Perceptions and Misconceptions

Appearance does matter—even if it's often wrong.

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Self Portrait in Tuxedo, Max Beckmann

“Clothing doesn’t matter” is a popular present-day refrain, to which I always respond with what I believe is a quote from G. Bruce Boyer (if not, chalk it up to Boyerian drift) “If you think clothing doesn’t matter, do you want your lawyer to show up in jeans and a flannel shirt?”

We may like to think that we don’t judge people on their appearance—particularly clothing—but it is inevitable that we do. Over the years, I’ve noticed how my decisions in style or grooming have led strangers to make their own assumptions about me, which to no fault of their own, have almost always been wildly wrong.

My hair today is shorn short on the back and sides, and worn slightly longer up top with a defined side part. It’s presently Mad Men-y, but was more extreme in college—think Peaky Blinders. As a result, I’d sometimes get asked by Uber drivers what branch of the Armed Services I were in, particularly if I was in a military heavy town like D.C. or Honolulu.

I also, in college, went through the mandatory all-black phase, usually manifested in H&M skinny jeans with combat-style Polo boots and a black leather jacket (how did you know I studied writing and literature?). I recall one Sunday afternoon wearing this get-up with a black T-shirt marked by a large white “X”—the logo of the indie rock band the XX, which at one point in 2011 were extremely cool with students at small liberal arts colleges.

This is how I was dressed as I perused the yard-sale wares of an elderly Black woman who was eyeing my T-shirt suspiciously. She eventually asked of its design, “Is that some kind of white power thing?” I assured her it was not, apologized profusely for my unintentional Blackshirt look, and ended up panic-buying a book of Colonial paper dolls as an act of goodwill.

So, the black boots and jeans were out, and were in time followed by an unfortunate (though arguably less unfortunate) phase of wearing ties without purpose in my early 20s. During this period, I took notice of how often I was asked for directions while wearing a tie, particularly as Boston filled with tourists in the summer. Never mind whatever half-baked outfit I had on as I was still feeling my way around tailoring, the simple appearance of a four-in-hand was enough to elevate my genuinely clueless self to a temporary authority figure in the eye of passerby.

Flash-forward to today, where I am no longer knotting up knit ties as an affectation, but am pushing a stroller around our neighborhood. Within the first days of becoming a stroller-pusher, something remarkable happened: men and women, old and young, suddenly began stopping me to ask about parking. Do I need a resident sticker? Does the two-hour rule apply on Sundays? What about after 8p.m.?

My truthful answer to all these questions is that I have no idea, because I don’t own a car and have driven in Boston perhaps a total of eight times in my 14 years of residence . But overnight, some metamorphosis has taken place where strangers in need of parking see me—thirty-something dad, glasses, side-part—and instantly assume that I’m a font of local parking knowledge.

Really, I wish I could help.

Cut, Make & Trim

• A fun past week at Robb Report; apart from the usual best new menswear roundup, I did a duffel coat roundup that got into the nitty gritty of its origins, and then a story on a British bespoke tailor in NYC named Ralph Fitzgerald which contains a delightful anecdote about Sir Roger Moore.

• I’ve lately been watching the 1973 WWII documentary series World at War. Produced in Britain and narrated by Sir Laurence Olivier, it’s the very stuff of ‘90s (read: good) History channel, and almost all its episodes are available on Youtube. While watching its relatively plain presentation—archival footage, narration and talking heads—I’m struck by how refreshingly plain it seems in comparison to today’s documentaries, which are overloaded with flashy graphics, cuts and over-editing. And crucially, at no point do Bigfoot nor ancient aliens appear.