Yo, gentlemen! that dad style and L.L.Bean thing has grown so tiresome

    think disco inferno blaxploitation Oscar Wilde?...

    Tom Ford: Fall 2019 https://t.co/xxji8rSobC

    — NYT Fashion (@NYTFashion) February 7, 2019



    whole view:

    Hmmm, the svelte pimp look if I can be all stuck in the 70's?
    Blaxploitation meets Kylie Jenner in some perverse way?
    Where's the man-bag, by the way?

    Sexy motherfucker shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass...

    Yearning for some objectification, to be sure.

    Here's some lessons on shaking that booty from the masters:


    Is dandy to be eye candy?

    Apropos of nothing. Or for some related reason I don't totally understand. This song just popped into my mind. And I looked up the lyrics, I had never heard them all, and I can't believe how amazingly intricate they are. They are like messages from a foreign culture and it is striking about how aesthetics and culture in general can change:

    You're the Top

    Cole Porter

    At words poetic, I'm so pathetic
    That I always have found it best,
    Instead of getting 'em off my chest,
    To let 'em rest unexpressed.
    I hate parading my serenading
    As I'll probably miss a bar,
    But if this ditty is not so pretty,
    At least it'll tell you how great you are.

    You're the top! You're the Colosseum,
    You're the top! You're the Louvre Museum,
    You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss,
    You're a Bendel bonnet, a Shakespeart sonnet,
    You're Mickey Mouse.
    You're the Nile, You're the Tow'r of Pisa,
    You're the smile on the Mona Lisa.
    I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop,
    But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
    You're the top!

    Your words poetic are not pathetic
    On the other hand, boy, you shine
    And I can feel after every line
    A thrill divine down my spine.
    Now gifted humans like Vincent Youmans
    Might think that your song is bad,
    But for a person who's just rehearsin'
    Well I gotta say this my lad:

    You're the top! You're Mahatma Ghandi.
    You're the top! You're Napolean brandy.
    You're the purple light of a summer night in Spain,
    You're the National Gall'ry, You're Garbo's sal'ry,
    You're cellophane.
    You're sublime, You're a turkey dinner.
    You're the time of the Derby winner.
    I'm a toy balloon that is fated soon to pop.
    But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
    You're the top!

    You're the top! You're a Ritz hot toddy.
    You're the top! You're a Brewster body.
    You're the boats that glide on the sleepy Zuider Zee,
    You're a Nathan Panning, You're Bishop Manning,
    You're broccoli.
    You're a prize, You're a night at Coney,
    You're the eyes of Irene Bordoni,
    I'm a broken doll, a fol-de-rol, a blop,
    But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
    You're the top.

    You're the top! You're an Arrow collar.
    You're the top! You're a Coolidge dollar.
    You're the nimble tread of the feet of Fred Astaire,
    You're an O'Neill drama, You're Whistler's mama,
    You're Camembert.
    You're a rose, You're Inferno's Dante,
    You're the nost of the great Durante.
    I'm just in the way, as the French would say
    "De trop, "
    But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
    You're the top.

    You're the top! You're a Waldorf salad.
    You're the top! You're a Berlin ballad.
    You're a baby grand of a lady and a gent.
    You're an old dutch master, You're Mrs. Aster,
    You're Pepsodent.
    You're romance, You're the steppes of Russia,
    You're the pants on a Roxy usher.
    I'm a lazy lout that's just about to stop,
    But if Baby, I'm the bottom,
    You're the top!

    You're the top! You're a dance in Bali.
    You're the top! You're a hot tamale.
    You're an angel, you simply too, too, too divine,
    You're a Botticelli, You're Keats, You're Shelley,
    You're Ovaltine.
    You're a boon, You're the dam at Boulder,
    You're the moon over Mae West's shoulder.
    I'm a nominee of the G.O.P. or GOP,
    But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
    You're the top!

    You're the top! You're the Tower of Babel.
    You're the top! You're the Whitney Stable.
    By the River Rhine, You're a sturdy stein of beer,
    You're a dress from Saks's, You're next year's taxes, '
    You're stratosphere.
    You're my thoist, You're a Drumstick Lipstick,
    You're the foist in the Irish svipstick,
    I'm a frightened frog that can find no log to hop,
    But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
    You're the top!

    Songwriters: Cole Porter

    You're the Top lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc

    Check out "De-Lovely"


    Oh my gosh, I had never heard of it. Kevin Kline, what perfect casting! I will certainly try, always thrilled to learn more about the culture of the "swells". We were not always seen as imposter yankee "doodle" dandies nor even the ugly Americans of the 50's.

    Sorta related, from having on CNN when it takes a break from news programming, and watching bits and pieces of their "American style" series that they play to fill air, I just learned about the Battle of Versaille fashion show of 1973 which is seen in the fashion biz as the definitive moment when the U.S.A. just blasted France out of the ball park. Got me thinking how in my lifetime, after that happened, quickly thereafter everything style was bottom up rather than top down, bourgeois or even lower class people power, at the same time lauding individualism, no more followers of anybody. Kind of the opposite of populism in a way. What DeTocqueville saw. Still there.

    De-Lovely's a bit bittersweet, knowing it's just after Harvey Weinstein basically blacklisted Ashley Judd from the biz for turning him down, even though I'd much rather see her in this than Lord of the Rings, she still would would have made a bang-up elf.

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