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For an industry notoriously obsessed with young people, fashion recently celebrated the comfortably retired ensemble with particular enthusiasm. Everyman-style umpires have documented the aesthetic tics of New York’s aging class for years, but appreciation for their particular brand of nonchalant ease has only recently peaked. Dressing like a well-off septuagenarian has never looked so cool.
The points of contact are obvious: fluffy cardigans, point-collared shirts, high-waisted pants, and reasonable shoes, all mixed up and paired with a complete lack of inhibition – a real recklessness, not that schlock sprezzatura – which comes naturally to experienced and lasik-enhanced eyes to seasoned dressers. These are clothes that will make you feel a bit like sitting at home on your couch (or on the subway, reluctantly coming home to work). rich. They are buttoned up but not difficult. It’s casual wear for a whole different kind of hobby, like attending an exhibit at the Frick at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday or browsing through the selection of cheeses at Zabar to find the right asiago to complete a Yom Kippur spread. They embody a cheerful approach to clothing that eschews the deafening banality of corporate lackey outfits in favor of boss clothes with a hint of more seasoning – future heirlooms your offspring will steal from your closet as you watch, eyes cloudy, from the recliner. (Think Logan Roy, if Logan Roy had a little less money and a slightly more jazz taste.)
What is driving the trend? A chair diagnosis could indicate exasperation with the features of the millennial lifestyle and a yearning for the kind of stability that comes with the comforts of regular Social Security filings and a 401 (k) cushy. You might not be a homeowner – damn it, you might never owning a home or enjoying the kind of material pageantry so generously offered to the baby boomer generation, but you can dress the way you do no matter what tax bracket you fall into.
The head-to-toe look can be tricky to achieve, but incorporating elements of the aesthetic into your casual daily rotation is easy enough. (You could do worse than take inspiration from Tyler, the creator, who swears by a uniform of wacky trapper hats, vibrant sweaters, crumpled tubular socks, and tough hard stockings.) Invest in a few pieces here, then wear them like you have absolutely nowhere to go except for a morning screening and maybe a reading at 92nd Street Y. But only if you feel able to.
The eccentric literary type
He wrote the definitive tome on an appallingly specific epoch in European history. He lives in Tony’s pre-war apartment crammed to the brim with academic ephemera. He carries this to weekly check-ins with TAs who, let’s be honest, fully run his seminars. You should wear it at a party.
The adored grandparent
He has lived sparingly, saved wisely, and now mainly spends his time satisfying the whims of three nightmarish toddlers who walk through the park every Sunday for pancakes. He wears it when he goes out to La Librairie des Enfants. You should wear this for brunch.
The penitent Titan of industry
He made a killing at the height of Wall Street’s freewheeling 1980s, but donated generously to the NYPL. He says things like “Art is meant to be seen! », Except the Miró in his living room; it is for him alone. He wears this instead of a tuxedo. You should wear it for people watching on Mulberry Street or for meeting your partner’s parents, preferably not at the same time.
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