Following this morning’s dissertation on the boys, the boys, the boys, the boys, I’m still left wondering: why is it that to be a well-dressed man seems so much easier than to be a well-dressed woman? Put any male specimen with two legs and arms into a suit and watch the immediate transformation from before to dapper. Unruly beard, large stomach and curious finger nails notwithstanding. Now put a woman — any woman — in a gown, and she’s not immediately Jared Leto. That which makes her the adjective equivalent of dapper seems contingent on an extensive variety of petty variables.
I know I can’t fight what I am and frankly, I don’t want to, but as part of a genus of individuals known to marvel in not just the notion but act of wearing vast, manifold accessories, how is it even possible that the art of the pocket square has gone overlooked by my fellow x chromosome carriers all this time? And following my recent-but-fervent devotion to neckerchiefs coupled with a more historic propensity for oversized blazers, how is it that I have overlooked them?
Never one to omit the potential for an additional accoutrement, I’m disappointed in myself. Here I stand, lost months behind me, empty pockets and no truly thoughtful color coordination to show for my tango with personal style. But there’s probably no use in harping on the mistakes of my past, right? Or maybe I should play the Pros vs. Cons game to determine what I’ve really missed.
Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do.
Pro 1: It’s one more layer to add to the continuously growing onion.
Pro 2: Which, if you’re thinking hard enough and can allow a pocket square to moonlight as an element that affects human character development, also kind of sort of maybe has it functioning as an additional layer of personality.
Pro 3: And print. One more print.
Pro 4: If you’re obsessive compulsive about matching like both my domestic partner and mother-in-law are, pocket squares are a nice way to bring it way back around (see: square + handbag as evidenced by the above photos for women, pocket square + matching socks for men and women.)
Pro 5: If you need to sneeze but have nowhere to deposit your excrete, surprise! Yes you do.
Con 1: If you need to sneeze but have nowhere to deposit your excrete, surprise! Yes you do.
Con 2: It’s one more item to think about during this renaissance of simplification.
Con 3, which depending on your stance might be deemed a pro: If you, like me, are frequently mistaken for an awful-looking boy (and without makeup on, very offensively a meth-addict), this either will or will not help your cause.
Con 4: Never mind, that’s it. There are only three cons, which, as you can see, concludes the pro count at 5 and the con count at 3.
This effectively makes it your official duty to test drive your own pocket square (use a paper napkin if you have to! That seems very Margiela to me) — (also, fun fact about mine: it’s not actually a kerchief so much as it is a pre-pocketed square of sorts that can also hold your phone should you choose to give it that much power) — and share the tales of your trying. A full white outfit plus black socks and lug-sole sandals is optional, but I do recommend sneezing.
Now, let’s hear it for the girls, eh?