In 2016 we made an unimpeachable case that Donald Trump won the GOP nomination primarily because voters were raging against establishment casual and casting ballots against anyone wearing a zip mock neck sweater.
That Republican Glenn Youngkin won a blue-state gubernatorial race clad in a fleece vest means that L.L. Bean is again a safe space for 2024 GOP hopefuls.
We predict that Donald Trump — ever the follower — will soon appear in meekly-rolled sleeves, a yellow Ashli Babbitt cause bracelet, and zippered fleece of some kind.
Next week: How to pick a vest that doesn't make you look like Glenn Youngkin.
Q: I'm a big fan of the site and your store. Keep up the good work.
I would like to hear your thoughts on Trump's cartoonishly-long ties, especially at the inauguration. This is somewhat common for him although he's not consistent, as he will often wear them at an appropriate length. Given his obsession with his image, what messages is he trying to convey with the stupidly long ties? You wrote about this back in 2011 and it'd be great to have an updated analysis. Thanks. —Andrew
A: Back in 2011 we chalked Trump's excessive tie length up to an attempt to look boyish, like a kid trying on his father's suit.
Now that he's 70, and his face looks like an older, oranger slab of ancient Moab slickrock, we're pivoting from that analysis towards an explanation that's far simpler: obesity.
As Donald Trump loses the battle with his own personal borders and grows squarer and squarer, his long red tie must bear the increasingly heavy burden of creating an illusion of verticality. Note how a tie tied to MB-recommended lengths makes him look even wider.
While Trump's "tiet" is a visually sound tactic, it's risky from an engineering perspective: Trump's ties are now so long they're architecturally precarious.
To increase the load-bearing capacity of his neckwear, Trump uses Scotch tape as a kind of sartorial rebar. But how long before such stopgap measures end in catastrophe? President Trump, your ridiculously long ties need stronger reinforcement. It's time to put some of your beloved steelworkers back to work!
Q: How awesome is our new press secretary's sense of style? —Dave
A: Dave, we appreciate the hanging curveball. And yet... we're not quite ready to fire Sean Spicer. Why? Adaptability.
Yes, Donald Trump's new spokesman looks like a high-school wrestling coach crossed with a fire hydrant. Supergirl appears to tower over him, as does everyone else.) Plus, he's carrying at least 30 extra pounds, a combination that makes him resemble a slab of precast concrete. Clone him half a dozen times, and his boss's border wall would be nearly complete.
But while Spicer kicked off his career as Donald Trump's squattest spokesmodel ever with a meme-starting, career-threatening performance, we've also seen him make significant improvement in just one week. In light of this, we're withholding final judgment for now, and in the spirit of bipartisan style guidance, holding him up as an object lesson for all to learn from.
Let's break it down to date.
Day 0: Possibly the last man on earth who should be wearing a spread collar wore one. Then he paired it incorrectly with a four-in-hand knot and a jacket that engulfed him even more thoroughly than the XXL podium. If Spicer was trying to set the bar low, he succeeded. And yet even with this disastrous start there was a point of light: No stupid flag pin, or those other ugly lapel pins that Team Trump uses to indicate who shall be spared when the Purge begins.
Day 1: The ridiculously huge jacket gape is gone but the lapels are too narrow for his body shape and his tie. (Lapels and ties need to echo each other.) The spread collar has been replaced with something resembling a point. It's nothing we'd ever wear, but at least he now looks he could hold down the weekend anchor spot in a mid-sized market.
Day 2: He's starting to pull it together. Lapels and tie roughly match, and both are in a weight that matches his age and body type. Point collar + four-in-hand is proper. Okay, wait a second ... one step forward, and three steps back. The .50 caliber wedding ring is bad enough, and then a fucking jelly bean bracelet? We know it says "Dad" on it. But we're still assuming this is some kind of Fancy Bear hack and thus won't hold Mr. Spicer totally accountable.
Day 3: More of the same from Day 2. But the jacket fits and the proportions make sense.
Q: I used to follow you guys religiously until the content dropped off a few years back. I assumed it was due to you solving all the world's problems and too many MB cocktails. Glad to see that is over.
Anyhow, now that's it's winter: camel overcoats. What's your take? — Josh
A: Josh, glad to have you back.
Once the first snowflake flies our outerwear is almost exclusively filled with goose feathers, yet we do admire the traditional camel overcoat because it adheres to some core MB principles:
Any longer and you're veering into trench coat territory a la Inspector Clouseau and Gadget — and that's no place you want to be.
3 shots rye whiskey (or to taste)
1 sugar cube
quarter shot of Absinthe
Soak the sugar cube with the bitters and place in the bottom of a highball glass. Mash with the back of a spoon (or muddler, which we hope has not been used to make a Mojito), add the rye whiskey and fill the glass with ice. Stir for about 30 seconds and then strain into another lowball glass that has been rinsed with Absinthe and filled about halfway with ice. Garnish with a lemon twist.