I think I’m usually a pretty easygoing person. I keep my own side of the street clean, but I’m not crossing the road to sweep your porch. I mind my own business! But every so often someone says something so aggravating and absurd that I have to find the “asshole hat” I retired when I left VICE to take a new job and embrace my kinder, gentler side (and also dig myself out of poverty).
This was first seen on GQ.com a couple weeks ago. It’s the internet headline version of a late-night infomercial for a set of knives that can cut a copper pipe. “Please, sir, we have a content for you! It’s a very special content, featuring a celebrity!” Think I’m exaggerating? Enjoy this opening paragraph.
Has Emily Ratajkowski read GQ’s earth-shattering new list featuring 59 dos and don’ts for getting dressed right now? Tough to say given the general timing of her latest High Low with EmRata podcast episode (which aired yesterday, while our list dropped today)—but based on the discussion therein of her fashion turn-offs on a man, she’s clearly on the same wavelength.
Getting in two plugs in the first two sentences is a miracle of online dark arts beyond my comprehension. The breathlessness with which the writer asks the burning question of if Emily Ratajkowski read the latest GQ e-comm listicle. The admission that she cannot answer what we have now learned is a rhetorical question on par with “how’s your day going?” And then the second plug, this time for Emily’s podcast, which happened to have been cancelled six days before this GQ article came out. Sadly, there was no room in the first paragraph to mention that part.
Once the prerequisites were out of the way, the author could shamble on to the topic at hand: Men’s ankles. There was a time when a provocative headline demanding men wear socks or suffer the consequence of never having sex again would have set off an entire month-long discourse cycle of outrage and turgid pop psychology. “Ah, you see, ankles represent male weakness, with their connection to Achilles’ famous heel. That’s why it is so unnerving for the woman to see that symbol of fragility.” Or something like that.
Except, in 2023, we have better/sadder things to think about. The terrible war in Gaza being the latest horror show to occupy the centers of dread in our brains. So, I was probably the only person with the energy to be upset by all of this:
“My recent ick is men’s ankles. Exposed ankles. I hate that,” Ratajkowski said on the pod. “A dainty ankle exposed on the hottest man will ruin my day.” Her aversion to sockless ankles, she continued, is a legitimate dealbreaker: “There was a guy I was seeing and he came over in short pants and like, a shoe that exposed his ankle, and I have not seen him since.” Speak on it, Emily! A stockingless ankle is a cause worth putting one’s (presumably stockinged) foot down about.
“My recent ick.” Never has a more infantilizing phrase been uttered since someone invented the term “soft launch” to represent a photo of an adult relationship. My personal “recent ick” is the onward march of the Sock Mafia, those stalwart fashion observers who seem to regard the sock as a sacred part of a man’s wardrobe.
I’m here to tell you definitively that it is not. Socks are probably the least remarkable thing you will wear regularly. Sure, there are some interesting socks out there. I own a pair of yellow Issey Miyake socks that always spice up an all-black wardrobe.
But “this is a fun accessory” is different than “if you don’t wear them, your dick might as well fall off because you are such a massive loser.” So, I must ask: What are socks for, anyway? Well, there are a million articles on the internet about socks to prevent foot sweat, stop stinky feet, keep your feet warm in the winter, and protect against blisters. There are not many articles about socks that convince supermodels to have sex with you, so I’ll scratch that one off the list.
The GQ article I’ve been complaining about shouts from the rooftops of lower Manhattan that “All shoes look better with socks.” Unfortunately, I do not know what that means. How does a sock make a shoe look “better” exactly? All shoes? Does a Gucci loafer or a pair of slippers immediately look better because it’s paired with socks? A Sperry Topsider? If that were true, why were so many menswear photos styled without socks for the last five years or so? GQ had two articles (by the same author) on how to wear shoes without socks that dropped in 2017 and 2018.
Now, before you fire off a missive to me about how fashion has never made sense and has always existed at the whim of a couple editors flipping a coin while not eating during lunch…I know. I am well aware. It is a capricious business designed almost exclusively to get you to part with your money more often. As I alluded to before, GQ, specifically spends most of its editorial space encouraging you to buy things with listicles on the “hottest” or “most essential” items for whatever occasion. They know you are a helpless little worm with no sense of style, so they game their SEO to hook you at your most desperate “what to wear to a wedding” moments.
On September 21st, GQ published a post called “Suddenly, Inexplicably, Dress Shoes Feel Essential Again”. I guess that title was meant to make it sound more like an alarm had just gone off at “Shoe HQ” and panic was setting in in the streets. Literally, no one ever stopped needing dress shoes, so why all the suprise? But alas, that minor bit of insanity has been replaced by the title “The Best Dress Shoes for Men Are More Essential Than Ever.” Because again, these titles are just traps to get you to click and then buy something from a GQ affiliate link.
I’m not saying anything that’s a massive secret, but it’s worth noting as GQ starts carrying pitchforks for men who don’t always wear socks. What is one of the cheapest, most entry-level purchases someone interested in style can make? Socks. Unlike underwear, they are a highly visible part of a person’s wardrobe. The styles can be refreshed cheaply every season. You can buy them on an impulse or add them to a larger order. It’s why grocery stores sell gum, candy, and magazines with loud, obnoxious pronouncements on the cover at the checkout stand. Socks are the fashion equivalent of buying GQ at Ralphs.
But I want to go back to the actual practicality of socks. They are, like ties or hats, a fully optional item. You need to cover your top, your bottom, and your feet. You need to stay warm or cool. Everything else is for vanity or comfort. I live in the warm-weather embrace of Los Angeles, a place where one can easily get away with showing bare ankles most of the year. I take advantage of this often, either in mules or loafers. I also own a pair of beat-up white Givenchy sneakers I’ve had for years that I like to wear without socks during the summer. I just bought some Knickerbocker huaraches from the Mohawk General Store archive sale last weekend that I will never, ever wear with socks. Do huaraches look better with socks? I’d say no, but hey, I’m not Emily Ratajkowski. My podcast was cancelled a long time ago. I also have beautiful, lean ankles, which is I guess the one thing we have in common.
If you want to wear socks, wear socks. If you don’t, don’t. Whatever you do, just know why you’re doing it.
I went to Mr. Chow last weekend for my girlfriend’s birthday. I had been to Mr. Chow one other time and I found it beautiful, overpriced, and culinarily unmemorable. I decided to go back because of the new HBO documentary about Michael Chow, aka Mr. Chow. My friend Jason Diamond interviewed Michael for…GQ (OK, look, I don’t hate GQ. I just dislike certain aspects of their business model) and you should read that as soon as you finish here.
The documentary was not unlike other docs produced by Graydon Carter. There’s a lot of fancy, famous New York people from the 1980s and 1990s doing talking head interviews. There’s a smattering of family tragedy alluded to. There’s a lot of great old photos that make me nostalgic for a time I was not around for. It also had Fran Lebowitz in it, like most of them do. I enjoyed it as a light diversion, as I have all of them.
I felt that maybe I missed something the first time I went to Mr. Chow and a second stop in would illuminate a hidden magic I might have missed. Perhaps I ordered wrong. Maybe the vibe was particularly odd because we went during prom season. I literally saw an older man in a tuxedo jacket with jeans eating with three much younger women.
No, nothing changed. It is exactly what it seems to be. Mr. Chow is not a restaurant that eludes or obfuscates. It does not hide. It makes plain what it has always been: a glorious ode to art and ego — two forces inexorably intertwined. It’s a gorgeous space: checkerboard tile floors, illuminated tables that glide into place when you’re seated, stunning silverware that’s clearly been in use for decades.
And everything has Mr. Chow’s name written on it. His portrait looms over the dining area at all times; his face pursed into a chic pout to signify that a restaurant designed to be the most exciting place in the world bores this fabulous man who has seen it all.
The food was just as dull and old fashioned as I remember. The service was martial and impersonal. I was ordered to spend at least $75 per person even though we had just had dinner at the Waldorf Astoria and only wanted dessert and martinis. The crowd was sparse and elderly. The bar, with ample stool seating, was empty. I will certainly be back.
What I love most about restaurants is the ghosts. Those people and the times they lived in that still haunt the silverware and the cocaine-stained bathroom stalls. It’s blatant nostalgia that has nothing to do with what Mr. Chow can offer in 2023. I go because I want to huff the fumes of a more glamorous time. I want the memories I can never have. Places like Mr. Chow allow me to do just that. Dining today feels like it’s often the opposite and wants you to experience your own life all over again.
Mr. Chow was an attempt to elevate Chinese food to the level of fine dining. The Chow documentary showed a man clearly wounded by the racism and condescension he faced from white Europeans. He wanted Chinese food (and himself) to be respected by them. But today, chefs are busier elevating our memories. Better to honor the food we grew up with and make the tastebuds catch up than homogenize it for the masses. Chinese-American chefs are embracing and elevating the Chinese Chicken Salad that was for years a symbol of down-home assimilation. ChainFest, the food festival from BJ Novak and chef Tim Hollingsworth, offers up culinary delights based on the fast food of our childhood.
I don’t blame anyone for wanting to relive their youth instead of dwelling on the nightmare of our times. I’d just rather put myself in the same tattered leather booths of the adults I grew up wanting to be and might never live up to. At least at Mr. Chow, I can dream for a night.
LINKS:
+I just wrote about valet parking in Los Angeles for the latest LA Times Image Magazine.
+Really, the entire issue, centered on Luxury in LA, is worth your time.
+I hope everyone has fun at FranCon, the Fran Lebowitz convention. Please send photos.
All products featured on How (Not) to Be a Man are independently selected by our editors. However, when you buy something through our retail links, we won’t get a fucking dime.
Next week, we’ll talk more about neckerchiefs. I promise this time. I got distracted by other things! Also, please don’t forget to ask me MORE questions in our chat.
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