? Perhaps the idea is that you are supposed to be the type of man to present these treats to the guest? I’m not that kind of man, and if you want a caipirinha, you’ll have to go somewhere else because I’m just out of cachaca.
The Diplomatic Marxist could evaluate this year’s Big Black Book using its own guide to non-committal compliments. “You’ve done it again!” “What can I say? It’s really, really something.”
But I’ll take a tip from the “How to Bargain a Party” box, head to the couch (“Pick the medium…you’ll look more sociable”), sip my proper fall punch, and say with fake designer-drunk reactionary zeal, “Good show, boys.”