#danielpenny

[jimykhor96]

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[renegadeurbanmediasource]

One of them just murdered in broad daylight. The others congratulated him and called him a “hero” and “good Samaritan.”

[nomanwalksalone]

I’M WALKIN’ HERE

by Daniel Penny

There is a common expression in fashion: “When they zig, I zag.” It’s the idea that whatever is trendy should be avoided--repudiated even--with its aesthetic opposite. I’ve always been a zagger. For the past few years, with streetwear ascendent and menswear overtaken by children who seem to only be impressed with the bulbousness of one’s sneakers or the size of one’s logo--I’ve leaned hard on Anglophilia. I love fuzzy knit jumpers, waxed cotton moto jackets, and chunky English shit-kickers.

But when I moved to the United Kingdom a few months ago, I found myself wearing this gear in its natural environment, rather than the streets of Soho or Park Slope. It was weird to suddenly fit in. But more than that, my clothes were sending different signals here, signals I didn’t necessarily intend. On one of the first cool days in October, a friend I’d made at the dog park saw me in my waxed cotton jacket.

“Aren’t you the lord of the manor?” he snickered.

I was aghast. Back in New York, this jacket merely signified Englishess in an abstract way--here it had a definite class marker, a certain genteel fussiness I hadn’t anticipated. I still wore it--but now, I was beginning to notice all other guys around town who had similar jackets, the posh lifestyle it seemed to imply, and I didn’t want to be confused with them.

Stranger still, after the first few months in Cambridge, I found myself gravitating toward my most American stuff: an old college sweatshirt, a Mets baseball cap. These were things I would normally wear only while working out or running to the bodega, but now, I suddenly felt the urge to flaunt them about town. When a taxi cab lurched to a stop as I entered a crosswalk, I was tempted to slam on the hood and summon my best Dustin Hoffman impression. I’m walkin’ here!

Though I am short and like to pick fights, after the taxi incident, I realized I was less like Dustin Hoffman’s Ratso in The Midnight Cowboy, and more like the other protagonist of the film, Joe Buck. Played by an angelic John Voight, Buck is a young gigolo from Hicksville who moves to New York City and reinvents himself as a lonesome Western cowboy. In an early scene, he explains how the cowboy schtick will get him more ladies than regular hustler garb. Who wouldn’t be intrigued by the sight of a man in a buckskin jacket and a ten gallon hat walking the streets of Times Square? Of course, none of it goes to plan, and Joe Buck finds himself in increasingly degrading and lurid circumstances, used and abused by Johns and pimps, squatting in an abandoned building, and ultimately losing everything he holds dear.

Is there a lesson here? For my own sake, I hope not. But the story of Joe Buck does make me reconsider my own contrarian style impulses. Of course, I’m not saying we should all try to blend in at all costs, or worse yet, appropriate the native costumes of other cultures. But when I reach into my closet these days, I do pause to ask what I’m trying to say with my clothes. Am using a sartorial language that is intentionally foreign, just for the sake of being different? Usually, the answer is no, but sometimes it’s still yes. What can I say?

“I ain't a fo’real cowboy, but I am one hell of a stud.”

[jimykhor96]

In a surprising move, President Joe Biden pardons his son, Hunter Biden, marking a significant moment for the Biden family. The pardon comes

In a surprising move, President Joe Biden pardons his son, Hunter Biden, marking a significant moment for the Biden family. The pardon comes

[renegadeurbanmediasource]

Jordan Neely, man killed from chokehold on subway, laid to rest in New York

The Rev. Al Sharpton eulogized Mr. Neely, who was choked to death earlier this month on the subway, in a case that has led to protests throu

Kid Rock is happy since he said Daniel Penny was a "hero". But don't forget Kid Rock "loves" Black people, especially DEAD ones! RIH, my brother! My empathy and sympathy for Whites who are killed by Blacks is OVER. I used to be empathetic to the loss of life regardless of color. But now that Kid Rock (who "loves" Black people)and other members of the majority seem to celebrate Black deaths (while constantly saying ALL LIVES MATTER) fuck it!

[nomanwalksalone]

THE MAN WHO OWNED TOO MUCH

by Daniel Penny

My wife and I began to plan our move from Brooklyn to a little flat in Cambridge, UK in June of 2020. She’d gotten into a PhD in February, but then COVID made the idea of moving across the Atlantic seem like an insane proposition. By the summer, with the infection numbers, down, we decided to go through with it, which meant we only had about two months to find a new place, clear out our old one, sort our Visa paperwork, and get a pet passport for our dog.

With so many moving parts, the packing of what we actually planned to take with us fell low on our list of priorities. I knew there would be things we couldn’t bring; some pieces of furniture and plants were being taken under temporary custody by friends and family, and the rest I had to sell on Instagram. And there was plenty of junk to clear out. Over the course of the summer, a steady stream of random objects made their way to our brownstone’s stoop: a well-loved yellow Le Creuset tea kettle, a broody Gerhart Richter poster, a Christmas tree stand. This was all easy enough to part with--things I liked at one time, had served me dutifully, but now had to leave my possession.

Normally, when I take a trip, I’m a ruthless packer. When my wife and I went on our honeymoon to Paris and Sicily a few years ago in late September, the weather was already turning crisp in the city of lights, but the sun was shining steadily on the ruins of Syracuse. Weaker souls would have checked a bag, but we did three weeks with a carry-on each, rewearing the same stuff, washing things as needed, and enjoying the freedom of being unencumbered (and the joys of eating delicious food and having put our wedding behind us). But this trip was different. I would not be returning to my closet and wardrobe filled with all the things I’d elected not to bring. This would be a final parting, and I was reluctant to let go of any of my hard-won treasures. The hours spent on eBay alone!

When September rolled around and I still hadn’t cleared out my closet, my wife’s occasionally disapproving glances turned into full time pestering--with good reason. Like many wannabe-gurus in the world of men’s fashion, I’ve long preached buying better and less, but that doesn’t mean I actually take my own advice. After living in New York for nine years and only moving once (to the apartment above our first place), I had accumulated a lot of stuff: ten pairs of jeans, six pairs of chinos and cords four sport coats, three suits, a tuxedo, a half-dozen jackets and coats, way too many ties, shorts and swimsuits, athletic gear, mountains of socks and underwear and old T-shirts, two dozen pairs of shoes, and enough sweaters to knit a flock of sheep. It was an embarrassment of riches.

What’s worse, I’d been insisting that my wife was the one with the fashion problem. That she needed to get rid of things we couldn’t possibly bring to England. Old J.Crew stuff she never wore anymore, cheap jeans with holes not worth repairing. My therapist would call this a case of projection. With only three days before our flight, it came time to actually pack, and my wife did so with ease--while I was jumping on my suitcase and wrestling the zippers shut. In the end, I had dozens of items that couldn’t make the cut, and bid my farewells.

The past decade has seen a vogue for capsule wardrobes, closet edits, and decluttering. Each has its own philosophy for how you should decide what to keep or discard: Does it work with your other clothes in nearly infinite combinations? Does it spark joy? I can’t say I was so methodical in my selection. Mostly I kept my nicest things and tossed what I’d held onto beyond its prime, or that no longer fit, or what was no longer in fashion. What I had cherished and hoarded left my apartment in garbage bags, dumped unceremoniously at a local thrift store. Nobody wanted to buy them, so I had to give them away.

With my reduced wardrobe, I’ve resolved to think about my stuff in a new way. What I brought were all my favorite things, a rugby stripe shetland, a perfectly distressed pair of 501s--but because they were my favorite clothes, I had been treating them with too much reverence, afraid of wearing them out or staining them. They would last forever, but only by denying myself the pleasure of wearing them! Now I have no other choice; I wear my good clothes all the time. I take the dog for a walk in my favorite sweater and trustiest boots, and I live with the consequences. I’ve come to see that actually, I was able to bring everything that matters, but I’ll try to leave that old preciousness behind.

[nomanwalksalone]

BIG PANTS, BIG MOOD

by Daniel Penny

A few years ago, I started contemplating the idea of a big pair of pants. I’m not talking straight cut, or a little baggy--I’m talking voluminous. At first, I rejected this sick fantasy. These were the tailend years of skinny jeans and narrow, flat front trousers, and I was a true believer. When I had first gotten into clothes, I was kind of obsessed with achieving a sharp silhouette, pouring over old pictures of ‘60s mods, and imitating the knife blade proportions put out by Thom Browne and Band of Outsiders. But as the years wore on and my waist line began to expand, I started to feel like a looser cut might not be a bad look, or at least, might not be bad for my circulation.

At the time, I was seeing more women embrace fuller clothes, and the idea intrigued me, but like many men, I was also a bit of a coward, and so to bolster my confidence in this new style, I began my search with the most manly (and cost effective) garments I could muster--military vintage and reproductions. On a website specializing in gear for military reenactors, those strange men who dress up in period costume to relive the heroism (and more often barbarism) of their forefathers, I stumbled upon a pair of tan cotton drill gurkhas that struck my fancy. Supposedly made for British officers during World War II, they had not one, but two reverse pleats, side adjusters, and a massively high waist with a two button closure. How could a pair of pants that looked like this suddenly seem cool to me? They didn’t hug the body or end in tiny, four-inch cuffs. My eye had grown so atrophied from staring at little stick legs that these pants barely looked like pants at all. In that moment, everything I had believed about fashion came under suspicion.

I hesitated with my cursor over the “buy” button. Then I remembered the courage of the British officers who’d valiantly worn them in battle. Certainly I was brave enough to order some clothes online. When the pants arrived, I opened the package and swathed myself in cotton drill. The waist fit well, but the quantity of fabric had me second-guessing my decision. My legs floated inside, hidden in a way that was both modest and strangely sexy. Seeing a photo via text, my brother described them as “A big mood.”

Trying to keep things simple, I tucked in a fresh white T-shirt and decided to take my new pants for a spin. The swish swish of the pants was refreshing, and the breeze positively invigorating. They flapped, they rustled, they billowed! Those years spent sweating through the summer in APCs, my closely held devotion to Hedi Slimane--it all suddenly seemed so foolish, so unnecessary. I didn’t have to suffer anymore.

Even if I’d grown tired of my old crotch-throttling trousers, my brain was having a hard time accepting that these pants weren’t ugly. To passersby, I imagine my face was like that meme of the older woman trying to compute some simple task with complex equations swimming around her puzzled expression. Could these pants actually look good on me? Catching my reflection in a store window, I was relieved to find that my outfit looked less like General Patton and more like Isaac Mizrahi. Though they were an old design, they felt thoroughly modern--certainly newer than the stale trend for tight pants I had once embraced so fervently. These pants were large and in charge, and I was converted.

[nomanwalksalone]

FIVE DIY’S FOR THE MAN WHO REALLY SHOULDN’T BE BUYING ANY MORE CLOTHES RIGHT NOW

by Daniel Penny

As I’ve written elsewhere, I’m in the middle of a closet embargo, only worsened by the pandemic. A few necessities have slipped through: socks, underwear, a single extravagant polo shirt. But for the most part, I’m trying to focus on learning to love the things I already own, rather than that bleary-eyed moment of clicking “purchase.” To that end, I’ve begun a series of little Do It Yourself projects to try to breath new life into old things. I invite readers to try this list for themselves, or make up their own.

1) Cut a band collar on an old shirt. This is an easy place to start; all you need are scissors and a shirt whose collar is either too large, too small, or stained beyond the power of Oxi-clean. The trick is to choose a shirt with a more casual fabric, like a chambray, oxford, or linen, and to just follow the seam that connects the collar to the body of the shirt. Loose threads are an inevitability. Embrace them as part of this easy and breezy DIY.

2) Hand wash and dry your clothes. Because I’m just dripping in sauce, both literal and metaphorical, I have found myself needing to hand-wash my clothes. Also, I don’t have laundry in my building and my local wash-and-fold closed permanently. So I don’t really have a choice. It’s a great opportunity to wash those things that you know you shouldn’t be putting in the machine, so instead you’ve stuffed them in a ball next to your hamper. Sitting on my toilet and crouched over my bathtub, as I wrung out my wet pants was a great way to learn that I really don’t need that many pairs of pants!

3) Re-color a pair of old brogues. This one was a little more out there. A year ago, I bought a pair of burgundy Allen Edmond wingtips on eBay and found that while I liked the idea of the color, they didn’t go with anything in my wardrobe. Then I had the brilliant idea of dying them black. All you need is acetone-based nail polish remover to take the old color and wax off, some leather dye and polish in a darker color, an old bit of fabric (your shirt collar perhaps?) and you’re set. Between the different coats and drying times, this one takes many hours, perfect for breaking up the monotony of the days in quarantine. As you polish up your almost new dress shoes, consider all the great occasions you’ll have to show them off at some indistinct but hopefully near point in the future.

4) Shibori your own mask. For the man who has everything by Blue Blue Japan and needs more, this is the DIY for you. I didn’t actually do this one, but at the beginning of the pandemic when I didn’t have a mask, I did cover my face with a bandana that I’d already Shibori-dyed. And I was the flyest looking bank robber on the block.

5) Make your own Black Lives Matter T-shirt and donate the money you would have spent buying one. Perhaps the most advanced artistically, this project took me many hours and didn’t result in a perfect product. Still, perfect is the enemy of good. To this end, I found a cool image of an old-fashioned cop holding bags of money surrounded by the phrase "Defund the Police" and decided to print it and cut out a stencil. I used a Bic pen and a box cutter to remove the negative space, but you’d be better off with an Xacto-knife. With the stencil completed, I went out and spray painted the image onto an old T-shirt and donated $50 to my local bail fund. No wait time and free shipping!