Menswear Dog

A three year old shiba inu living in NYC with a panache for all things style isn't my idea of a great foray into menswear, but the attention to detail and sleek execution make this a blog worth following. The dog is cute as expected, but the menswear advice is genuinely worth heeding, right down to the tie bar and boot selection. The headline might read, 'Man's Best Friend Outdresses Man'.

via menseweardog

Five of the Best Brogues

Here's to hoping one day I'll smarten up and take Esquire UKs advice on the purchase of a good, solid pair of brogue shoes. Which says something like 'smart, but not too smart.' My eyes are set on #3, the Tan Archie Brogues by Grenson.

via esquireuk

Olga Fonda

Russian-born & American-bred actress and model Olga Fonda as shot by MeInMyPlace for my best pal Esquire Magazine. File this one under #pumpedupkicks

Wear Suspenders Like A Man

via esquire

The Best Books for Right Now

The gentlemen at Esquire are awfully enthused about the state of literature. Fall of two thousand and eleven has produced some exciting prospects from literary mainstays and newcomers alike. Perhaps the most exciting moment for fiction in pretty much ever? Hat tip to Canadian Michael Ondaatje's The Cat's Table, but it's Chuck Klosterman's The Visible Man and Colson Whitehead's (DeLillo-esque) Zone One which have me most intrigued.

via esquire

How To Be a Man

Esquire writer at large Tom Chiarella describes the world in concrete terms. Terms I can understand and get behind. While catching up on back issues I became engrossed in Chiarella's advice on How To Be a Man (June/July 2011). It occurs to me that twenty five is the perfect age to be reading these words and considering his musings. Twenty four and eleven months would be too early. I haven't acquired the belly or appreciation for whiskey, but Chiarella knows what it is to be a man and be made man. I take joy in learning to do the same.

Before I tried giving up the manly arts, I was familiar enough with the catalog, broadly signified. I watched sports, built fires, committed to memory various trivia regarding movies, war, sex, architecture, oceanography, baseball, football, golf. I learned to grill a good steak. I developed an excellent sense of direction, made myself a good driver at all speeds. I tried to understand the way things work. I coveted cars, chased tail, craved a better office. I hungered for a threesome. I grew a beard. I liked it.

I hated my feet, my belly, my weak throwing arm, my runt of a penis. I took any work I could get: I hung Sheetrock, cleaned dumpsters, tended bar, waited tables, sprayed kudzu, carried buckets of hot pitch, mowed lawns, and worked as a janitor. From the very start, I sensed that the world was a reflection of my own state of being. When the Yankees lost my life was sunk. When the Redskins won, I knew something good was in the offing. I stood when women arrived at the table, held doors for them, tried my best to let their wishes take precedence. I learned to like beer, then gin, then whiskey I knew well enough how to fish, play cards, and perform at the batting cage, without being particularly great at any of it. I rationalized, insisted, argued. I deferred, I lied, I cheated - then worked to back down on all that. This somehow made me more certain, so that when something irked me, steroids, religion, parking-lot attendants - I argued as if I were the sole cipher to the existence of the thing. Through all this, I outdrank, outworked, outfucked anyone against whom I could benchmark myself. I tried, anyway. Over time, I learned to forget the need to urinate, sometimes for eight hours at a time. I could always catch a ball, even when I had to dive for it. I could lift a man and carry him over my back. I still can do all that.

I am a man. And in this way I was made man. I did it. My father did it. My mother did it. Just a man. Not the man Not the best man, certainly, Man. It was in men I when I was born. Or it welled up. I stumbled on some of it. I measured it in what I did and the way I did it. I liked that and rarely stepped off.

The 50 Most Stylish Musicians

Esquire style mogul Sean Sullivan gives his take on The 50 Most Stylish Musicians of the Last 50 Years in this cleverly written piece of tomfoolery. Bob Marley, Johnny Cash, Jack White and Brandon Flowers crack the list while Keith Richards wears a leopard jacket. Oh yeah, and drummer Charlie Watts recounts the time he punched Mick Jagger in the face. That too.

It's Worn

This month's issue of Esquire advises me that man at his best should never use the word curate (for anything other than a museum exhibit). However; the word does have a particular resonance in describing It's Worn - a blog which organizes and admires denim, leather, and everything else that looks better with age.

I will heed Esquire's advice to never say 'we're pregnant', 'we won!' (unless I'm actually on the team), 'wiki it' or 'spread your' wings (unless I'm giving a command to a bird).

Click HERE for It's Worn

Me In My Place

This one's for the gentlemen. The Selby is to creative types as Me In My Place is to total babes. The popular blog photographs your regular girl-next-door types lounging about in their own place, 'not too crazy and just a pinch of naughty'. Me In My Place recently joined forces with my magazine of choice Esquire to photograph Sarah Shahi, Natalie Zea, Hope Dworaczyk and Stacy Keibler bringing the pinch of naughty up to a full quarter cup. One more reason I'm looking forward to the April issue.

Click HERE for Me In My Place

How to Pick Up Women with Style

Esquire's understated investigation into the time honoured art of picking up women with style turns to 'America's favorite ladykiller' & curator of the Bro Code Barney Stinson. Barney on Underused Pickup Location #83 - the courthouse: Ladies go in married, but they come out single, loaded, and vengeful. Or learn how to feign interest in what a chick is saying by silently nodding your head to My Sharona. Suit up!

Why You Can't Knock John Mayer's Hustle

Esquire columnist Stephen Marche's investigation into America's obsession with wimpy rich men just like John Mayer; and the ways in which fox in sheep's clothing just might inherit the earth.

Click HERE to read the article

James Cameron's Spider-Man

In 1991, Canadian billion dollar director James Cameron prepared this illustrated treatment of Spider-Man for the silver screen. Much to my dismay, the beloved franchise is vacant and looking for its next visionary. Esquire suggests Mr. Cameron could be the perfect match (and perhaps the only man on earth who can convince me Zac Efron can do justice to Peter Parker).