The members of the opening-night audience for “Manhattan Mary,” Broadway’s most anticipated musical of 1927, was startled at the end of the second act when an elegant man dressed in a peak-lapel, midnight-blue tuxedo and white piqué vest bounded from his orchestra seat onto the stage. Their baffled expressions soon turned to smiles of recognition as he bantered with the cast and deftly played the straight man for the comedian. At the conclusion of this seemingly impromptu skit, the audience burst into cheers and applause, for the interloper was the immensely popular mayor of New York, James J. “Jimmy” Walker.

The audience’s initial confusion probably had less to do with an intruder being on stage than with surprise that Walker was in town. For the previous two months, reports of his junket through Europe had been filtering back to Prohibition-era New York, including tales of generously imbibing champagne in France, wine in Italy, cocktails in England, and beer in Germany. Sure enough, Walker had sailed into Gotham only that morning.

While Jimmy Walker was a lawyer by profession, a politician by trade, and mayor virtually by acclamation, his true vocation was that of a dandy. Indeed, Walker is America’s great democratic dandy.

Walker was more George Raft than George Sanders. He was rough-edged, not smooth, sharp rather than refined. He did things with swagger as opposed to understatement. He vanquished foes neither by cutting them with Brummell’s haughty, vacant gaze, nor by spouting Wildean epigrams. His weapon of choice was the wisecrack: glib, flippant and sardonic. He hobnobbed with entertainers more than aristocrats, hung out at speakeasies instead of palaces. He was equally at home with royal visitors and with ward heelers. He was on the front pages of newspapers as well as in “Who’s Who.” He played to the crowd rather than pandered to princes, and was beloved by press and public alike.

Walker’s admirers called him “Beau James” and “Tammany’s dandy.” His detractors dismissed him as a “buzzing little macaroni” who dressed like a vaudevillian. Time once described him as “a dapper, glib little mick.”

But any way you put it, Walker had pizazz. (more…)

D.net is dedicated to the proposition that the dandy still reigns supreme in matters of taste. Yet we sometimes act as if the last dandy was killed in the London Blitz.

This error especially crops up with music. I’m the first to prop myself up against the upright, cocktail in hand, and croon whenever Chenners starts to torture the ivories with Porter melodies and Coward ditties.

Let’s not forget, however, that the dandy troubadour did not pass away with Ivor Novello or Charles Trenet. He continues to this day, even in the most hostile of environments: rock ‘n roll.

There are few dandy rock stars, but then again the dandy is a rara avis in any field. At one time or another, for one reason or another, Bowie, Bryan Ferry, Andre 3000, Prince and Morrissey have been labeled dandies. Most of them are too over-the-top to merit the appellation, but I would admit all of them to the Dandy Club. After all, we need the dues.

One rock singer of whom there can be no doubt is the late Robert Palmer. Palmer had an exquisitely tailored and contemporary look. He was elegant, not costumed — no eye make-up, glitter or pirate outfits for him. He also maintained the requisite dandy cool while rocking. Palmer was the dandy with a backbeat. (more…)

By Nick Willard

Beau Brummell: The Ultimate Man of Style
By Ian Kelly
Free Press

I was prepared to thoroughly dislike Ian Kelly’s biography of Beau Brummell. The attendant ballyhoo, here in the US and last year in the UK, has been lascivious and sensational — Brummell as “a Casanova and a playboy;” variously the “Boy Toy” and “Toy Boy” of the Duchess of Devonshire; taking lovers of both sexes; his grandfather a brothel keeper, and his mother a courtesan. It has also affected a vulgar contemporaneity. He was the “first celebrity;” “the first metrosexual,” and “the inventor of the suit” — odd, since he never wore one. In the unkindest cut, the subtitle, in crossing the Atlantic from Britain to America, was switched from “The Ultimate Dandy” (something of an oxymoron, as Brummell originated dandyism) to “The Ultimate Man of Style.”

My worst fears have been disappointed. Mr. Kelly’s account of Brummell’s life is well written, lively, informative, factual, balanced and innovative. It is, simply put, the best biography of Brummell. (more…)

“Does a dandy listen to rock ‘n roll?” a young dandy asked in the forum. The answer is simple: A dandy listens to whatever he damned well pleases. The more pertinent question is “What does a dandy wear when he listens to rock ‘n roll?”

I have attended Rolling Stones concerts for over 40 years (now you know why I’m called the Lion in Winter). I’ve always dressed in my dandy best for them. Doing so was not without its risks, particularly in the ‘60s. When starting out, the Stones were promoted as the grungy alternative to the Beatles. In a sense, the Stones were the first grunge band. The early Beatles wore tailored, if lapelless suits, and had clean, if shaggy, hair. In contrast, the Stones wore scruffy, non-coordinated outfits. Nor did they seem to follow the Beau’s dictum regarding the importance of hygiene. Jagger was not yet a fashion icon. Certainly, they played most undandy-like music and attracted a most undandy-like audience. (more…)

My winter vacation has traditionally been in a location where I can indulge in my favorite pastime: marathon triangulation. For those you who do not know how to triangulate, this simple but accurate diagram at left will help explain.

That’s me in the center, equidistant from the ocean, the pool and the bar. I am lying on a chaise lounge. I roll to my right, let’s say, and take a dip in the ocean. After returning to my chaise lounge for a decent interval — say, 10 minutes — I roll to my left and take a dip in the pool, from whence I return to the chaise lounge. After another 10 minutes, I roll forward and go to the bar. This process goes on from when the first rays of the sun strike the golden sands of the beach, until the smoldering orb sets in roseate splendor — hence the appellation “marathon.”

Of course, the diagram is an over-simplification. The resort where I stayed during my most recent vacation on the Pacific Coast of Mexico had two pools and two bars, thus exponentially increasing the complexity.

(more…)

Since 1863, a certain type of young man – talented perhaps, but not creative; spiritual and philosophic, yet with expensive tastes; dismissive of commercial success, yet eager for fame and acclaim – has been traipsing about, dressed like a pirate, vampire or leprechaun and calling it “dandy.” For 1863 was the year when the Parisian newspaper Le Figaro published “The Dandy” by Charles Baudelaire. Despite declaring that a dandy dresses with “absolute simplicity,” the essay has somehow been interpreted as a call to dress in a provocative fashion as a protest against bourgeois conformity. Furthermore, it has helped drive the dandy dialectic, a reciprocating process initiated by the 1844 publication of Barbey Aurevilly’s “Du Dandysme and de Georges Brummell,” in which perception of dandyism influences the practice of dandyism, which in turn further influences perception, and so on.

So are Baudelaire’s thoughts relevant to the dandy of today? More to the point, were they ever? (more…)

What does the dandy do when he wakes up early in the afternoon? Does he moon over beauty and contemplate the eternal verities? Does he jot down a few bons mots? Does he man the barricades to protest our vulgar, bourgeois and consumerist society? Does he pine for the days when men wore knee breeches and silk stockings?

No, the true dandy does none of these things.

The dandy goes to his bath and scrubs himself clean, shaves, brushes his teeth, and arranges any stray hairs. Then he adorns himself, examining each detail in his mirror Рthe dimple in his tie, the shine on his shoes, the puff of his pocket square, the precision of his trouser crease, the bloom of his boutonniere, the harmony and balance of all the components of his ensemble Рuntil he gets it just right. When he finally departs his home, he is a habitu̩ not of the salon, opera, theatre, museum, concert hall, casino, restaurant or club to which he may or may not arrive, but of his tailor and haberdasher.

For the dandy is a man with visible good taste. Dressing well is his hallmark. Strip a dandy of his clothes and what do you have?

(more…)

My rôle here at Dandyism.net, I suppose, is that of the louche uncle, similar to Uncle Adolphe in “Remembrance of Things Past,” who is excommunicated from the family because, in circumstances not of his own devising and against his own wishes, he introduced his young nephew Marcel, an unexpected caller, to the “lady in pink,” a demimondaine, who happened to be paying a call on him at the same time. So when members and guests inquire from time to time about how to go about being a dandy, I feel a certain obligation to provide not so much my advice as my experience. Two recurrent themes are “How can I be poor and still be a dandy?” and “How can I, who live in Outer Podunk, acquire the equipage of the dandy?” My experience is that one word answers both questions. eBay.

Dandyism.net has earlier referenced the clothing available there, both new and vintage. Indeed, there are many excellent opportunities to buy quality merchandise, usually last season’s overstock from major clothing stores, at discount prices, either at auction or a prix fixe. There are, moreover, many more treasures awaiting those who troll eBay’s stream of commerce.

Over the past five years I have acquired, without any effort, a host of dandy paraphernalia to fill my humble abode Poynton House. There are the usual – ties, silk and linen handkerchiefs, casual and sports shirts, slacks, sandals, shoes, luggage, umbrellas, briefcases and even a brand new RTW suit. Then there are the more specific indicia of the dandy:

* Four wooden-staff walking sticks topped with, respectively, a wooden handle carved in the shape of a pharaoh’s head; an agate sphere; a vintage (and now illegal to make) ivory crook for formal occasions; and, for special occasions, sterling silver cast in the shape of Atlas bearing the globe.

* Three cigarette holders, one made of mother of pearl; a vintage, but virgin, bakelite holder from 1930s France; and the crown jewel, so to speak, a 14 kt. holder from Tiffany.

* For my calling cards, three cigarette cases: sterling silver with an engine-engraved design; another in sterling silver with black and red enamel in the art deco style; and a two-compartment sterling and ostrich skin case.

* Gold, sterling, and enamel lighters and fountain pens from S.T. Du Pont and Dunhill.

* Sterling (from Puiforcat) and 18 kt. gold (from Cartier) pill cases.

* From the competitive bidding world of cufflinks, 18 kt. gold links from Cartier; sterling silver and enamel art deco links; and, my favorite, cufflinks bearing the effigy, in sterling, of the Duke of Windsor.

* Various items of dandy media, so to speak, including numerous books about dandyism, the Beau and other 19th-century dandies, and the Duke; a 1930s edition of cigarette cards featuring beaux throughout history; a VHS of the movie Beau Brummell, starring Stewart Granger; various Beau Brummell containers and tins; and three different videos and an audio tape of a musical, still touring the provinces but which has never made it to Broadway, about the Duke and the Duchess.

Why, there have been auctions for authentic second-degree relics. One in particular stands out in my memory : a swatch, mounted and framed with a photograph and a “certificate of authenticity,” from one of the Duke’s handkerchiefs!

The purpose of the foregoing catalog is merely to illustrate what is available to the inquiring dandy. Dozens of more types of items, perhaps more to your liking or more in keeping with your interests, are offered daily. This is not to say that all of these things came cheap, at least in the absolute sense; but they did at the very least come much cheaper. Be patient. Decide what you really want. Don’t overbid. Unless the item is literally unique, the identical twin or a sibling of your object of desire will be up for auction again within the year. Bonne chance!

Because June 1, 2005 is the first anniversary of Dandyism.net, I think it appropriate for a paean on founder Christian M. Chensvold. I hope other contributors and forum members will also take advantage of the occasion, so that there will be a collective, mass paean to Christian. Here’s my tribute:

Cruel fortune ironically unfettered me, in my caducity, from any obligations and social constraints that would preclude or impede my practice of the art of being a dandy. So at an age when judgmental and moralistic curmudgeons should be clucking over my decline and fall as a cautionary lesson to those so shallow and jejune as to be seduced by the superficial and frivolous attractions of the dandy’s life, I still passionately wield the walking stick of the dandy. This passion may be attributable in part to my recent cessation, sua sponte, of certain prescription sedatives designed to becalm a chronic and perhaps congenital nervous condition. I do not boast of my extended blossoming with sanguine satisfaction or smugness. All dandies must end in ruin. It is in our genes. Even as I write this, agents of the local sheriff are attempting to serve me with writs to oust me from my ancestral home, Poynton House. Yet, as the Regency dandy Romeo Coates famously stated: “While I live, I crow.”

And surely, no one crows so loudly or persistently as Christian. With the appearance of Dandyism.net one year ago, I found out that others have taken up the walking stick of dandyism. I salute Christian for his vision and dedication. Dandyism.net has provided contemporary dandies with a refuge, a community, virtual yet real, to share, explore and nurture our dandyism. So on its first anniversary, to him and to my fellow contributors and forum members, I say: Thank you for many languid hours of pleasure, hours that would otherwise have been wasted on earning a living, learning a skill, or helping others – all most un-dandyish endeavors.

The merely well dressed man has his Edward Greens and his John Lobbs (from Paris, of course, not London). The shoe fetishist dons his Berlutis, Gravatis and Lattanzis, and perhaps even his wife’s Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choos.

But the dandy wears Belgian Shoes.

At first, this choice may seem odd. Belgian Shoes are ready-to-wear, not bespoke. They do not afford the owner the pleasure of having a unique last carved for the singularity of his feet, or the opportunity to incorporate individually chosen artistic details. The calf is smooth with a high gloss, indicating corrected grain, not choice natural hides with a deep, rich patina, such as an Edward Green, or that are bleached in the moonlight, as with Berluti. They are not even the most expensive: One can pick up three pairs for the price of one of the others.

Yet Belgian Shoes are the dandy’s choice. Why? Belgian Shoes are louche shoes.

Their featherweight construction and signature design — which appears archaic and yet surprisingly fashion forward — guarantee that they will be noticed. True, other makes also have their own distinctive look. Cleverley has its trademark chiseled toe, solid and definitely masculine.

In contrast, the combination of the design, construction and materials renders Belgian Shoes light and exquisite. All Belgian Shoes are handsewn slip-ons. A prolate vamp seemingly floats on the top. The quarters are low-slung. Many styles feature a decorative calf bow. The rubber soles (used on most models) are extremely soft and, because there is no welt (as in the sturdier Goodyear construction), extremely flexible.

Especially if paired with silk or other sheer hose, the shoes look dainty. Tweeds, or even heavier weight wool, overwhelm them. All-in-all, not the shoe for captains of industry. So if a merely well-dressed man owns a pair, he is diffident about wearing them. “Yes, I own a pair,” he may admit, but, he hastens to qualify, “I wear mine around the home with my smoking jacket.” A dandy has the élan to wear his Belgian Shoes out and about.

Wearing them, especially the original style (yclept “Mr. Casual”), outside the home takes commitment to the cause of dandyism. Its sole is so delicate that the shoes should not be worn on the pavements of Manhattan. They would soon be in tatters. Then how does a dandy go out in his Belgian Shoes? There are two ways. The more pedestrian involves wearing the shoes strictly inside one’s manse until the soles are broken-in and slightly scuffed. Then the dandy returns to Belgian Shoes, where, for a slight fee, they will cement a sturdier rubber sole to the existing sole. Why they do not make them this way in the first place I have no idea. The second and more dandiacal, indeed Brummellian, way: The dandy has his men transport him from the door of his dressing chamber to external affairs in a sedan chair (perhaps with all-white satin quilt lining, sheepskin rug and down cushions, like the Beau’s), which can be carried to his destination’s threshold so that his soles never be sullied by the coarse outdoors.

My dandiacal sole needing some revamping, I not long ago departed Poynton House and traveled to Belgian Shoes, located at East 55th Street just off Park Avenue. The store oozes a certain class. Where else does the reading matter include “The Social Register”? Mr. Lifshitz — er, Lauren — the ersatz aristocrat tenanted at the Rhinelander Mansion, can learn a thing or two about noblesse oblige from Belgian Shoes: It remains a store policy never to hold a sale. Instead, Belgian Shoes donates its overstock to charity. Imagine: the homeless treading the streets of Gotham shod in “Mr. Casuals.” Quel dandysme!

Perhaps sensing that there may not be enough dandies out there to make a go of selling only the original design, Belgian Shoes has lately expanded its range of offerings. The shoes are available in various permutations of material (calf, suede, cloth and patent leather), styles (ovals, tassels and penny loafers), and soles (soft, rubber mini-wedged and hard). There is one constant: They are all slip-ons.

The shoes, especially the two “Mr. Casual” models, are like wearing slippers, which is, in fact, what they really are. With these cloud puffs on my feet, I’m ready to cha-cha at my local Fred Astaire Dance Studio to Perez Prado’s “Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White.” Robinson, my sedan!