Today marks the beginning of the end of an era in New York City.
The Bloomberg Era.
Voters are currently electing a new mayor for the first time in over a decade, and it’s got us feeling a bit nostalgic for the benevolent billionaire. His banker-y penchant for pinstripes and Windsor knots. His flair for preppiness, rooted in his Massachusetts upbringing. His determination to announce emergency alerts in Spanish without a translator... We can’t say we’re not going to miss it all dearly. And while we’ll leave the analyzing of his political legacy to the pundits, we think his sartorial legacy while in office is also worthy of review:
But after spending nearly a week in darkness, lower Manhattan has finally regained power and is quickly returning to normalcy today. Kids are heading back to class, most offices are open for business, cell phones are at full charge and Mayor Bloomberg took the subway to work this morning. Things are still rough around the edges (and people could still use your help), but seeing the city light back up over the weekend was a heartening sign of return. And now, back to our regularly scheduled handsomeness...
No one paid much attention to Spud Webb at the 1986 NBA Slam Dunk competition. At 5′7", he was (and remains) the shortest player ever to compete in the contest. The rest of the field dwarfed him by over a foot. Even Dominique Wilkins, Webb’s teammate and the reigning slam-dunk champion, brushed Spud aside. “I don’t think he’s ever seen me dunk before,” Webb said in a pregame interview. Then he did the following:
An elevator two-handed double-pump dunk, a one-handed off-the-backboard jam, a 360-degree helicopter one-handed dunk, a 180-degree reverse double-pump slam and a 180-degree reverse two-handed strawberry jam from a lob bounce off the floor, the latter two of which received perfect 50-point scores in the final round to bring home the gold.
We have no control over how tall we stand—height is fixed from the start. How we stand, though (or soar, in Mr. Webb’s case) is measured in stature. And stature knows no bounds. With that in mind, we proudly present:
A few months ago we appealed to *Vanity Fair* editor Graydon Carter—in an avuncular fashion—to discard the double-breasted suits which added an unflattering layer to his majestic midsection; the wrong kind of camouflage, if you will.