Brass Stays and the World's Saddest Mascot

This weekend, I explored Andersonville. I had heard glowing reviews from my friends who stated that is was both "really far away" and "definitely a place," so I wanted to check it out. But I wasn't expecting to be confronted with a demon from my childhood.

Pictured above: Yes, that is the actual logo for this Japanese math program (of which I graduated from while in high school). Nothing says "daily math worksheets" like a smiley face with an expression of utter hopelessness.

I needed to cleanse my mind-palette, so I went over to the Brown Elephant thrift store and picked up a vintage messenger bag.

Pictured above: From the state of it, I would guess that its last content was a letter expounding the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad.

I was also fortunate enough to get a free $50 gift certificate to Paul Stewart. But since all they have there are $500 cashmere-blend, hand sewn, tailor-fit, bespoke argyle umbrellas, my options were limited.

Pictured above: Brass collar stays! Nothing says "dandy" like fashion accessories that cannot be seen. Transformation complete.

Speed Dating 3: Vulcan Nerf Gun Edition

So, I went speed dating. Again.

Pictured above: It's important to place the name-tag near the pocket square. It sends a message. And that message is "Hi! I'm Sai, and I hope you are ready for disappointment!"

In any case, here (again) are some out-of-context quotes from the evening:

"I took the job hoping for free botox injections."

"I keep a vulcan nerf gun under my desk."

"Wait, you seem really young. This is for 33-43 year-olds, right?"

"Why won't you teach me how to swing dance!?"

So, overall, it was an amazing night. As a reward, I bought myself a new straw hat to go along with my new sunglasses.

Pictured above: Now all I need is my own Columbian drug cartel.

Spanish Monks

I am a self-proclaimed expert in many fields: Wolf-man tracking, antique vase appraisal, pan-flute whittling, etc. But I also know a few things about men's fashion. That is why I was so surprised when I learned about a new kind of men's shoe this week: the monk.


Pictured above: I now know the difference between oxford, derby, and monk shoes. Wow, that sounds way more pompous when I say that out loud. Can pretension count as a hobby?

Yes, the monk shoe has a buckle instead of laces, making me look 45% more like Puritan pilgrim when I wear them. I feel this strange desire to get back to work and accuse some ladies of witchcraft. They are also made of genuine Spanish leather, Diego, which makes me concerned as to why they were only $14 in a Kansas thrift store. Perhaps they are cursed, or perhaps the cobbler just spoke with a lisp.

I also perused the famous Big Lots of Topeka to get some $8 watches. One black, one brown, of course, to match my belt and shoes.

Pictured above: I like their fake brand names. "Episode" just reminds me of THIS and Callezio sounds like an Italian appetizer that I don't want to eat for some reason.

Anyway, back to eating dinner with my mom.

Pictured above: Yeah, that's right. I told you I was Japanese.

I'm (kind of) Famous!

I was photographed by Isa of Chicago Looks!

http://vintageheavenchicago.blogspot.com/2011/03/march-big-sale.html (near the bottom of the page)

Pictured above: Doing some shopping at Chicago's Vintage Heaven.

(Thanks to Chicago Looks for thinking I looked interesting enough for a photo.)

Dragons vs. Unicorns vs. Creeps

Ah, it's good to be back on the internet. I had a tough couple of days this past week. I was over-zealous at the H&M clearance rack and bought two pairs of brown slacks that look suspiciously similar. I also failed in finding some opera pumps for the formal next weekend, so I may be forced to endure the shame of wearing my black oxfords instead. It's a tough life.

Note: Apparently, there was also some sort of exam on Friday, which would explain why my entire class got together in a big room and didn't talk to each other for four hours. Maybe I shouldn't have just drawn pictures of dragons fighting unicorns on those papers we were given. Unless our exam was on fantasy warfare. No wait, I think that is our next unit.

But rather than dwell too much on my own inadequacies, I thought I would find something positive to discuss. As this is also a "sartorial" blog (in addition to the nonsense I post), I thought I should do some analysis on some popular fashion. For example, there is this new persona sweeping the nation called "The Creep."

I was initially delighted to discover how much of myself I saw in these "creeps." Like me, they have an unstoppable swagger and are definitely a hit with the ladies. Watch out kids, because there is new dance craze sweeping the nation!

Pictured above: Seriously, watch your kids.

First, I should list the similarities between me and these "creeps."

Pictured above: Screen-capture of some "creeps." Probably thought it was a photograph of me, didn't you?

1. Hair parted to the side

2. Distinctive glasses

3. White collared shirt

4. Bold, solid-colored tie

5. Sensible, well-fitting gray suit

6. Brightly-colored argyle socks

7. Brown dress shoes

Sound familiar? Apparently, I have been creeping for quite some time now, and I demand credit for it. Their "characters" were clearly based off of me, and I am entitled to royalties. Girls have been calling me a "creep" in bars for a lot longer than this video has been circulating.

Dirigible Pirate

I have two weeks of break before I must return to medical school, and I'm trying my best to indulge in as many vices as possible. With all these free time on my hands, I was planning on starting up a blacksmith inside my apartment. However, I forgot about that "smelting clause" in my lease, and I was forced to close shop. Maybe I'll just stick to buying vintage clothes.

Pictured above: Thrift store shopping spree. Three bow ties, one necktie, two gray blazers, and two scarves.
Not Pictured: Pair of khaki pants, dignity.

I purchased all of that for less than $50, believe it or not. And even more shocking, I didn't even have to root around in the trash to get it. I acquired them in "stores," though I am unaware of the origin or status of the previous owner. All I'm saying is that I can neither confirm nor deny if these clothes were the result of grave-robbing.

Pictured above: A "brand" of some note.

But I am also using my time to develop new habits to become more of a gentleman. For instance, I have begun wearing hats while outside.

Pictured above: I am only a few steps away from challenging someone to a zeppelin race 'round the world.

Alas, I am still not the coolest guy in medical school. A "friend" of mine had the honor of purchasing a pirate jacket from H&M yesterday.

Pictured above: Unfortunately, H&M was fresh out of designer eyepatches, so he could not complete his look.

(Failed) Speed Dating

For the most part, I write blog entries describing my medical school triumphs and sartorial eccentricities. But when something momentous occurs in my life, I will gladly share it with the internet. A personal dream of mine was fulfilled this week as I participated in my first-ever speed dating experience. I, and other medical student men, went on 4-minute dates with the lovely ladies of the nearby law school. We were given forms to fill out to indicate which men/women we found suitable. This may be a challenge to most men in my position, but I was prepared.

Pictured above: Just throw on your tuxedo jacket and let the peak lapels do the talking.

Actually, I arrived more casually, as to not frighten these kind women too early with the true nature of my metrosexuality. I wore a necktie and a v-neck sweater, which is the first step in my personal seduction system.

Step 1: Look like Mr. Rogers.
Step 2: Explain why you look like a grandpa.
Step 3: Apologize for spilling your drink.
Step 4: Go home alone.
[Note, the Sai Seduction System is still in its beta phase of field-testing]

Pictured above: Only deploy a velvet vest in emergency dating situations.

So, I ended up talking to nearly 15 different ladies from the law school. They were all quite sweet, but the awkwardness of the situation expanded as the night wore on, like some sort of awkward souffle. My conservations typically went like this:

ME: Place of origin?
GIRL: Place of origin.
ME: Joke about place of origin!
GIRL: Do not understand. Hobbies?
ME: List of hobbies plus joke hobby.
GIRL: Joking?
ME: Joking.
GIRL: Silence.
ME: Words.
[Time up!]

And after all the smalltalk could not be spoken any smaller, the male medical students parted ways with the female law students. While in the medical post-date huddle, I discovered that some of the men had chosen an interesting strategy. Many had responded "yes" to nearly every date. This gave me a great idea.

Now, I'm sure there were a few ladies who implemented a similar plan. Therefore, this is great opportunity for me to launch my bold new company Sai's Speed-Speed-Dating, where I will just give the emails of all the singles to each other (for a small fee) as soon as they sign up, without having to go through the trouble of "meeting" each other! Slogan: "Where love and sadness meet!"

Pictured above: With my adventure over, all I have to do is sit back, relax, eat my poppyseed-apple-eggnog pancakes, and let the results of the speed dating roll into my email inbox.

And they just came in! No matches. Well, I was planning on crying alone in my apartment tonight anyway, so that simplifies my plans for the evening. Hooray!

Vintage Voyage Vivacity

When people comment on my personal style, it usually comes down to two types of questions.

1. Why are you dressed like that?

2. How old are you?

The answer to the first question is easy enough ("Because I'm awesome."), but the second is more tricky. Apparently, my sartorial decisions have made me look like an old man, devoid of any youthful glow and content to complain about how the internet and fax machines are destroying family values.

It seems most Chicagoans assume that I am about 28 years old (approximately two Justin Bieber's), which over time has increased the standard deviation of age-related guesses beyond a comfortable level. But instead of trying to fight back against this image of senescence, I've embraced this truth about my appearance. Better to be old and bitter than young and beloved. Wait, that doesn't sound right...

Anyway, I've indulged in some recent vintage clothing purchases to cement my elderly personal philosophy and appearance. First, I needed a raincoat.

Pictured above: A beautiful, double-breasted, navy-blue trench-coat. I don't plan on engaging in much trench warfare during my 7-15 years in the MD/PHD program, but you never know when the Kaiser will strike.

I had to take in the sides a bit (London Fog tends to be a bit boxy), but when such a coat is only $6, it is definitely worth the effort.

Pictured above: The recommended washing instructions. To maintain its authenticity, however, I will be cleaning it the old-fashioned way: by indentured servant.

I also purchased a leather travelling bag ($5) and a khaki fedora ($10). Now, my ensemble is complete.

Pictured above: I wonder if there is such a thing as a "vintage nerd"...

Together, I now will look like a 19th century British explorer, ready to indulge in the silks and spices (and colonial oppression) of the orient or participate in big-game hunting (and colonial oppression) in the Serengeti. How extravagant!

Panda-Flavored Bubble Tea

My White Coat Ceremony was this past weekend, so my biological mother again decided to make a visit up to Chicago. In true family fashion, our interactions were largely within the context of eating.

Pictured above: My mother drinking coffee. Her eyes are blackened not to protect her privacy, but rather to protect my readers. It is said that all who gaze into her eyes turn to stone, which has really started to become a real nuisance. At least we got her snakes under control.

We also found an excellent Vietnamese sandwich shop called Bon Bon.

Pictured above: A Vietnamese sandwich, clearly the most photogenic of sandwiches.

I ordered a bubble tea, because I think most drinks nowadays don't have enough debris in them. My brother ordered an Vietnamese iced coffee, which I believe is coffee, condensed milk, and panda extract.

Pictured above: You can really taste the panda.

You'll notice that my brother is wearing an excellent blue button-down from American Apparel. Maybe one day I'll be able to be a rich doctor like him and wear $50 shirts, but for now I guess I'll stick to pulling clothes out of a bin at Goodwill.

My mother took pictures of me in my white coat, but those photographs are largely uninteresting. I am considering tailoring my white coat, but I wonder if I'll be the only one with a fitted doctor's jacket. On a side note, I have a feeling that I'm becoming the dandy of my medical school class.

Paradise

Pictured above: A thrift store right next to a dollar store. Paradise.

When I saw this, I fell to my knees and began weeping. It was the most beautiful thing I've seen since I went to the grand opening of the Salvation Army in Lawrence.

Subway Spotted: Business Time and A Brief History of the Moustache

Gays are great and all, but straight men should be able to dress well, too. The subway again provided me with a chance to stalk the well-dressed men of Chicago.

Let's break down this gentleman who caught my eye as I was commuting to work.

Pictured above: Everything I am not, yet wish to be.

1. Glasses

Thick-rimmed, sure, but not in the ironic/hipster way. He doesn't look like a “nerd”, but rather like a guy about to fire someone.

2. Umbrella

Plaid with a curved, wooden handle. The only way it could have been cooler was if it had a sword hidden inside. Or a machine gun. Or an even smaller umbrella.

3. Shirt

Maybe the greatest thing about his outfit. The collar had three buttons. The chicness of the shirt makes him look more dressed-up than other guys wearing ties.

4. Suit

Undoubtedly tailored, and cost probably more than my most expensive suit ($15). I'll bet he spent maybe $25 or even more than $50 on that suit!

5. Beard

Facial hair tends to make most men look more like feral dogs or mysterious mountain men, yet this gentleman strikes a distinguished cord. The clean-cut and well-trimmed nature of his beard make him look even more serious and formal.

Since I have the facial-hair potential of a 9-year-old boy, a beard of this caliber still remains an unattainable goal for me. Speaking of which...

A Brief History of the Moustache

Facial hair has long gone out of fashion, apparent to those of us who follow the presidential facial hair timeline, which reached its apogee at President James “Mr. Muttonchops” Garfield and ended with President William “Mr. Moustache” Taft.

Pictured above: Assassinated because of sideburn-envy. Or maybe the Hawley-Smoot tariff or the Alien and Sedition Acts. I don't remember any of my AP US History.

Few people know that President Taft actually invented the moustache. During his time on the Supreme Court, he presided over the landmark case Goatee v. Handlebars, where he wrote, the 5-4 decision, that both men were to shave their beards into moustaches (or in his words “de-follicle the non-upper mouthing region of the countenance”).

Pictured above: Taft and his creation.

So powerful was this moustache (not “mustache” which the product of WWII propaganda against Hitler's “mustache” and how it “must ache”), that no President since Taft has ever worn facial hair. This is why Hillary Clinton, in her failed 2008 presidential campaign, tried to make her run for the White House even more historic by wearing a fake moustache. But she couldn't beat Obama's Neckbeard of Freedom.

Subway Spotted: Gay Aftermath

Usually, the Chicago CTA system does not provide much in terms of interesting fashion. It does, however, give me the chance to meet LOTS AND LOTS of new people!

Pictured above: Well played, Green Line Ashland stop. Well played.

But there are those rare occasions where I witness excellence in style. This particular one came after the Chicago Pride Parade last Sunday.

Pictured above: The world's second most handsome man. The first? None other than Mr. Jon Hamm, a.k.a. Mr. Don Draper, who maintained his attractiveness even after they replaced his hands with steel hooks for Tina Fey.

Everything about this outfit works well for this gentleman, and they are all things I wish I could pull off. Let's take them in increasing order of awesomeness.

1. Pants

They fit well. That is all a well-panted man can ask for.

2. Suspenders

Notice that they don't have the metal clasps for pant-attachment that most suspenders have nowadays. They are the old-school type, with leather rings to attach to buttons on the inside of the pant. That's how you go from looking costumed to vintage. Did you know that metal clasps of all types were banned in the United States until 1957, a time when they were known as "the devil's fastener"?

3. Undershirt a.k.a. shirt

Granted, 95% of the people you see walking around with just an A-frame undershirt are going to be the mouth-breathing, hair-gelling, tattooed gentlemen that frequently appear in VH1 reality shows. However, this man has found a way to class it up. I still don't understand how. Perhaps witchcraft.

4. Hair

He manages to balance the effortless and the styled, classy yet comfortable. It even matches his five-o'clock shadow, showing finesse in the art of "stubble styling."

P.S. I do not know the sexual orientation of this man. However, it is irrelevant. His attractiveness quotient places him into a category that gives him legal authority to date whomever he pleases.

P.P.S. The book he is reading is Les Miserables. Given the size and state of the book, I would guess that he also uses it as a shield during knife fights.

Poppin'

While shopping at H&M, I saw three mannequins dressed like this: two polo shirts, with both collars popped.

Rather than be upset by this, I've decided to embrace this inevitable evolution of fashion. Already, I am predicting next season's big hit: a shirt made up entirely of popped collars.

On Interior Decorating

The decor for my modest studio apartment is, for the most part, complete.

The entire process, shopping for furniture, arranging items around the room, choosing colors and more, was surprisingly satisfying. Perhaps my natural predisposition for classy threads has translated into interior decorating. This is undoubtedly a life-changing event.

It's a bit hard, but not impossible, for a man to take care of his personal appearance without sacrificing his perceived manhood. Throw on a fitted collared shirt and slim khakis and you look like a real man. But as soon as I began considering the purchase of drapes, a line had been crossed.

Interior decorating has become the death sentence for the remnants of my masculinity. To be fair, the American patriarchy is known best for its disregard for personal hygiene and desire to crush empty alcoholic-beverage cans against one's forehead, so I'm not going to miss it terribly.


Pictured Above: The death of my machismo. The killing blow was in the form of the matching napkins and tablecloth.

Is this a normal transformation? Am I experiencing a coming-of-age phase of my life, transforming me from a boy to a man? Or at least from a man to a more fabulous man?


Pictured above: A fabulous kitchen.

I have yet to entertain guests, so time will tell.

(Not) Making Friends

In Lawrence, I had an almost uncomfortable level of recognition. I would walk through the downtown area and inevitably would run into many people I knew. Before you interpret this observation as one of arrogance ( I am arrogant, but it is not contributing to this particular argument), I must admit this psuedo-popularity was for the most part due to my involvement in many university circles (scholarship halls, biological research, school newspaper, amateur vampire slayers club, etc.) and my trademark state of dress (perpetually business casual). When I moved to Chicago, I was looking forward to starting anew and making a baker's dozen of friends (Twelve total, plus an extra, in case I needed to murder one of them).


Pictured above: an ocean of potential Chicago friends in the fog of anti-Sai sentiment.

It has been incredibly difficult to make new friends. Without school forcing my classmates into close proximity, I have been unsuccessful in making any new Chicago acquaintances. For this, I blame society and its unwritten rules.


Pictured above: My homemade strawberry french toast hasn't abandoned me. Yet.

For example, in my apartment complex, I will often share an elevator with another resident for approximately 17 seconds. During this time, what should I do? Should I just put on a goofy grin and say "Hi there! My name is Sai and I'm new here and I'm from Kansas! Want to get to know me more?!" Terrifying. No one ever says anything, staring into the corner of the elevator or pretending to check their phone. Do I dare break this silence?


Pictured above: Without human companionship, I have taken to a modern style of interior decorating. For instance, this clock I installed on my apartment wall reminds me of the unstoppable march of time and my inevitable fate of death. Also, it has a cute bird.

When the rest of my MSTP class arrives, I'm sure we will become fast friends. We will become a gaggle of geeks, spouting science to each other at an inexcusably irritating frequency. And when the MD students arrive in August, I will then be able to deceive a handful of them into hanging out with me. But this does not address the heart of the problem.


Pictured above: my new, Asian mug (my real, Asian mug is shown just in the column to the right on this blog) and portable computing device. My decor has become far too Japanese, and perhaps the simplest(?) explanation for my lack of friends is that all of Chicago is racist. I guess they don't want another Chinaman in their city.

The real problem is that I want to have "real" friends during medical school, friends who aren't "medical students" and therefore "boring." I need to make friends who are artists, law students, or young professionals who dared enter the "real world" and got "jobs". To do this, I will need to begin trying to talk to complete strangers. And not spend so much time writing blog entries.


Pictured above: Crippling loneliness. And Tanzanian-spiced fried rice.

These Hipsters Don't Lie

There are lot more hipsters here in Chicago than in Lawrence, but how does the quality of the Chi-town hipster compare to that of the Larryville variety? Time for a head-to-head competition.

L-Town Lady: The Indian Intellectualista


This is some lady I found in downtown Lawrence. The Indian bangles on her left wrist are hidden from view, but we are treated to full-frontal hipsterdom regardless. The colors of these clothes, the mix of darks and brights, really sell it. The bright red bag makes a strong statement, and that statement is "this bag is red". These together make a good outfit, but is there enough irony? I'll bet this girl actually cares about India.

Chi-Town Lady: The Shanghai Sensation


This is some lady I found in downtown Chicago. The glasses and cardigan are classic counter-culture constants, but what really sells her outfit is the nearly-seersucker shirt with the winged collar. The book in her right hand shows an ironic value for antiquity, but masks her probable deep dependence on the technological tangle of Apple's Information-Phone (iPhone).

So who wins? Nobody. The irony of this blog post cancelled out any irony from these hipsters. All of you out there need to get on board with New Sincerity.

Soccergate

Sometimes people ask me why I dress up. At times, it does seem a bit superficial and unnecessary. But here is an example of why it is important to know how to, as our friend Jesse Thorn likes to say, dress like a grown-up. (Thanks to Put This On for breaking this story, which I will be referring to as Soccergate)

First, the English National Soccer Team was featured in this fashion spread.


They look pretty good, with the exception of their fat, shiny ties. Not true English gentlemen, but still looking sharp.

Not to be outdone, the Japanese National Soccer Team was featured in a different fashion spread.


Great fit on the suits and nice dimples on the ties. More importantly, they look comfortable in their suits.

With these two pictures in mind, I run across this photograph of the United States National Soccer Team, igniting the firestorm of Soccergate.


You see those three guys at the bottom? I'm pretty sure they are two presidents and a vice-president. Now call me old-fashioned, but I think heads of state should be shown a basal level of respect.

Why are they all wearing warm-up jackets? Did no one tell them they were going to meet with the president? Were they just stopping for ice-cream in Washington, D.C. and wanted to say hello to Barry, Bill, and Joe before they left?

The most hilarious thing is how ALL of them have pants that are much too long for them. They are bunching terribly at their calves and make them all look like a class of middle-schoolers wearing their dad's dress-up clothes. It's a good thing I don't care about soccer (or what the rest of the world calls "Futsbal"), or I would be thoroughly embarrassed.

In any case, the lesson here is this: you don't have to care about style or dressing-up, but you still need to know how to do it. If you have the immense privilege of meeting with the President, you will have the foresight to look professional and not like the checkout clerk at Dick's Sporting Goods.