Secondhand Man

Adrian Dannatt, a man about town and an inveterate wearer of secondhand clothing.

I do not always buy new clothes. This may come as a shock to some who know me for my flagrant display of artisan garments, but sometimes I would rather buy secondhand. For one, I'm young and not far out of college, and putting down serious coin for clothes all of the time is impractical and impossible. Furthermore, secondhand garments have more intrigue than new clothing, and serve as the inspiration for future trends. If you want to be on the cutting edge, buy secondhand. 

In his book How To Be a Man, the late, great Glenn O'Brien quipped that "Women's fashion is based not only on the idea of social advancement through conspicuous consumption but also on the enforced obsolescence inherent in fashion.  Fashion is conspicuous waste."  In this day and age, men are as guilty as women in engaging in the ritual of discarding, but that leaves their castoffs for the rest of us to turn into style statements.  There are certain garments that have hit the bottom of the barrel and won't come back - acid-washed jeans and square-toed shoes are two notable examples - but the rise of camp collar shirts and looser silhouettes began in thrift stores, after a time of obsolescence. I remember seeing large-collared shirts for $5 during several thrifting adventures, and similar designs are now produced by fashion houses and artisans alike and sell for hundreds of dollars.  What goes around comes around. 

Furthermore, in an interview with Man Repeller, O'Brien's wife, Gina Nanni posited that people dressed with more style and verve before the advent of fast fashion and the cultural cachet of the head-to-toe designer wardrobe. Nanni said that "Even if you did buy designer clothes, people didn’t necessarily wear designer clothes every day, head-to-toe. Somebody might have bought a dress, but they would have worn it with vintage shoes. And they would have worn that dress for years, not gotten rid of it at the end of the season because it was out of fashion."  This is the beauty of thrift and vintage stores; they're full of inexpensive items that add je ne sais quoi to an outfit composed of designer clothes, pieces sourced at local boutiques or staples from basics strongholds like Club Monaco and J. Crew. This Spring, I've worn my vintage St. John's Bay Wallabee knockoffs almost every day because they're a less common sight on the street than Red Wing boots (plus one of my pairs is decommisioned as it waits for a resoling). Plus, they're fun. They're a little clunky but quite playful;  they don't play by the rules but their neutral light brown hue pairs well with anything from white denim to olive chinos.  That's versatility at its finest. 

The author at 16 on a friend's porch, wearing the aforementioned green cardigan, thrifted Diesel denim and an Antony & the Johnsons t-shirt.  I was reviewing artisan bacon we had just eaten for breakfast.

That said, I'm not an inveterate thrifter or vintage hound, though I'd like to be. If a shirt, for example, has lasted 40 years before I find it in a thrift shop, the odds of it lasting another 40 (with proper care and normal wear) are decent. Some people plan days around thrifting, and know all the right places to hit and times to hit them at. My thrifting philosophy is based on pure chance; there's a strong correlation between not knowing what you need and having it pop out right in front of your eyes. When I was 17, I wore a bright green cardigan with frequency. While I didn't know I needed it, I spied it on a thrift store rack one afternoon and it filled a hole in my wardrobe that hadn't existed before. Granted not every thrift excursion produces such fruitful results, but such is the beauty of persistence. For those looking for vintage or high quality secondhand items but don't feel like thrifting, eBay is your friend. Be warned, though; the prices go higher than those of your friendly neighborhood thrift shop, and the ability to preselect what you're looking for takes away half the fun.  As Adrian Dannatt put it, "I want no preselection whatsoever.  I hate preselection." 

Yesterday, I wore my Wallabee knockoffs with my vintage U.S. Navy-issued chambray shirt, white Levi's from Sid Mashburn, a Levi's Made & Crafted trucker jacket, Pantherella socks and my favorite red Fast Color bandana (made in the U.S.A.). Half the outfit was new, the other half secondhand or vintage, and I was quite content with this balance, especially since the secondhand pieces were worked into the outfit in a way that didn't scream "thrifted."  Today I'm wearing a Uniqlo shirt I found on eBay with the aforementioned bandana and shoes and a pair of patched-up blue jeans, and I love the French-Japanese portmanteau I'm channeling.  That's the point of secondhand clothing - as a style statement - anyway, to blend in with staple and high-end garments and create a look uniquely one's own.