Today’s must-read links from around the Internet.
2012 has been one helluva ride here on Kempt. And we’d like to take a moment to thank you all for taking that ride with us. (We hope some of that handsomeness rubbed off.)
Now, we’re off to find the nearest bow tie, pair of lips and bottle of champagne, and get started on the year-end revelry. We suggest you do the same, but since we’d never leave you empty-handed, here’s a little bubbly-swashing inspiration. We’ll see you next year, folks.
We’ve said it once before, but it bears repeating: there’s nothing sweeter than the taste of victory—drenched in champagne.
And with MLB playoffs ramping up this week, we thought it wise to revisit some of the finest moments in champagne-drenched locker room celebration—as sort of a refresher course in anticipation of the effervescent-soaked revelry to come—from Willie Mays, to Reggie Jackson, to Ichiro, to Ken Forsch. So, without further ado:
There’s nothing sweeter than the taste of victory—drenched in champagne. This snap comes from the winner’s podium of the America’s Cup where Team Oracle fought their way back from dead last to cross the finish line first in the San Francisco Bay this past weekend. And as you might have suspected, guys who race yachts for a living know their way around a jeroboam of Moët & Chandon (official sponsors, naturally). Though you might want to be more careful about not getting it in your eyes.
We’ll come right out and say it: nearly everybody is making toasts the wrong way.
We’re not talking about the speech—that’s another post entirely—but about the climactic moment when everyone raises their arms and sends their glass careening towards the middle, ricocheting from flute to flute like a pinball filled with champagne.
Gentlemen, this is not how it’s done.
Touching glasses is supposed to be about sharing joy, dispensing your blessing across everyone in attendance, so you need to know whose glass you’re clinking up against. That’s why ever since the 17th century, the custom has been to make eye contact at the moment you touch cups. It takes a bit of coordination, since you can’t have your eye on your glass, but it makes the whole ritual feel more intimate.
And if simple etiquette isn’t enough, legend has it that looking away at the moment of contact dooms you to seven years of bad sex.
Which actually explains a lot.
We’ve been taking a mostly hands-off approach to Milan Fashion Week, but the Trussardi presentation finally gave us something we can whole-heartedly endorse: models carrying bottles.
Granted, it doesn’t hurt that this one already looks like a disinherited racecar driver on vacation—but something about the magnum of bubbly nails down the reckless abandon of it all. Something about the devilish grin, the CHIPs shades and overflowing pocket square tell you, wherever this gentleman’s headed, it’s going to involve some champagne.
We bet it was a hell of an after-party.
Usually people are a bit cannier about Marie Antionette comparisons—especially when the peasants are as restless as they are now—but Karl Lagerfeld has never been one to restrain himself.
Based on the story that the classic champagne coupe was modeled off Marie Antionette’s breast, good old Karl has brought the coupe into the modern day with another impeccable glass, only this time it’s modeled off of Claudia Schiffer’s bosom and suspended by three bottles of Dom Perignon. If you needed somewhere to point your pitchforks…
We say one can never get enough of Czech supermodel and card-carrying Kemptress Eva Herzigova, so we welcome the latest installment in Karl Lagerfeld’s episodic ad campaign for Dom Pérignon’s 1996 Rosé Vintage champagne.
Especially as it requires Eva to lounge around in a luxury hotel room in her lingerie, getting soused on pink bubbly. In the Kaiser’s scenario, she check’s into the hotel and finds a handsome fellow rooming down the hall who apparently shares her obsession with Dom. A few establishing shots later, they’re getting it on but manage to never spill a drop. Trust us, that isn’t how it happened in real life.
In the rush to give one’s champagne brand a boost in an increasingly-crowded marketplace, some firms go too far; take this womb-like contraption for chilling an otherwise blameless bottle of Veuve Clicquot, or Karl Lagerfeld’s Pepto Bismol pink Dom Pérignon carrier.
Contrast those with this elegantly understated Coffret case for Laurent-Perrier‘s multi-vintage *prestige cuvée* Grand Siècle: a cleverly-constructed black case containing a magnum of the good stuff and six hand-blown Baccarat crystal champagne flutes in separate compartments.
No doubt some will complain that it doesn’t look expensive or flashy enough, and to them we say good night and good luck.
With sponsored mini-films becoming increasingly popular, it’s worth taking notice when one really works.
Our pick would be *The Key To Reserva*, a short for Friexe Champagne directed by Martin Scorcese and written by the typically meta-textual Ted Griffin, previously responsible for 2001’s *Ocean’s Eleven*. The short has been around for a while, but it didn’t get as much notice as it deserved, and it’s past due for another look.
As you might expect from his AmEx commercials, Scorcese steals the show by playing a slightly more jittery and nonsensical version of himself. As he explains to Griffin (also playing himself), he’s stumbled on three and a half pages of a lost Hitchcock movie called *The Key to Reserva*, and he’s planning of filming it as an act of film preservation. If you’ve ever wondered what three minutes of out-of-context suspense looks like, you’re about to find out.
Yes, champagne at New Year’s has gotten a bit tiresome, but don’t switch to controlled substances just yet—Veuve Cliquot has hit on a way to brighten things up.
We’ve always loved the mandarin orange label on the bottles, which the company calls yellow for some reason; they’re so damned natty. Someone we know (*cough, cough*) once even had his dining room painted to match. To celebrate the House of Cliquot’s 130th anniversary they’ve just released a limited edition 3-liter “Yellowboam” (a play on Jeroboam), equivalent to four regular bottles.
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