It's that time of year again!
Once a year The Sartorialist photographs the swinging cats and dolls attending the Jazz-Age Dance Party on Governor's Island. These photos are always really inspiring, really joyous and full of exquisitely realised vintage outfits. He's just put up his shots from this year- here are my favourites, but head to The Sartorialist for all of them. . .
The only fitting word for this man is 'debonair.'
It's the subtleties at work here that excite me- see his pencil moustache? The way his watch graduated to his (cuff-linked) cuff to his gorgeously coloured plaid jacket? His yellow bowtie which should really clash, but somehow works? And the dedicated panache with which he blows that trumpet!
I am just gushing now, I think. But- just look- he's wiping his neck with a red pocket handkerchief!!! I ache to live in the jazz age! Or at least to go to Governor's Island one day. . . But really, the men seem to trump the women in the style stakes each year, so my role would be simply to admire. And listen to the smokin' hot music. And drink gin.
His tatts speak of his allegiance to another kind of self-expression, which just adds layers and different meanings to this ensemb, don't you think? I'm intrigued. . .