Megan McArdle gives beauty product advice and Amber Taylor recommends hosiery. I’m sure this is all of some use to my female and/or hitched readers, which seem to be pretty much all of them. For the rest of my readers, I’m not convinced that chest hair is back in; we can’t all be Alec Baldwin, after all.
I’m pretty sure dressing like this young woman (NSFW) would get you kicked out of Vaught-Hemingway Stadium. And Lafayette County.
I just realized I have worn a suit all three weekdays thus far this week. Maybe I’m closer to going corporate than I thought; I may have to dress down for office hours Thursday to compensate.
Plus, the woman who works at the Sanford Deli cash register complimented me today on the coordination between my second-newest tie and my new Oxford blue Stafford dress shirt, so apparently I’m quite the fashion plate these days.
After seeing about five minutes of the Cocktail Party, I’m inclined to agree that the new Gator uniforms are hideous.
Then again, it seems to be working for them, since they’re now up 14–0 on Georgia.
At the other place: I consider the difference in student attire between Duke and Millsaps, and the nature of the causal mechanism involved.
Glenn Reynolds takes heat for the Instapundit thong (though it’s apparently on the Father’s Day shopping list for some), while new-to-the-reciprocal-blogroll Memphian Serrabee wonders why nobody buys her underwear for Valentine’s Day while linking a story informing Britons that thong underwear can be bad for your health.
Maybe I’m weird, but I don’t think the particular style of underwear you’re wearing makes that much difference to others—now, it might make a difference to you (Lord knows I’d be embarrassed to be seen in a lot of the underwear I own, something I suppose I should rectify), and if that’s the case I suggest a change. But if you’ve gotten to the point that someone else is seeing them I think the main concern is going to be how easily they can be removed, not whether or not they give you a wedgie when you walk.
Then again, in this low-rider world we live in (apparently, the plumber butt look is “in”), maybe underwear matter more than they used to… but you’d think OFJay would have found some evidence of that.
Stephen Karlson dressed down today to administer his final exams. I actually got a bit of joshing from the gallery when I showed up to give my intro final a couple of weeks ago in a polo shirt and jeans; apparently it never occurred to them that the main reason I wear a shirt, slacks, and a tie on days I teach is so I look older than they do.
The gals at Go Fug Yourself are right: Bermuda shorts just aren’t appropriate for any event at which you might be photographed, unless it’s a beach party. What’s semi-frightening, though, is that Kristen Bell (q.v.) almost pulls it off through sheer force of cuteness.
Oh, yeah, and that Logan Echolls is a real bastard. Unless he didn’t really do it (and I suspect he didn’t, but what do I know?), in which case he’s cool.
Mike Munger writes:
Now, those of you who have had the great pleasure of beholding Kgrease in the flesh know that (1) there is a lot of flesh, and (2) my hair is shoulder length, very curly, and with lots of blonde highlights. Some of those highlights are from the sun, but most come from chemical products applied by a trained and highly competent hairdresser. (That’s right: “My name is Blonde….Fake Blonde.”)
A wash/haircut/highlights job from my hairdresser costs $90, plus $15 or so tip.
I think it’s pretty safe to say I’d never had guessed that Mike spent $105 on his hair, although I suppose it’s also safe to say I suspected the “clean cut” look on his vita or here was probably closer to nature’s effects than this. Surreal, indeed.
If I’d known there was a T-shirt with this logo on it, I might have considered purchasing it to wear at the conference this weekend. Somehow I doubt the humor would have been highly appreciated.
Jeff Harrell is proposing a T-shirt design to help you join the new McCarthyism.
Incidentally, I initially considered this week’s episode (“Tigh Me Up, Tigh Me Down”) the weakest outing of the first season, but on second viewing it’s grown on me a bit. And those of you who just tune in to sci-fi shows for cool explosions won’t want to miss next week’s episode, “Hand of God,” also featuring the coolest bit of misdirection I’ve seen in a long time.
Another thing: don’t miss the Unofficial Battlestar Galactica Blog.
Tim Sandefur has a reader who doubts the continuing existence of the Federated group of department stores. They seem to be very much alive and are apparently consolidating most of their brands, such as the Memphis-based Goldsmith’s chain, under the more famous Macy’s banner.
Sunday, I decided I was massively overdue for a haircut, so I decided that one of my projects of the day would be to get a trim (I also bought some groceries and a couple of books, but that’s neither here nor there). Since the only place to get a haircut on a Sunday is at a mall, that’s where I went. And that’s where the pain started.
The hairdresser asked me whether I wanted her to use shears or clippers. Silly me answered “whatever’s easier,” which led to my hair being attacked by an electric clipper that apparently had dull blades or something, since it felt like it was trying to yank the hair out of my head by the roots.
Then she said that she thought my hair would look nicer if I added some highlights on top; the benefits of this, she claimed, would be that I would “look younger” (great, so now I’ll look even more like one of my students) and it would “fill in” my hair up top (apparently I’m going bald and I don’t even know it, go figure). Since I momentarily forgot that my current goal in life is to actually look older—let’s say 35ish, on the condition I get to stay looking 35ish for about 15 years—I said, “sure,” and promptly she put some plastic thing over my head and started (apparently) poking holes in it and apparently my skull too. My scalp didn’t exactly enjoy this either. Then she put some purple goop all over my head, put another plastic thing over it, and then put me under that mind-programming device from In Like Flint, the primary side-effect of which seemed to be to superheat my ears for what seemed like half an hour.
Needless to say, I was sorely (pun intended) tempted to complain about all this. But then a funny thing happened—while I was having my mind reprogrammed, my hairdresser sat down in another hairdresser’s chair and the latter hairdresser started fiddling around with something that looked like a small white fondue pot (I didn’t have my glasses on, so this was all very fuzzy, even though it was no more than 10 feet away). Then I heard this really loud yelp of pain, and I finally figured it out—she was having her eyebrows waxed.
I guess the moral of this story is two-fold: one, I’d have looked like a complete goober if I’d complained about the relatively minor discomfort I experienced, and two, I’m apparently a complete wimp.
Now I just hope I’m not half-blond for the rest of my life.
Amber Taylor is quite chagrined at the latest apparent incident of plagiarism among the faculty of Harvard Law School, this time apparently perpetrated by noted constitutional law scholar Laurence Tribe.
She also has joined the growing number of young women eschewing most makeup, a trend I have noticed increasing in popularity among the undergraduate set. The always-hip Crescat Sententia is, as is typical, the nexus for discussion of this societal trend.
Mister Hats is having a end-of-summer sale on their entire stock of straw hats, so I couldn't resist buying a new one.
Like my felt winter hat, this one is a Bailey. It has a thin leather band, which is rather unusual, and makes it more casual-looking than my Scala straw hat.
See below for a picture.
Will Baude notes
that according to the NYT, hats are making a comeback
. This is proof of the powerful fashion prognostication you'll find here at Signifying Nothing. Back in April, I wrote
Have faith, Will! One day, men’s hats will come back in style, and you and I will be ahead of the fashion curve.
Signifying Nothing: spotting the trends in men's fashion before the NYT.
In addition to my fondness for hats, I also like ties. (They're pretty much the only part of a man's business wardrobe that can be expressive.)
So I was horrified this morning to discover, upon removing the laundry from the washing machine, that I had accidently laundered my favorite tie. It was based on a Frank Lloyd Wright stained glass window from the Coonley Playhouse in Riverside, Illinois. It's the blue one:
Here's a picture of the original stained glass window, now housed at the Museum of Modern Art.
Brian J. Noggle thinks an MSN dating column is giving erroneous advice. Given my recent focus on womens’ footwear, I might say “speak for yourself.”
Brian also is hat blogging, following Brock’s lead. I’m afraid my hat collection is limited to two Ole Miss baseball caps and a Linux “Tux” penguin hat; my fashion fetish is represented by my burgeoning collection of ties, including my find of the month, a nice silver-and-grey tie that cost me all of $2. Of course, it was probably made by Chinese political prisoners or some such…
Will Baude anguishes over the apparent demise of men’s hats as a fashion accessory.
Have faith, Will! One day, men’s hats will come back in style, and you and I will be ahead of the fashion curve.
Everyone who knows me “in real life” knows that I’m a big fan of hats. My wife has compared going hat shopping with me to going shoe shopping with a woman.
Right now I own three hats: a straw Stetson, a felt Bailey, and my newest hat, a straw Scala. Here’s a picture of me wearing the Bailey in San Antonio in January. The lovely lady in the picture is my wife.
A word of advice to men shopping for hats: do not buy a hat over the internet. Two hats of the same brand and style will fit slightly differently. You have to try each of them on to find the one that fits you best.
In Memphis, the place to shop for a hat is Mr. Hats.
Amanda Butler, Will Baude, and Waddling Thunder ponder the role of the suit in modern society.
A sociologist friend of mine was quite surprised to witness the spectacle of political scientists parading around the Palmer House Hilton in suits—apparently, sociologists don’t dress up for conferences, but political scientists (for whatever reason) do. I tend to think the suit is best reserved for special occasions; I wouldn’t dream of teaching in a suit on a regular basis (and, in fact, have only done it once—when I had a job interview immediately after class—although I’ll be teaching in a suit tomorrow as well), and if I were the churchgoing sort, I probably wouldn’t wear a suit to church either. On the other hand, I like my suit, and I don’t even mind wearing a shirt and tie on a semi-regular basis (and I have been known to wear a shirt and tie when teaching). Plus my suit actually manages to make me look halfway respectable, which is no minor feat.
As for Ms. Butler’s complaints about footwear, I can empathize—finding comfortable dress shoes is something of a challenge for me, given my rather wide feet, although my recent pair of SAS leather shoes are remarkably comfortable (my mother swears by SAS). I honestly don’t pay much attention to the footwear that female political scientists wear at conferences, though they do tend to dress more casually than the men, so I suspect many eschew heels in favor of more comfortable footwear, a decision I wholeheartedly support.
I am also rather convinced that the only people, aside from those with various fetishes, who care what shoes women wear are other women. Not being a sociologist, though, I can’t explain why this would be the case or how this might affect one’s strategies in making more comfortable footwear acceptable for women’s business attire.