How to get classy.

We all get to a certain point in our lives where we stop thinking about street-wear, hair dye, shag bands and Kanye West sunglasses. And that point should be a signal to each of us that it's time to get classy, whatever age you are when that revelation hits you. I'm not quite there yet but in an attempt to plan ahead I noted some stuff down and took some pictures, also check it out - when you're looking classy you're also instantly taller.

Swap your cap for a slicked back

If you're like me and would rather avoid the whole hair game by covering that shit up with a hat everyday, you're already minus 1 clasy point. I suppose tweed caps could be deemed acceptable if you're engaging in a light session of grouse shooting or a brisk Sunday stroll, but 5 panels, new era's, snapbacks and beanies are all a definite no go. What you need is a handful of wax, a comb and a pocked mirror to ensure no slippery stray hairs are dangling down over your forehead, that look is so 1957, and we're going for straight up 30s elegance here. Trust me, the girls will dig this look as well; even though they usually go for guys rocking the 'just got out of bed (and spent 45 minutes delicately applying mousse)' look, with your new do you will remind them of Big from Sex in the City, and we all know most girls are like totally in love with him right? He's got that suave, sophisticated, just the right side of sleazy look going to maximum effect so let's, from now till the day we die, use Big - the man who actually married Carrie (wtf) - as our style mentor.

Swap your vans for some man shoes

I'm 21 and I still get ID'ed when I'm trying to buy cigarettes, maybe it's because my facial hair growth only amounts to a wispy little feather each week, or because I wear stupid hats most the time (see above point) but I tend to think it's because I still haven't invested in a good pair of man shoes. Rocking Vans everyday is hella comfortable and appreciated by girls who hang out at skateparks, but when it comes to buying fags, or in fact being taken seriously as an adult, I really wouldn't recommend it. Invest in some chelsea boots, some loafers or some brogues to max out the class in the foot department.

Swap your flannel/t-shirt for a jacket, waistcoat, dinner shirt combo

Flannel is dead, long live expensive tailored dinner shirts. You'll see I chose to drop two buttons rather than just the one, that, my friends, is referred to as 'money'. Be careful with waistcoats; leave it open and you'll look like a footballer hitting up Basildon's 'classiest' establishment, wear it without a jacket and you'll look like a first rate cocktail waiter - which is cool if you're a cocktail waiter but not great if you're going for king of class. As for jackets, a thinner lapel is bonus classy points over a 70s styled disco affair, but avoid the over cropped jackets with ridiculously skinny lapels from Topman, they are whack and make you look like a Michael Jackson impersonator.

Swap your khakis/jeans for suit trousers

Ok, so in this picture the suit trousers aren't looking so great - you can't see the fine thin pinstripe or the finely crafted brass button but trust, they're fresh. The trousers are the optimum part of this outfit where you can really flare out your classy look; always stick with the classic cut, but experiment with colours - burgundy & red for 'alcoholic ageing artist at a gallery opening' and navy blue or dark green for 'history teacher stud with money from penning erotica'.

Swap your roll ups for cigarillos

Rollies have never been cool - you have to stand in the rain trying to get the tobacco in the paper before it gets all sticky, they're never as charming when you offer one to the opposite sex, and they don't actually make you look nearly as bohemian and nonchalant as you think they do. If you're a smoker throw away your pouch of bacci or twenty pack of camels right now. Because it's time to make room for some cigarillos, packaged neatly in a slender vintage smoking tin, and kept in the breast pocket of your smoking jacket. "But what about cigars, surely they're way classier than their inferior younger cousin?" I hear you exclaim - NO! Cigars are for men in either their late 20s or early 50s who think that a cheap suit bearing the putrid scent of a status stogie will entice all the babes to the front seat of their Porsche, where they will revel in smoking an entire cigar with the roof up, so you're sitting there drowned in smoke and wishing you'd worn swimming goggles to avoid the stinging pain of smoke-eye. SO not classy. Granted I look like a smug ex-gangster living in Spain in the photo, but come on, it was late in the day and I'd lost my waistcoat and jacket.

Vice Make Houses

Check this out; Vice (Not Miami vice, I just like the picture) are making films about henry holland and the guy from the horrors as well as a load of other stuff, there's a bit of a description below...

Vice teamed up with Vodafone and spent the last few months working > on a series of projects with some of their most talented friends, > making short films, flying planes, building high-fashion wendy > houses - that sort of thing. Obviously they brought cameras along to > film everything, and you can watch it all here -http://bit.ly/69amgQ 

Aberwrongie

Not since pushing open the door of an entirely inconspicuous building on a tiny street in Barcelona and finding a beautiful cathedral, filled with candles and flamingos, have I been as confused or surprised as I was when I entered another door, down a little street in London. This time however I wasn’t surprised in a good way, more in a ‘what the fuck is this and why is that guy only wearing pants?’ way.

 

For anyone who hasn’t visited this particular establishment; upon entering the Abercrombie & Fitch store you will be greeted by a man without a shirt on, twitching to some bland euro-trance and smiling at you with his mouth while crying for help with his eyes. The mock-American (Mamerican if you will) accent really threw me off as well. To be fair it did justify the horribly cheesy welcome of ‘Well hello sir, a warm welcome to you, enjoy your time inside’ somewhat more than if I had heard it in a Scouse tongue, but is it really necessary?

 

After this peculiar shock to the eyes and ears, the nose is then confronted with the overwhelming stench of Eau D’Abercrombie, or whatever it’s called, that management choose to spray over anything with a logo, including their staff. Now I don’t want to personally attack any of the staff members, because I’m sure they are all lovely people, but fuck me, are they weird when they’re at work.

 

Firstly, there are about five staff to every customer, so just as you’ve finished being accosted by one set of pearly white teeth, another appears asking you whether you would like a hand picking any of the identikit, ‘sexily lit’ pieces of clothing in front of you. Secondly, the dancing doesn’t stop at the door, oh no…the real party’s happening inside; above your head are what looks like the Hollyoaks cast, dressed in next to nothing, some grinding each other and some awkwardly jolting to Scooter’s greatest hits. Lastly, Abercrombie appear to monitor their staff closer than Disney are guilty of while grooming their next child star. From the look of it, jeans must have no less than three rips per leg, eyebrows must be streamlined and hair must be elegant, yet just dishevelled enough to remain ‘edgy.’

 

I wonder what they’re like when they go home. I suppose its kind of like being a kids TV presenter, at the risk of falling victim to work induced bi-polar syndrome. Both talk loudly, move in a funny way (the ‘dancing’) and smile like an imbecile all day before, I imagine, going home to a microwave meal for one and an unsuccessful wank culminating in tears. I can only hope it doesn’t end with hoards of false smiles killing their girlfriends and hanging themselves at Paddington train station. (Too soon?)

 

I don’t really know where I’m going with this. I just felt like I needed to share the inner workings of perhaps the most surreal store in London with someone other than those fake tanned girls with white lips and Ugg boots who were standing outside.

 

 

 

 

farming in summer

Day out at Brick Lane with Al, painting and getting accosted by builders, "You can come and do my house mate, all the same colour though!" and a bye bye to Derek's as the sun was setting. R.I.P.

Flyer Hire

Obviously people with flyers are annoying; you're in a rush, you've got bags in one hand and a phone/paper/umbrella (if you're a well-equiped sort of person) in the other. No room for a shitty club night flyer from an over eager girl in bright green stockings and a pink bum-bag. I needed/still do need money however so I've become one of those annoying people thrusting unwanted pieces of card in to your hands. One occasion, outside a Foals gig, I spotted - between the hoards of winklepickers and beginner smokers - a collective of the urchins of live music that are ticket touts. In my new found role as flyer giver out' er I felt slightly higher in the food chain than those who rip off punters, rather than just pestering them, as I was. What I never realised (probably completely naively) is that the touts seemingly work as a team, shouting for each other once they've found someone to massively overcharge and surrounding them in a huddle of whispers and transactions. There is still a glimpse of competition, which on one occasion worked itself up to the tout you see below shouting, "Did you just tell me to fuck off? Cos' I will fucking bleed you!" A bit unnecessary I thought. 

The next session in my new trade lead me to numerous London freshers fayres and the first lot of people who would actively take flyers out of my hand. Of course, trying to offer flyers to a 2nd year is hugely inappropriate, I found this out after a set of disdainful looks and a "Oh, no...we're not freshers thank you." A new and different set of men trying to rip people off were here as well; these were those scumbags who come up and offer girls an entirely 'free' makeover day. This particular guy (who's pictured above) was at both events and picked exclusively on Asian girls who he knew couldn't really understand him both times. Douuuche-chill.