We know that social media is the realm of idealized visions, mostly unattainable. But a stream of photos of Italian hotel lobbies, anglers holding large fish, Kyoto gardens curiously un-touristed can make one think you’re living the wrong way. The ever-present projections of dreamy living require discipline to resist and contributes to one of the biggest hurdles to actually having a good time: the expectations game.

Do you want the corner booth at a desirable restaurant with discreet people sitting on both sides of you? Naturally. Do you envision yourself hoisting a 19-pound salmon, silver in the light, from an Icelandic river? Why not, you deserve it. Could you settle onto a recliner gazing across Lake Como with a good book, perfect weather and no Americans within hearing distance? Assolutamente, life is good.

But that’s rarely the way these things go. Summer is peak season for travel and that vaguely desperate search for well-earned relaxation. What’s out there waiting for you? Comical traffic en route to Montauk. Venice overrun by all forms of be-shorted humanity. We’re currently quoting two hours, from an unsmiling host when you approach a restaurant on a Tuesday at 5pm.

None of this makes it into the frame, of course, unless you’re looking at a Martin Parr photograph. But that doesn’t stop us from aiming high. Part of the endless genius of Mr. Hulot’s Holiday is that our hero faces obstacles around every corner in his earnest search for leisure. Even back then there was the business bore rattling away on the phone. Hulot encounters surly service, defective boats and mischievous kids while the promise of seaside restoration remains forever around the corner.

So what should we do? Well, you can pursue the offseason agenda. That makes sense for someone of a contrary disposition—yes, the water is too cold to swim in May, or the seasonal restaurants aren’t open, but that beats the crowds. Families can’t always arrange things that way. And it’s summer anyway, come on man, we all want to get out of town.

Read more

There’s that great scene in Manhattan Murder Mystery where Anjelica Huston mentions a book Woody Allen has recommended, and Diane Keaton, who plays his wife, asks why he never mentioned it to her. He pauses and says Well you don’t like light reading. Keaton, in her wonderful droll, exasperated way explodes, Since when do I not like light reading?!

There’s something that strikes some people as déclassé about the mass market paperback. Reading is supposed to be self-improving, the thinking goes, which is not going to happen with a book you finish in an afternoon. (My list of fifty books to read came out, curiously enough, one year ago today, was full of more ambitious titles, though not weighty for their own sake.)

Some paperbacks have the curious quality of being passed around. Often, if one is successful, a second quickly appears and then a third and now we have a series based on our hero (or, as often as not, our anti-hero). These books share a design theme, to make themselves instantly recognizable to their admirers. They may find themselves unceremoniously left on a shelf in a rental house, having done its job to entertain for a few hours, not worth carrying back home and deposited in a place of pride on the library.

Often perception depends on packaging. One of my favorite authors, William Boyd, was published for years by Knopf, with handsome Vintage editions (designed by Megan Wilson). In the UK, meanwhile, his work appears as £5 Penguin paperbacks, as if he was a mass favorite. The English have their light reads too—this didn’t start with sharks, Godfathers or lawyers solving crimes in Memphis.

Writers make these distinctions themselves. Graham Greene famously alternated between what he considered his serious books and detective novels. John Banville, winner of the Booker Prize, wrote detective novels under the name Benjamin Black. Were we led to think that he cared less about them or they were not as ambitious? I don’t know and I’m not sure he did either, and he dispatched with the pen name.

Where do we draw the line between an absorbing novel and a light read? Does it matter? Do we call something a genre novel to distinguish its lowbrow origins and imply that it’s a guilty pleasure? We may disagree on the titles, but we have some sense of a light read—a book that moves, doesn’t involve understanding a family tree or an obscure historical event and doesn’t possess a glacial plot.

Everybody draws their own line somewhere. Is a beach read akin to a can of Miller Lite? Enjoyable enough, pleasurable at the start and a little flat by the end? It’s a thought.

Here, in time for summer, are some light reads and nothing to feel too guilty about.

-Philip Kerr. The Bernie Gunther Series. These detective novels take place in Berlin in the buildup of WWII. They feature historical figures in the background (and sometimes the foreground) as Bernie tries to fight the good fight. You don’t have to read them in order, I enjoy The Other Side of Silence, which shifts eras and includes an appearance by Somerset Maugham. Hard to stop at just one.

Read more

To paraphrase the old line about children: I love all my collaborations equally but I love some more than others. The Rod & Field Collection I worked on with Ghurka, now out in the world, is, not to put too fine a point on it, an absolute dream project.

I’ve always been interested in bags—they’re designed with purpose, sometimes broad (ye olde tote), sometimes narrow (a racquet case). More than most things a bag must intuit your needs, physical and thematic. Do you carry it over your shoulder? Do you want a place to hide your keys? Will it get wet? Will it grant you status?

I’ve bought bags and had them modified when something wasn’t right (tailors can fix anything!). This level of obsession is shared by other men and is one of the reason the early Jack Spade bags were so satisfying—making a bag out of waxed cotton, we can agree, was a stroke of genius.

I’ve wanted the right rod case for ages, admittedly a highly specific object. John Truex, Ghurka’s creative director, and I have been working for over a year to design this rod case. There are features I wanted—enough size for at least three rods, outer pockets for reels, inner compartments for leaders. We wanted it to be sturdy, but not too heavy. John’s expertise came into play countless times, for handles, strap rings and other details.

The beloved olive twill we used for our previous tote bag is back—it can’t really be improved upon. Neither can the dark brown leather trim and the plaid tweed liner.

Now not all of you are anglers. So we have the Field Bag, which has a divider in the main compartment that’s perfect for photographers (though it collapses if you don’t need it). And an outer pocket with a tab opening for easy access (phone, keys, pens) and an inner zipped pocket the size of a laptop. I love these considerations!

Finally we have the Field Case, also perfect for anglers and non-anglers alike. It can carry reels, fly boxes and there’s a divider to help you arrange things. Again, the divider is removable. I think anybody can find this useful.

Hopefully these bags will be in your life and out in the world for a long time. After all, that’s what they’re designed for.

Photos: Chase Winfrey at Troutbeck.

-ROAD TRIP SEASON

A good road trip like a favorite musician’s Spotify radio station. There’s a balance of curation and discovery. Trying out that metaphor and more in my new column in Artful Living.

-THE PERILS OF SARTORIAL SPECIFICITY

I’m in Greece (more on that in the future) and enjoying it a great deal. Over the years I’ve acquired clothes that are perfect for my highly fantasized version of Greece—linen shirts of daring pastel, woven slip ons, white blazers. Absolutely none of which have made the trip. Why? Well other stops on the way back complicated packing, seasonal weather, and just the versatility that dictates how we actually dress.

I’m in the large middle ground of the clothes I wear and wear again. I find this is the case in general. I return to what’s versatile and less to an esoteric colors or fabrics. I think most men reside in the center of the sartorial axis, not at the extremes. It’s worth keeping in mind when we’re attracted to a Slim Aarons scenario that in all likelihood is never going to happen. Don’t acquire clothes not for the dream but for the reality.

So you want to install yourself in a seaside house for a month? Who wouldn’t. What about an elaborate tour through European best resorts? Good for you. Cover that Rimowa with retro stickers along the way.

But sometimes, maybe most of the time, we aren’t talking about travel on the grand scale. A quick retreat is more realistic, and sometimes more satisfying. A few days at a good hotel can be restorative, a secret escape from normal life. The logistics are easy—you’re not planning transfers, seeking remote markets or researching obscure cafes. The ambition is lower, you’re not trying to do Sweden, just enjoy a weekend away. Also, if you’re staying in a hotel for two nights, you might be open to a little indulgence without the guilt, so step into the spa my good man.

I recently checked into three hotels in the Southeast US that are smart destinations for an enlightened stay.

-Southall Farm & Inn. Franklin, Tennessee.

This hotel is centered around a farm that serves their terrific restaurant, January (worth the visit alone). The property is more than that—there are delightful apiary tours where you visit their hives—I made my bee suit debut—while learning about the fascinating habits of bees (they have over 8 million). There’s also a tremendous spa, with mineral baths, a lively bar and a great country store.

There are cabins—I stayed in a cottage on stilts, with a porch with a wood burning stove. You can go into nearby Franklin, where there’s a great Tom Beckbe store and excellent antique shopping.

It’s less than an hour from Nashville. A good time all around.

-Quercus. Gay, Georgia.

I’ve never been to a hotel quite like Quercus (top photo). Hotel isn’t even the right word. This is a working ranch in the Georgia foothills, less than hour south of Atlanta, with a herd of cattle that grazes peacefully throughout the property. The centerpiece is a biodynamic farm, which sources the ambitious restaurant, Uberto, and their Michelin-starred chef, Ryan Smith.

Fishing can be arranged on the shoals of the Flint River or shooting on The Big Red Oak plantation. But this is really about a peaceful retreat. You stay in one of the four houses, which are truly special—you feel isolated in the best sense.

This is a serious investment (we’re in Aman price territory), but if that isn’t an issue I recommend Quercus in the strongest terms.

-The Lodge at Primland. Meadows of Dan, Virginia.

This impressive hotel, an Auberge property, is set in the Blue Ridge Mountains with spectacular views across the valley. This is a more active equation: there’s golf, fly fishing on the Dan River (an Orvis-endorsed lodge, this is a great place to learn), a ropes course and trails through the 12,000-acre property. In addition to lodge rooms, there are cottages with more privacy, and can be shared, which is perfect for families.

The restaurant has a nice Southern slant and the bar will make a Bourbon believer out of you (if you’re not one already). There’s a charming Barbour lending closet, if conditions turn (I’m very into this idea). And a spa if you’d rather activity-averse.

The closest airport is Greensboro, NC, a 90-minute drive away. If you live in the area, a road trip is in order.

Some other favorite hotels worth a quick visit:

Read more

Read more

On the day I couldn’t find my keys I somehow recalled entire song lyrics from a band I hadn’t thought about in decades. The keys are somewhere in my apartment, still unfound. I don’t know where the Britpop songs from the 90s have been hiding either.

Proust had his madeleine, one bite of which makes “it all come rushing back.” In old Marcel’s case it was childhood sensory associations with his grandmother’s house. Sometimes it’s the opening guitar riff that gets you started. I thought I had a good memory, but that may apply to preferred topics at certain times in one’s life. I’m fascinated whether memory is about effort or a natural way one’s mind works.

I write things down because I want to remember them. Every aging fisherman knows better than to trust his memory. Like writing, memory is about emphasis and editing. You think that everybody else at a party remembers exactly what you do, though it’s quite possible that you’re all alone. What mattered to you, what was inescapable, didn’t strike people as bizarre. Or maybe you thought somebody viewed an event with the same incredible meaning you did and they completely forgot about it. This happens to me quite a lot.

I was sure that the best scene in the worst movie was in Open Water, when the sharks show up but you don’t see them until the lightning flashes and they’re suddenly all visible. So I watched this appalling movie again just to see the scene and it’s not like that at all. My memory expanded the drama in the retelling. Just another fish story.

Sometimes we impose greatness on a place and returning is a disappointment. It doesn’t even have to be greatness and can be bigness. Schools and childhood bedrooms are famously smaller in the revisitation. But it’s not just about when you were young and everything felt monumental. Memory can be self-serving, naturally, but it can also emphasize things that aren’t nearly as bad as you recall.

I was standing by a river with a friend when the odds of us catching an Atlantic Salmon, always slim, felt even slimmer than usual. As we got to some good water he said, “Let’s make a memory, Coggins.” I broke down laughing because he meant it as a joke but also earnestly. We knew if either of us caught a fish we’d remember it for a long time. And you know what? We did and he was right.

Phones, as usual, aren’t doing their part. At first we think taking photos or videos help us remember an event. It seems like it’s the contrary. We’ve all stood at concerts when every person is holding up their phone taking a video they’ll never watch. You don’t commit the experience to memory because you’re not fully present in the first place.

One of the things that helps me organize my time, call it a life lesson if you like, is that I’d rather spend my time doing things worth remembering. I try to minimize filler. The Masters takes some getting used to because you’re in an amazing place without a phone. You realize the impulse we all have to documenting things instead of experiencing them.

Do we really want to be left with photos and videos in place of memories? And if you’re trying to get the shot in the first place are you actually in the spirit of the restaurant or the Kentucky Derby or wherever you are? Memories are impressions, sometimes the strongest ones, but they are not always facts. That’s all right. Our sense of memory may wax and wane, it may let us down or prop us up, but, in the end it reminds us what matters and that we were really there.

The theme is sports, which evoke leisure, play and childlike pleasure. Many people enjoy the triumphant thrill of victory. Not that we would know anything about that since we’re fans of the Minnesota Vikings and Cleveland Browns. Maybe that’s why we have an affinity with sad fans—anybody from Buffalo is a brother in or sister in sports suffering.

Remember when Vitas Gerulaitis lost to Jimmy Connors sixteen straight matches before finally prevailing. Afterwards he famously said, “Nobody beats Vitas Gerulaitis seventeen times in a row.” That’s the spirit we’re celebrating here.

In the pages Simon Mills reports on England’s history of pub games (you can play a sport while holding a pint). Nathan King considers walking to be the first sport. John Brodie examines the fine social nuances of a lifetime playing squash. And Andrew Hyslop shares his wonderful photos of Kentucky horse racing.

Many thanks to IWC, J. Mueser, Citadelle Gin and our other advertisers for their support.

We try not to take sports too seriously and yet they still manage to break our hearts. After all, losing provides necessary lessons in life. Of course it does, that’s how you know the game matters.

-David & Michael

*You can buy The Print Edition at newsstands or subscribe here.

If style was easy then more people would have it. But style is hard and that’s why it will always be sought after. I’m not talking just about clothes, though that’s how we think of a stylish person. Clothes, yes, but also interiors, hosting, how you live, they can all be done with style.

When we’re young we imitate style. That’s natural. It’s why teenagers gravitate to pronounced sensibilities, like J.D. Salinger, Wes Anderson and The Smiths. Or, for more robust temperaments, Hunter Thompson, Quentin Tarantino, Led Zeppelin. These artists can’t be imitated, well they can, but that rarely works.

Read more

IN SEARCH OF THE LOST GENERATION. A Journey Inspired by Hemingway.

The Sun Also Rises, published 100 years ago, is still astonishingly bracing and modern. To celebrate the book’s anniversary, I’m partnering with Black Tomato, the great travel company, to re-create the novel’s path from Paris to Biarritz to San Sebastián to Madrid. The trip takes inspiration from Hemingway, of course, but also Picasso, Coco Chanel and that era’s great creative figures.

The spirit of the book remains today for anybody with an appetite for travel and who feels alive when they’re out in the world at large. You probably don’t need three martinis before lunch, Hemingway-style, but who can say?

You can read more about the incredible itinerary here.

I’ll be taking the trip myself later this year, so watch this space. Extremely excited for this, it’s going to be a good one. And if you’re in the mood for the story behind the book then Lesley M.M. Blume’s Everybody Behaves Badly, is so good.

THE CULTURE PAGE

Henri Matisse: The Pursuit of Harmony. Acquavella. A tremendous exhibition that, as Indiana Jones said, belongs in a museum. It’s a pleasure as a New York resident to have a show like this—portraits, bronzes, busts, still lives, that extends over two floors—in our city. An amazing catalog is coming from Rizzoli. He’s beloved for a reason.

*Time your visit strategically or there will be a line.

Édouard Vuillard: Early Interiors. Skarstedt (through April 25). If Matisse was vivid and graphic, Vuillard was layered and moody. His subjects can barely be made out as watch them unobserved. If you’ve only ever seen a lone Vuillard in a museum it’s a delight to see them together where you can truly can appreciate their hushed, entrancing atmospherics.

Zwigoff. Film Forum. This ongoing series is an excuse to revisit beloved Ghost World. But if you’ve never seen the remarkable documentary Crumb, about the mercurial, talented, profane artist R. Crumb, then get ready to see something as strange and engrossing as any David Lynch film.

The Lodge at Primland. Last year I stopped over at this Auberge property in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains and was so impressed I immediately planned to return. I went back this week for a trip hosted by Barbour, who has a charming borrowing closet, where you can don a Beaufort or a pair of boots. It’s such a great idea. It was a delight to be back on the 12000 acre mountain estate. You can go for golf, the spa, hiking trails and plenty of other activities. There are great cottages, if you’re a family looking for more privacy. There’s good fishing on the Dan River where one Chris Black, as you may have read, caught his first trout. Welcome to the game, Chris!

THE PRINT EDITION x J. MUESER. Thursday, April 23rd, 6-8pm.

We’re celebrating the new issue of the paper this Thursday with our friends at J. Mueser. Michael will be there, come by, say hello. And if you can’t make it you can find the paper at a newsstand or order a copy here.

Salut!

We all know and love The Third Man, Jules et Jim, Nashville. At least I think we all do. These days it can be hard to have a sense of shared cinema literacy. When I was growing up in Minneapolis there wasn’t great television and a thousand channels to stream whatever you wanted (we didn’t even have cable). You didn’t settle in and re-watch The Sopranos, you went to Discount Video on Hennepin Avenue and looked for the shelf with Bob’s recommendations—that’s how I discovered John Waters.

With everything so splintered I thought I’d share some favorite films you might have missed. This is in the spirit of 50 Books Worth Reading, the list I made with no Tolstoy of Gatsby. I imagine that some of you have seen most of these and can’t believe they’re here. But hopefully there’s something new to keep you from watching Mad Men, as great as it is, for the fifth time.

1/ Trouble in Paradise (1932). Ernst Lubitsch’s Art Deco masterpiece is a brilliantly knowing comedy. As Pauline Kael said, “In its light as a feather way it’s perfection.”

2/ Babette’s Feast (1987). A gorgeous film on the wistfulness of aging, as well as one of the most wonderful meals ever seen.

Read more

The late, great Duncan Hannah was one of the most stylish people I’ve known. He was perfectly himself, romantic and charismatic, in a suit or a leather jacket (I highly recommend his wild diaries). But Duncan, true to his father’s Scottish heritage, was remarkably frugal, a clotheshorse on a budget. He was scandalized by any article of clothing that cost more than a few hundred dollars, which was probably the price of a Brooks Brothers suit when he was a boy. He never adjusted for inflation.

Abroad Duncan was always on the hunt for tweed jackets on Portobello Road, at home he was a veteran of Litchfield County tag sales. He gladly accepted clothing my donations and luxuriated in how much money he was saving. I was happy he was happy and unbothered by the fact that he looked better in whatever I gave him than I did. But nothing from my outbox was as cool as the Glenn O’Brien’s destroyed green Belgians, which he somehow acquired and wore while he was painting.

Duncan’s example is good to keep in mind when we’re surrounded by the insanity of cult collaborations, manufactured hype, tariff madness and the rest. How do you dress well on a more earthbound budget?

Read more

Read more

Spring is coming at us, always a welcome time of year. I thought I’d answer your questions. So go ahead and ask whatever’s on your mind, one one of the benefits of subscribing to the newsletter. Be assured that when civilians DM me that ends up in the digital shredder. Hopefully I can help with style, travel, fishing or book recommendations.

Please ask your question in the comments section (not as a response to this email, which happens quite a lot).

In anticipation of familiar topics, here are guides for Paris, London and New York. Also: Fifty Books You Should Read (That Aren’t Obvious) and the big Japan Guide.

I can’t plan entire trips for you here—so please don’t ask for a complete Kyoto itinerary—but I can try to help with specific advice.

Let’s limit things to one question for everybody’s sanity.

Enjoy the season!

David

The new The Print Edition is out now and it’s the sports issue. Here are some favorites stories about the sporting life if you’re heading on spring break or (laughs nervously) stuck in line at security.

-Web of the Game. Roger Angell’s wonderful 1981 New Yorker piece about the college playoff game at Yale Field. It turns into one of the great pitcher’s duels between two legendary players and remains as good as sports writing—as good as any writing—gets.

-Related: Any Angell book, like Summer Game, turns out to be utterly absorbing, even when they’re about the long-departed 1969 season. You may think, How can there be suspense reading about old World Series? You’d be surprised.

-The Atlantic Assignment. Michael Williams (I believe you know him) and I went to Iceland last summer to work on a story, if work is the word, for Atlantic Salmon Journal. Iceland is incredibly scenic and Michael’s photos are terrific. Read the story in the new issue of ASJ (free when you donate to Atlantic Salmon Federation, which you should do).

-Related: The Spawning Run by William Humphrey. A delightful, thin 1970 book about salmon fishing in Wales. Combines obsession and the comedy, which any salmon angler can appreciate.

A common sight: Me not catching a salmon in Iceland.

-The Return to Golden Gate Fields. Here’s another 1981 New Yorker piece (what a vintage for the magazine!), this is about horse racing. Bill Barich writes about life at the track, about superstition, betting theories, the eccentric characters attracted to racing and, like anything related to gambling, human frailty.

-Related: Barich’s wonderful 1980 book Laughing in the Hills, most of which first appeared in the New Yorker (those were the days). Barich is one of the great writers who’s a bit under the radar these days. He could easily be your writer of the summer.

-Secret Trout Fishing in Spain. I just wrote a story for Air Mail about the tremendous fishing in the Pyrenees. This was one of the great fishing trips I’ve been one—visits to 12th century hilltop towns, incredible views into river valleys and superb food. Works well if you’re with people more into the culture than fishing. Salvelinus, the outfitter owned by Iván Tarin, has been running trips in the area for 25 years, and can arrange everything. High endorsement.

-Related: I can’t recommend Blood Knots by Luke Jennings enough. This memoir touches on English schoolboy life and war history (neither with any sentimentality), but it’s tied together by fishing stories, also handled in a very personal way. The writing is so good it’s heartbreaking.

-The Breaks of the Game. Some books never age. David Halberstam covers the 1979 Portland Trail Blazers, a team you probably don’t think much about, unless you’re a Bill Walton completist. An American classic (also good on audiobook, if you’re revisiting on a road trip).

-The Sweet Science. We love A.J. Liebling for his masterful Between Meals, but he loved boxing almost as much as he loved French cooking. This is the era of Sugar Ray Robinson and Joe Louis, when boxing was at the center of American culture. Even if you’re a casual boxing fan, Liebling is the ideal interpreter.

The Print Edition is out now, you can find it at newsstands or subscribe.

Gravity pulls us towards ease. We want ease, brands promise to give us ease, undoubtedly ease is a good thing and we deserve to have it. Ease, in a perfect world, is a linen shirt, the Italian coast, a Slim Aarons photo of people lying next to a pool. Ease sounds pretty good. But ease gives way to comfort and an aversion to any effort whatsoever and it’s a slippery slope. The next thing you know you’re on the couch in sweatpants ordering everything you eat, wear and use, with one-click shipping according to the algorithm. It’s all seamless, seamless, seamless. Are you happy now?

Read more

Read more

When you make it through February—universally acknowledge as the least-beloved month—you turn the corner into March with a certain amount of lightness. Mood varies depending on whether local conditions are mild or frigid, but it’s good to start looking ahead. There are signs of what’s around the corner, depending on where you live. In my case, it’s the sight (and sound) of gardeners working on the park across from my apartment (which opens in April), baseball starts coming into view, the West Village green market emerging from hibernation, birds arrive, maybe you get allergies.

Read more

Read more

Some men live in fear of the phrase DRESS CODE: BLACK TIE printed across the bottom of an invitation like a thinly veiled threat. Oh dear, they think, I’ve got to revisit an ancient tuxedo that’s out of style and almost certainly not conforming to my current proportions. They head to the back of their closet and extract a neglected garment acquired for some event, long-forgotten. Now who would want to wear this to celebrate? Who indeed.

We need to normalize black tie. After all, an unworn tuxedo isn’t fulfilling its potential, any more than an old car requiring new breaks wastes space in the garage. The tuxedo, to mix metaphors, needs to be roadworthy—the thing needs to be driven. It’s a sense of ease, more than anything else, that defines the black tie aficionado. Now you should own a good tuxedo (a black suit isn’t going to cut it) and then fearlessly wear it among strangers in public.

The first rule of public black tie is not to tell people where you’re going. Don’t be shy, don’t explain and don’t apologize for being overdressed, even if you stop in a bar to watch a few innings of the game. If anything, you’re setting the standard because a man in a tuxedo is a man who’s on his way to someplace better. Let mystique surround you. You might play the symbols in the New York Philharmonic or be en route to a fundraiser to restore a mural in Radio City Music Hall or be playing poker in a basement in Chinatown. Only you know for sure.

It doesn’t matter if your tuxedo is secondhand or passed down from a beloved relative who’s moved on to a better place. But we can all agree that no man can be himself in rented clothes. And the point here is that you should be as relaxed in a tuxedo as you are in anything else. A little tear? No problem, you simply got between two antagonists arguing at the Anthony Powell Society.

New York is a busy place and there are few things you can wear that are going to stop the momentum of the city. A city of men in tuxedos is glamourous, think of Tom Townsend and friends in Whit Stillman’s Metropolitan heading to another debutante ball at the Plaza. Now that I have more black tie events in my life I wear a tuxedo striding along Central Park. I wear it in a bus on the way home. Why not?

The great writer and sartorial absolutist George Frazier (nobody has more adamantly opposed the pocket on the dress shirt) would walk down Third Avenue at 5am after a night on the town, often in a tuxedo. He would say goodnight to the bartenders closing up who he knew by name. Then when he got home he would say good morning to his son who kept more responsible hours. Now that’s the type of place I want to live in. And when you’re wearing your tuxedo you’re doing your part to bring the requisite glamour that helps make the city great.

This story appeared in the first issue of The Print Edition.

Meet Tuxedo No. 1

Jake Mueser and I have spent a lot of time, probably too much time, thinking about tuxedos. We’ve worn them together often and discussed them even more. So we decided to make one. We wanted to simplify things and bring men into the black tie game with confidence and ease. Meet Tuxedo No. 1.

We started with a shawl collar or peaked lapel—you can’t go wrong with either—and a single button. It’s made in Italy of beautiful barathea wool. We think it’s ideal for the eager apprentice or the worldly classicist.

To go with it, we designed what I consider to be the perfect tuxedo shirt. The buttons are hidden, covered by a placket, the collar is unlined and there are beautifully soft French cuffs (not something you find very often). It’s a subtle, discreet shirt that I think every man can own. We also made a dress scarf with a kind of Art Deco pattern that really brings everything together, made in England.

Hope to see you out, dressed well in the city!

Hey now! The next issue of The Print Edition is coming at you next week. The theme is sports, but not the obvious way. We focus on pub games, sad fans, squash psychology, club cocktails, Kentucky racing and more. We’ve got great contributors—writers, thinkers, photographers, Englishmen. You’ll get more details next week.

Get ahead of the game and subscribe, order a copy or feel big feelings here. Michael and I are really happy with how this turned out—if you’re already in The Contender world I think you’re really going to enjoy this issue.

There’s a lot going on in New York and the rest of the world.

-Days and Nights in the Forest. Satyajit Ray’s 1970 wonderful, wistful comedy has been extended at Film Forum. Recommended highly—including an introduction by Wes Anderson (who had a hand in the restoration).

-The Fever. Wallace Shawn’s two-hour monologue was originally performed in the apartments of his prosperous friends. Now he’s installed in a chair in a spare setting in Barrow Street Theatre. Get ready for misdirected charm, dark humor and feeling like you’re part of the problem. Next week I’m seeing his new play, What We Did Before Our Moth Days, directed by André Gregory (who’s a spry 91 years old), and will report back.

-Cuba Dispatch. It’s hard to put a face on every tragic situation unfolding around the world. My friend Ruaridh, a Scotsman who lives in Havana—you may remember him from The Believer—wrote a truly wonderful, humane story for the Guardian about what’s going on in Cuba. Outside politics (without absolving politicians), this is a piece that captures what it’s like to living within a society while it crumbles around you.

-Historic German Financial Fraud. This 2023 New Yorker story by Ben Taub is a key inspiration for the last season of Industry. Thrilling, breathless reporting.

-A Short History of Nearly Everything. Not a secret, by any means. Bill Bryson’s wonderful, wonderful book about the evolution of the galaxy, the sun, the Earth and the rest of it, started with his youthful desire to know how much the globe weighed. This is great for the non-scientists among us. In the spirit of John McPhee but warmer—an all-time audio book.

-Light Years. If you missed the big literary news, Michael and I are going to conduct (enforce?) our first book club. Time to visit (or revisit—the book may be different than you remember) James Salter’s novel about a picturesque young family that starts to unravel. Enjoy passing references to shirt-makers, English fly fishing and Midtown clubs, then brace yourself for the emotional aftermath.