Applause, Please | For Wilted Susan | Golden Lids

I'm so glad I am back in Seattle. On a daily basis I'm given reason to smile and enjoy the aesthetic triumphs of the men in this city. Of course there is still the flock of ordinary guys roaming the streets in their cargo shorts and tees or other hum drum this and that, but all in all, I'm frequently treated to the wardrobes of guys who really have it together...like they've been doing it all their lives.

There's "Never Say Die Dandy" in my neighborhood, for instance. While his physical and mental health may not be what they once were (he's clearly 80+), he still pulls out all the tricks from his closet. Yesterday it was an emerald green wool blazer over a burgundy shirt and navy blue silk ascot...completed with brown wing tips, a straw hat, and the saddest little wilted yellow Black-Eyed Susan on his lapel. My guess is that it was Monday's flower.

Or there's the construction worker who's heading the project on the Ave between 47th and 50th. His silver pompadour is perfect...even with the steady on and off of his hard hat. The deal is sealed by a few carefully charted tattoos and the fact that he could pass for Tony Ward's twin brother.

And even after having the pleasure of dressing them in my own designs, my friends Marty and Patrick manage to surprise and delight on a regular basis. Effortlessly, Marty can put a rough and tumble vintage european motorcycle jacket next to the dressiest side-zip leather boots (sans Cuban heel, sadly) and have it all make perfect sense. And Patrick takes the Utilikilt, generally a Seattle tragety, and makes it look like couture. He brings it out of context. No other young homos sport it. Its usually reserved for big guys with bleached perms...over 35 body builder/construction worker types. It means something completely different, and looks completely different when Patrick wears his.

The two guys outside the new Buddhist meeting/performance space up the block made their mark. My favorite was in a great combination of hipster bicyclist and wanna-be-master-yogi garb; short, tight, cut off jeans and an irridescent peach colored collarless shirt. My inner hippie squealed when I saw that shirt! He trimmed it all out with oversized wooden beads, an anklet, a shaved head, and a fearlessly placed mark of gold paint between his eyebrows...which, quite beautifully, was running onto his eyelids as he sweat. He said "Hey, how's it goin'?" as though he really meant it. It was nice.

The only sad thing about this all is that I have no images of these outfits to share with you. Until I come up with a keen and discreet way to photograph, I'll trust that your imaginations are taking over.

Thank you, daring men of Seattle. I take this all as a sign of hope; a reason to forge ahead!