Tom Wolfe, the profoundly brilliant journalist and competent novelist, can wear a white suit. He has done so for forty years. If you had written the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and watched very carefully where you sit for all this time, you could too. If you haven’t, don’t.
(photo Pedro Parga’s flickr)
The starched high collar, pocket handkerchief and “hats tie” are pure Radical Chic. Impeccable.
Tom Wolfe chronicled a generation. DFOF fondly remembers carrying a copy of The Pump House Gang around at university. It was the only hip thing he possessed.
Unless this is some deep American-Hawaiian cult thing of which DFOF is entirely ignorant, these gentlemen pictured below are about as far away from the Right Stuff as is sartorially possible. This is not good to be looking at over breakfast, or indeed any time. (thanks Zoli and Vinnie!)
DFOF has understood that these fellows are serious players in the valley. The photo is taken on a golf course, but even that is not a mitigating factor. This look should be consigned to the bonfire of the vanities or worse. It is cruel and unusual punishment. Even Americans could surely agree that a white suit in the wrong size is tantamount to torture?