Restraint

Several months back, I wrote about how America’s political situation and the general chaos throughout the world have upended the trend cycle and the concept of subcultures. As impeachment moves along and things get crazier by the minute — thanks, Twitter — this is truer now than it was before. Yet I feel my own mode of expression is counterintuitive, the antithesis of how other style minded people have responded to democracy in crisis. Where many have gone bold, I’m feeling the pull of restraint, the lure of whispering when others are screaming.

My desire for restraint stems from my desire for a clear mind. I want to feel as uncluttered as possible in an age where clutter is the norm, and I want to look good while doing so. I have enough other things demanding my attention that I can’t spend my energy creating the perfect outfit. The less effort I expend on dressing and the more effort I put toward doing, the better.

Beside, restraint is sexy and subversive. Restraint is Bill Evans and Miles Davis (before he went electric), conservative from afar yet rebellious and immaculate up close. Restraint is Thelonious Monk using space in a solo and staggering his notes with aplomb, his simple riffs seeming so newfangled because he understood the art of pacing. Restraint is pausing before answering a question, both out of consideration and politeness. Restraint is so traditional, it becomes anything but when it’s expressed.

Restraint is not following the crowd, wearing Van Heusen shirts and Dockers khakis — that’s middle management. Restraint, more likely, is sporting a bold red turtleneck under a classic navy suit, feet adorned with simple Chelsea boots or brown lace-ups. Restraint is knowing the difference between the appropriate amount of boldness and overkill. Restraint is not somber, and can actually be more fun, freeing, and effortless than outlandishness. Most importantly, restraint is not for everyone or for every part of a person’s life, since we all have different relationships with the world and ways of expressing ourselves. We wouldn’t have wanted David Bowie or Mick Jagger to be restrained; it just so happens to be my way, for my wardrobe, right now.

Restraint is also fun, because it forces one to behave as creatively as possible under limitations. My favorite sweater in my arsenal is a teal S.N.S. Herning cardigan, knit in Denmark for fishermen. My most worn sweater, however, is a navy merino wool cardigan that I bought at Club Monaco four years ago. Though the more distinct sweater bespeaks comfiness, character, and warmth, I find there are only two or three ways I can style it with my current wardrobe, whereas I’ve worn the simple, understated merino knit in tens of ways. If I donned my teal cardigan five days a week, people would wonder if I owned any other sweaters. Yet if I wore my classic navy number every day, nobody would bat an eyelash, so long as it remained clean and pleasant smelling.

In fact, my few experiments in outlandishness have not ended well. Never again will I wear deep v-necks or skintight jeans, which I did for nine months when I was sixteen. During that time, however, I owned and loved a coffee-stained kelly green cardigan. I found it lurking on a thrift store rack, bought it for $5, and wore it constantly over the next year, over Western shirts and oversized band tees. I can’t recall my cardigan’s fate, though whenever I come upon photographs of myself wearing it, I’m reminded of how handsome it was — I thought. Yet I had the opportunity to buy a similar, brand new sweater last month, and I passed. I determined that it would be too loud for my current wardrobe, and I’d have to purchase a bunch of other, unnecessary garments to complement it. Restraint is learned both through lean moments and years of making mistakes and discoveries, in style and otherwise. 

For fashion fiends and style mavens, dressing with restraint seems scary, thought that’s because people confuse it with asceticism. Asceticism involves foregoing extravagances altogether, whereas restraint accounts for the want of luxury and need for expression without going over the top. It’s the difference between swearing off Belgian shoes, for instance, and only breaking out your leopard print Belgians with a classic navy suit, a crisp, white dress shirt, and a knit tie. The shoes speak as loud as the suit, in that case, without overwhelming it. Add a patterned dress shirt or a whimsical tie, however, and one becomes a peacock, like the preening popinjays who prance around Pitti Uomo twice a year. That doesn’t mean you can’t mix and match patterns — some people consider classic prints, like leopard or camo, neutrals — though the theories and ways of doing so merit their own separate piece. And camo might be the one print that I would wear leopard with, so long as all my other clothes were solid, because its classic colors are earthy and neutral.

The other conundrum surrounding restraint is the absence of lines and concrete terms that govern it. One person’s restraint may be another’s conservatism or outlandishness, and there are advantages in moving from the realm of good taste into the realm of interesting taste. Once one has adopted a style considered more “intriguing” than “good,” their definition of restraint moves. I find turtlenecks, whether worn alone with corduroys, underneath a blazer, or in most other permutations, a sign of restraint, since I wear them several days a week. Others may think they’re more swaggering than soft, though they’re strong in what they communicate either way. I even believe that Timothée Chalamet’s electric yellow turtleneck, which he wore for the premiere of The King, demonstrates restraint, paired with a crisp, understated peak lapel black suit and svelte black Chelsea boots. Others might argue the black suit sends a strong statement by itself, though it doesn’t overwhelm the ensemble; it’s unique and unexpected without being loud. Sartorial obsessives could debate for hours the changing merit and connotations of black suits, yet, to the average person, only Chalamet’s turtleneck stands out, without overwhelming the rest of his outfit.

Would I feel the clarity of mind I find through restraint by wearing Chalamet’s outfit? Perhaps, because I know I could sport several other colors of turtleneck under that suit without thinking, and looking good while doing so. Restraint, then, is not so much the absence of distinction but subtracting thinking from the equation of style. Restraint is the most confident, direct expression of ourselves at the clearest frequency, whether we tune into it through a stylist or dial it in through self discovery.