Um, er, uh, yeah, maybe, Pete Doherty, while you're down there on your knees in some squat, looking for whatever it is you're looking for, you should look up to the sky, to the heavens, and support our troops? Just an idea. 'Cause without, say, World War II, for instance, and all that R&D money, there might be no acetate, maybe no Chromspun, no rayon and certainly no Holy Trinity (nylon/orlon/dacron) for you. Or for Madness, Hedi Slimane and Christian Dior.
We gave you your look, fun boys. Wear it well. (Drug possession aside, Pete, you're already doing better with it than we did.) Have you seen it—Christian Dior Homme's summer line? I know it's been out for just a bit (and it will be gone soon), but damn! I remember this stuff when we made it—the Mod cardigans with striped plackets and ribbing, the striped, short-sleeved knit polos (Jack Nicklaus by Revere), the Lancers and Sansabelt sharkskin slacks, the black pointy oxfords with white uppers. It looked good then.
It looks better now that Dior is selling it back to us: the cut and the materials taken upmarket. It'd be just sad nostalgia for the thrift stores if they weren't doing sooo well. But maybe it still is. You can judge at fashion.dior.com/homme/
Because they nailed it: the Madness look (stingy-brim fedoras and squared-off shades); the Mod/Rude Boy thing (skinny suspenders, slimfit trousers, polo shirts, black checkered stuff); the '60s style (knit cardigans, pullover sweaters, polos, shirt-jackets). It's so good to see these things again that you forget to wonder who's making them—or to consider that a Dior polo shirt sells for more than $100 if you can find it, which you can't. (It's at Wynn's new place in Vegas.)
And Doherty is the perfect sometimes-pitchman for the job of sleeping in, and then wearing out, the occasional, rumpled Dior piece or outfit: he never eats, which keeps him skinny enough to pull it off. It helps if you're skinny, and hungry. And we're not.