The Kempt Guide to the October Issues
Another round of glossy style mags has arrived on our doorstep (and possibly on yours), so we’ve put together a reader’s guide for everything that happened in print style this month—including Justin Theroux’s Serpico style to Details’ ode to the male posterior. (Not a joke.)
Proceed at your own risk.
GQ (220 Pages): Ladies and gentlemen, Grada Piano is advertising cheese in GQ. That is all. J.Crew Ludlow ads show a model looking great in a Ludlow suit, then the inside of a Ludlow suit that looks like it’s been ripped apart by a tiger. First one looks better.
Under normal circumstances, J.Cole does not resemble The Fonz. But put him in a black leather bomber jacket…
Red Wings and Carhartt on back-to-back pages. And they say workwear’s dead… GQ’s “put-together office man” is carrying his briefcase by the bottom, as if it didn’t have a handle. Is this a thing? “Point collars look dated these days. It’s the spread collar…that’s the standard now.” We usually swear by the Quarterly on proportion issues, but with ties this skinny, this feels like wonky advice. You’ll expose too much of the knot. This, however, is timeless advice: “Roll back your shoulders. Straighten your spine. Chin up.” Hands down, the #1 thing guys can do to look better. Pity the editor whose job it is to find cool things in Philadelphia. Three pages on sheets may have been more than was strictly necessary. Calling out the thread count is good, but the section on color coding your sheets is verging on Martha Stewart territory. Perhaps predictably, Glenn O’Brien hates tube socks. We disagree. We’ll settle this on Twitter…
We understand why they didn’t brag about the David Hasselhoff interview on the cover—but a warning would have been nice. Ditto for Lars von Trier. If we’re all going to pretend “office exercise” is a thing, it needs to not look this ridiculous. Whatever happened to taking the stairs? The piece on Grindr-style sex apps for heteros is better than it has any right to be. Their take on the double-breasted suit is extremely ’70s, right down to the Brady Bunch typeface. This is what DB haters think DBs look like. Also, for some reason a porkpie hat is involved…
“Pink champagne ain’t just for bridal showers.” Yes, it is. Ah, Lara Stone. Justin Theroux’s Serpico steez is how ’70s style should look, but he ventures closer to Kravitz territory than he should. In sartorial terms, this is what’s known as “The Danger Zone.” Esquire (182 pages): A gushing blurb for Esquire’s Black Book from…Steven Soderbergh? The director of Che wants you to throw out your flip-flops. The 78-word fiction stuff is a throwback to the Esquire of Yore, of Gordon Lish and Raymond Carver and Tom Wolfe. We approve. Jonah Hill stops his interview cold to talk about how awesome Boogie Nights is. Our kind of guy.
Esquire’s epic bromance with Colson Whitehead continues.
David Wondrich talks smoky scotch and smoky beer. Well played. Suddenly, for the length of a two-page diamond ad, Esquire turned into Parade. And then as quickly and mysteriously as it appeared, it was gone. Apparently men are not allowed to say “Gotcha” anymore. We read this just in time. The grooming guide includes a question about artisanal pickles. We did not see that coming. Richard Dorment documents the existential anguish of changing your hairstyle. Real talk. Ton of great nonfic, including a terrifying piece on the Joplin Tornado. Justin Timberlake is easily the least interesting person in the second half of the magazine.
Why is Common everywhere? What is happening to this country? It took a good 30 seconds to realize that the ad for the “new Electric Rabbit” was not, in fact, an ad for a vibrator. DETAILS (154 pages): Zegna’s ads are showing off some beautiful tweed. It’s in the air… GQ runs the VW Beetle. Esquire runs the Audi A7. Details runs the Ferrari FF. Point Details. Black garlic. Act like you know. Pity those poor fools still seasoning their pasta sauce with regular garlic. That’s no kind of life. Ethan Hawke looks as serious as you can while wearing a diamond-dotted shirt. Here’s your chance to see what Jeffrey Eugenides’s club shirt looks like. Nice to see an up-and-comer like Umit Benan make it into print. His stuff’s old-fashioned, but in a smart way.
Details is hitting the DB too, with an extremely webby piece. The photos are all taken like street-style shots, and they’ve only used models that look like Lawrence Schlossman.
Seaweed is the hot new thing to put on your face. Duly noted.
This issue’s insanely Details-y article: a full-page piece on “Why the Ass Is the New Abs.” There’s even a “bottom line” pun. We still cannot believe that this is real. Miscellany: On only their second issue ever, Brooklyn Magazine managed to talk their way into Frank Muyjens’s apartment. It looks every bit as good as you’d think.
You know you’re reading Men’s Health when the letters to the editor are all readers asking if there’s something wrong with their balls. Also, none of the beautiful women have names.
I am overwhelmed by the quantity of abs in Men’s Health. Didn’t they hear about this ass business?