I have reported several times on this blog -- and many times to anyone crazy enough to stand still long enough for me to begin my tirade -- that designers of quality knitwear for men and, to a lesser extent women, were an extinct race. My opinion was based on extensive observation and a thorough review of current literature. (Someone occasionally leaves copies of Vogue, Elle, Vanity Fair and GQ in our lunch room.)
Are you sitting down?
I was wrong.
Designers of quality knits are not extinct, just mighty, mighty rare. Still on the endangered list, to be sure, but I know for a fact they exist. For evidence of this shocking revelation one need look no further than to the Fall/Winter '07 Perry Ellis collection. With this sublime collection Jerry Kaye, Perry Ellis' creative director, ascends to the pantheon of immortal designers.
A man more erudite than I would look at these photos and wax poetic about cables, ocean spray, hay rack rides, classic looks, masculine lines, seductive silhouettes, etc. They might even throw in words like transcendence or captivating or yummy. Me? I have two words.
Me likey, likey, likey the sweater pictured above. And below. And the one after that. And the one after that. And so on. They are are, for lack of more eloquent words, magically delicious.
What on earth was Cathy Pill thinking? It looks like this woman is walking down a runway wearing the Great Pumpkin's uterus.
Judging from her bony chest, the waif weighs all of 73 pounds and possibly had her arms removed to loose the last 8 pesky pounds. As impossible as it seems, Cathy Pill has managed to send this stick figure down a runway in the only sweater on earth that could make her look like a fatty boombalatty. (I'm hearing Tim Gunn's voice in my head..."But Nina, I wanted her to look like she had a big fat ass!") Someone should buy this poor girl a french fry and report Cathy Pill to The Hague, cuz' this thing is a crime against humanity.
Just so no one thinks I am on the Perry Ellis payroll (though Jerry, my good man, I could use a new Aran in an XXL!) I present the following.
The mystical qualities of the balance of the collection aside, no one can be "on" all the time, and man, oh man, were they off on this one. Did someone steal his pants? Tell me -- do you know anyone who, when putting together an ensemble, would consider stepping out of the house wearing a cardie, a pair of long underwear, and a pair of suede bucks? I'm sure his mother told him to aways wear clean undies, but I'm also fairly certain she meant under trousers, not in lieu of them. Isn't he afraid his bits are going to poke out the y-front? (Although, given the bunchy, baggy thing going on in front, maybe the model was...um...cold. Hasn't anyone at Perry Ellis watched the Shrinkage episode of Seinfeld?)
Anyway, while the shoes match the sweater in a way that gives me goose bumps, this guy is still walking around in his undies.
Thanks to Franklin, I have found a new way to occupy my (almost nonexistent) free time. I've been cataloguing my books using librarything.com. And, thanks to librarything, I have added the nifty little voyeur doodad on the sideboard that gives you a random look at books in my collection.