It’s magazine time again.

January’s usually an off month for glossies, which explains why this month’s crop is featherlight. Details didn’t even weigh in—thanks to December’s double-issue—but there’s still plenty to piece through, like the wisdom of Oates, blogger blue’s close-up and the rise of Parisian style.

Here’s everything you need to know from January’s crop of magazines:
 

GQ (106 pages):

This issue doubles down on Sorel boots as an ultralight alternative to work boots. We still prefer Danner, but that’s mostly for the leather.

The “foreign climes” section takes on Parisian style as a more low-key, block-colored alternative to Milan. Now if they could just make a blazer that doesn’t look like it was designed for schoolchildren.

Glenn O’Brien puts the kibosh on bow ties with spread collars. (The money quote: “like a barrister in a wind tunnel.”)

If you’ve ever wanted to see Andrew Cuomo wearing a photoshopped loincloth

GQ’s suggestions for getting in shape are a triathlon, sport climbing, surfing and a jujitsu tournament. Our kind of fitness roundup.

The stylists seem committed to making Matt Damon look like a 14-year-old.

We’re suckers for a good crime-spree piece. Dougherty gang? That’ll do.

Blogger blue gets its close-up, thanks to Ewan McGregor. But the cuts seem a little… Topman.

We’re not totally sold on gray jeans, but they make a good case.
 

Esquire (118 pages):

Breaking: Fred Armisen is getting into Harry Nilsson.

Tom Junod lays into Steven Spielberg after a particularly troubled War Horse screening. He’s certainly no McG.

Rodney Cutler wants all beards cut to under one inch, until they resemble Jon Hamm’s stubble. For the record, we happen to think Brett Keisel looks good.

In a bold, important stance, the sex column warns of the deadly slips that can result from sex in the shower. Stick to the bed, the couch or the coffee table, people. Together, we can save lives.

Finally, a style question concerning a concealed-carry holster. A rule of thumb: if you’re packing heat, you probably have more to worry about than matching leathers.

Stephen Marche’s real-talk piece on the American class system would carry more weight if it didn’t come right after a fawning photoset of a $10 million Manhattan penthouse.

Most of this issue is devoted to our hands-down favorite thing Esquire does: “What I’ve Learned.” So we’ll boil it down to a lightning round of wisdom.
—George Clooney: “When you’re eighty years old and they ask you what you did, you can go, ‘When I had the keys in the car, I drove it as fast as I could and as hard as I could. I took it to places that the owner didn’t really want me to take it.’”
—Gary Oldman: “‘Fuck ’em.’ Shortest prayer in the world.”
—Joe Biden: “Nobody owes you a living. But everyone’s entitled to dignity.”
—John Oates: “Moving to New York is like taking the lid off the can.”
—Slash: “I don’t know if that giraffe was trying to kiss me. But it was an experience.”

And best of all, “What I’ve Learned” profile of the guy who writes “What I’ve Learned” profiles. What we learned: if William F. Buckley offers you scotch, drink it.
 

Miscellany:

Vogue Homme endorses royal blue, Berluti boots and Hermès shirts. Well played on all three.

In his Vanity Fair interview, Daniel Craig admits to overusing the phrase “fuck off.” Also, his greatest regret is “agreeing to answer these questions.”

Clooney’s on the cover of Vanity Fair and Esquire. Damon’s on the cover of Vanity Fair and GQ. The Twilight kids: nowhere in sight.

—R.B.

CONTRIBUTORS

  • Russell Brandom