For centuries, mankind has relied on sweaters for winter layering and autumn-night warmth. But beyond that, they’ve been something of an afterthought. Until today.
Because today we’re celebrating the venerable garment in all of its forms by counting down the 70 greatest moments in sweaterdom—from lumpy cardigans to clingy cashmere hugging the shapely, we’ve found them all. And we’ve assembled them in full splendor.
You’re probably familiar with the Impossible Cool—a site dedicated to black-and-white photos starring everyone from Alain Delon to Kurt Vonnegut looking, well, impossibly cool. And you might even be familiar with the ongoing collaboration with Sonic Editions—who are in the business of archival-quality prints of iconic photos of mostly rock stars.
For their latest limited-run batch, they’ve come up with a new twist: color. It’s a revolutionary idea, we know. Almost blasphemous if you’re a longtime Impossible Cool fan, but something you’ll quickly get over once you see how ravishing Marilyn Monroe’s bright red dress looks or the way David Bowie’s strawberry blond coif adds intrigue to the mostly gray palette of a 1976 photo. It’s a whole new world of impossibilities in coolness.
If you haven’t already, it’s time to get started on some epic gluttony, football watching and an appropriate amount of familial rabble rousing. Let’s also take a brief moment to recognize how awesome this photo of Marilyn Monroe is. (Sexy Pilgrims do exist!) Gentlemen, start your carving knives.
It’s always nice to see a rising star on the make—especially when he knows his way around a velvet blazer.
The gentleman in question is Eddie Redmayne, spotted at the world premiere of My Week with Marilyn in which he seduces no less than Marilyn Monroe.
The jacket is from Alexander McQueen, impressive enough in its own right, but we’re particularly taken with that tie, which Mr. Redmayne is wearing tucked into his beltline as if he just stepped off the streets of Milan.
Not too shabby.
Part One — Death of The Original Playboy: Gunter Sachs, Porfirio Rubirosa
Part Two — Style & Grace: Gianni Agnelli, “Baby” Pignatari, Alessandro “Dado” Ruspoli, 9th Prince of Cerveteri.
Part Three – The Americans: Howard Hughes, John. F. Kennedy
Part Four — Easy on the Curve: Alfonso de Protago and Prince Aly Khan
Part Five: The Party’s Over
As we conclude our series on The 12 Original Playboys of the Jetset Sixties, we’d be remiss if we didn’t acknowledge that much of our intrigue on the subject stemmed from Graydon Carter’s timely, eloquent memorial of Gunter Sachs in the July 2011 edition of Vanity Fair. “For it’s a subtle craft,” writes Carter, “the art of the playboy – the creation of a life of tasteful public and private pleasure – and it’s one that is completely lost on the rich of today.”
We also owe Taki Theodoracopulos (a renowned Playboy in his own right) a well-made cocktail for gracing us with his kaleidoscopic obituary of Sachs and recollection of a typical day spent with Porfirio Rubirosa…
Part Three: The Americans
“Haven’t you ever worked?” Prince Dado Ruspoli was once asked. “No,” he responded, “I’ve never had time.” The 12 Original Playboys gallivanted within the eye of a perfect pleasure storm. They wanted for nothing because they could have seemingly anything – or anyone – thanks to a never-ending stream of old, old money.
And yet plenty of men have mighty bank accounts. These twelve seemed to have much more, like the ability to speak a dozen languages, the bravado to race Ferraris with every intention of one day wrapping one around an apple tree, and the possession of manhood that led to twelve-inch pepper grinders being named for them in Parisian restaurants.
With that in mind, it’s not surprising that only two Americans made this list.
The digital revolution has brought a lot of changes to the world of gentleman’s publishing, but Playboy has been remarkably slow catching on. Thankfully, with a little help from Bill Gates, they’re finally making up ground.
The first step is putting all of their archives online, thanks to Bondi Digital Publishing and MSN’s Silverlight viewer. To put that in perspective, we’re talking about 53 years worth of magazines…and more than 600 centerfolds. Not bad for a days work.
Of course, we’re guessing you already know about the publication’s storied history, the Marilyn spreads crowding Nabokov interviews, and the general legacy of Hef. But on the off-chance you don’t, this would be a pretty good place to start.
Back in 2006, the British graffiter pasted Ms. Moss’s face over a famous Warhol print of Marilyn Monroe, making a tidy 96,000 UKP for a set of six prints. With that kind of payoff, it’s hard to resist a flip or two, so the owners are putting them back on the block, expecting up to 150,000 in return.
Even given the economy, we think it’s a safe bet. Kate’s look of vague disgust has never been more appropriate.
This month’s Vanity Fair features a windy trot through the remains of Marilyn Monroe’s estate, in the name of unraveling the “mystery of Marilyn’s death.” There are a few Kennedy love letters, one from T.S. Eliot (!?), and a whole lot of morbid fetishism, courtesy of writer Sam Kashner. (The curious can find a full web-only accounting here.) Of course, the media loves a dead blonde, but this is more unseemly than usual.
Monroe’s death is only a mystery the way JFK’s death is a mystery. When a corpse is found surrounded by sleeping pills, you don’t have to reach too far for the truth. Monroe was an orphan, and struggled all her life with what Arthur Miller described (in a far superior VF article) as “the bottomless loneliness that no parented person can really know”, so her suicide not as inexplicable as Kashner would have us believe. The real shock is how blind most writers have been to her real, human problems.
New York has changed a lot in the past thirty years, and though there’s a lot more glass and concrete than there used to be, there are still a few dinosaurs creaking around.
For instance, the Chelsea Hotel. Founded in 1883, the hotel was a favorite of Mark Twain, and in more counter-cultural days was host to Jack Kerouac, Leonard Cohen, Marilyn Monroe and Bob Dylan, gaining notoriety with the stabbing death of Nancy Spungen.
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