sartorial sins dbag dating

I recently did an interview for Lyst in which I was asked to name some items that a man should absolutely never wear on a date. While I would love to perpetuate an image of myself being highly open-minded and refraining from judging men based on appearance, let’s cut the bullshit. Most of us care. A wrinkled shirt suggests sloppiness, a bad watch distracts from a conversation, a pair of lightly flared jeans linger in your memory forever, subconsciously making you refrain from all future dates.

Alas, not all sartorial sins are the same for each woman – one woman’s whiskered denim trash is another woman’s Jersey Shore treasure. I will now share my list of items that makes me squirm, but only under the condition that you will then you share yours. Deal?!

Square-toe or pointed shoes. Once upon a time, when I was a high school student in Russia, an elderly mafioso named Ruslan used to stalk my beautiful blonde best friend. Every day, he would wait for us after school, leaning against his gleaming silver Mercedes, a single in hand. Every day, he wore square-toe shoes. These babies are from another time in history and should exist only in museums, like dinosaurs fossils.

Bad watches. At risk of sounding like a vain asshole, a watch speaks volumes about a man. I am not referring to the financial status here – a watch is a sign of taste, of class, of whether or not you have seen an old film or two and understand the understated elegance of a Patek Philippe, as are just following the masses with the latest pimped out Panerai. Dan the Dbag in Disguise owned a heinous square watch from Bell & Ross, which, on the flip side, made getting over him that much easier. Also, no grown man should walk around with a calculator watch, or any plastic watch, for that matter. Conclusion: if you can’t afford a nice, tasteful watch, don’t wear one.

T-shirts that talk. My brother will kill me for this one, as he happens to own an entire collection. However, few things are worse than a Diesel-esque t-shirt with some ineligible writing, complemented with an abstract floral motif for good measure.

Distressed denim. My Muse recently fell in (temporary) love with a fellow, proclaiming him to be her potential soulmate and father of her unborn children after two dates. Imagine our discomfort when our potential in-law showed up to dinner wearing – wait for it – faded, whiskered, baggy jeans with rips all over them. I don’t even know where one goes to purchase such treasures of the 2000’s.. Unless, of course, he has had them since the 2000’s, which is a whole other conversation.

Fedoras / suit vests / suspenders (in an ironic way). Anything that belongs on Don Draper and is adapted to hipster fashion.

Pastel pants. Nothing screams Eurotrash / Southampton douchebag like a pair of freshly pressed mint green chinos, worn with a Ralph Lauren polo with a pony on steroids. You almost expect them to be accompanied with a creepy bedroom fetish, a porn addiction, or mommy issues to match. I have a hard time with pastel button-downs as well, but I know some girls who dig them, so I will let that one slide.

Reflective / wraparound sunglasses. Men really don’t have that many accessories to choose from, so there are no excuses for wearing the same shades as my bikini laser lady. When in doubt, go for a classic Persol pair à  la Steve McQueen. Actually, let Steve McQueen guide you when it come to style in general.

And now, some sartorial aphrodisiacs

  • Well-cut jeans (Acne, APC)
  • Soft, stealable cashmere
  • Black / white / gray crew-necks
  • A vintage Rolex (BITE ME)
  • The occasional chambray shirt (over a t-shirt)
  • Athletic anything
  • Deodorant (this is coming from a traumatized place)
  • On the right guy only: tattoos, bracelets
  • Steve McQueen

Now, your turn! What turns you off? What gets your panties in a bunch? SHARE IN COMMENTS!


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