#at some point i want to make textures for his other outfits (not including spring)

[duskgryphon-png]

23-26.4.24

custom texture for solace! plus my first attempt at posing one of the models in blender concept and stuff under cut

initial concept's from the 23rd, texture 24th, render/pose 26th

i had a lot of fun trying to make this! initially it was an alt for his winter outfit that got... out of hand ^-^

due to the way his uvs are i couldn't actually implement the wing colour properly, same with his gloves. we'll see if i don't get around to fixing that eventually.

[gagmebucky]

thank you to taylor @blessedbucky​, mia @theamericanfalcon, liz @marvelous-mr-stark, raechel, shayla, lauren, courtney, em and tina for allowing me to write this content as well as my beta reader kat @angel-fire​! love you all!

read the full synopsis and excerpt // read chapters snippets here.

o. in which you accidentally send your nudes to your brothers’ best friend. (includes reader’s pov, bucky’s pov, mentions of sexting.)

—

Initially, taking the photos—exposing yourself in such an intimate state to another—you were hesitant. It wasn’t the possible repercussions, i.e. revenge porn, that gave you pause but more-so an insecurity in your own body. Having never done something like this before, you briefly dithered between whether you should or not. 

Ultimately, however, you do. The guy had spent money on you, went through the trouble of finding something you’d like and shipped it discreetly. And when you slip the racy number on, your insecurities wash away and leave excitement in its wake. Everything about it you love, and it has you preening in a solo photo shoot you’re eager to show off. 

After a good time of selfie shutters bulking your phone’s storage—positions of you scantily-clad standing, sitting, a cross of both—you finally relent. There’s too many pictures to pick from, but you do. Three poses that optimize the best aspects of the outfit and that you think he’ll like the best have you buzzing in anticipation of his reaction. 

Giddy, you tap them directly on the album app and click the share button; you input the letter B in the ‘To:’ slot. Since there’s only two contact names under that letter, his name shows up immediately, the first with the nickname Bucky beneath it. You gloss over that and in quick succession, you quickly hit the contact and press send. 

For a split second, you’re proud: you’ve taken this e-relationship to the next level like he wanted, and he’ll be happy with you. Then it hits you like a brick through glass. A replay of your actions travel to your brain, and you belatedly realize what your eyes saw—your thumb smearing too low on the screen, so instead of Brock as the recipient, it’s Bucky. 

“No, no, no!” you whisper as your heart hurtles like a jackhammer stuck in your rib cage. 

A part of you insists it’s your paranoia playing tricks on you, and that’s a valid rationale because this whole thing does worry you about getting caught. Except, upon checking its legitimacy, you confirm what you accidentally did. There’s no mistaking it, now, because with your brightness turned up full, your partially nude figure stares you in the face underneath of a thread between you and your brothers’ best friend. 

James Bucky Barnes—the man who’s nicknamed you bambi because the numerous times he’s seen you face-plant over your own footing, the twenty-four year old who still ruffles your hair when he greets you, the soon-to-be business owner who dates certified models—has a trio of your attempts to be seductive; bottom lined with text you hope comes off likewise seductive.

Mortification swallows you. Your skin burns hotter and hotter by the second. Sure, you’ve embarrassed yourself before: you fall a lot, and you’re awkward conversationalist. But never something of this magnitude, not something that makes you seem so desperate and pathetic. 

You can imagine him opening the messages. He’d immediately assume, understandably, it’s a come-on; a girl trying to be a woman’s failed goal to enthrall a man like him, his best friend’s kid sister’s pitiful effort to be anything other than just that. As if you could ever measure up to the types of women he dates. 

And, yes, there’s been a time where you had a crush on him. But it’s not your fault when he looks like how he does, a rugged example of masculine sex appeal, and treating you the way he does, teasing but with a twist of kindness, and the fact that he’s the only non-blood related man allowed near you. 

But that time has passed. Even then, you knew the one-sided attraction was delusional to have. You were—still are—so sure about it that you never even dared to fantasize about him and the rumors that used to trek behind him about his sexual escapades. There’s no hidden desire to be with him, and that worsens it because it’s not like you’d feel any relief in knowing his reaction. You don’t care about his reaction in the first place!

Now, no matter how much you will insist it’s an accident, there will always be a dubiousness about it. With how close your families are, things are going to be tense. Because there’s no forgetting he’s viewed you like that, and there’s photo evidence of it. 

It hits you then. The extremity of your fuckup douses you in ice, and your muscles freeze because you register that since he knows about your family borderline patriarchal values concerning you, he has to tell them you’re taking nudes, and it will be over for you. 

It has taken you twenty years of your life to finally venture outside what your family has allowed, to sate your curiosity of what exactly your fathers and older siblings have kept so strictly from you: sex and all the goodness it entails. 

It has taken you an additional six months to explore in-depth and build the courage to start something tangible, to wander the depraved side of the internet where strangers did things to each other that made you want to do things with someone of your own: stirring foreign but oh-so amazing feelings in your nether regions. 

For twenty-six weeks you carefully treaded across in order to ensure your family had no clue what you’re doing, clearing your web history and using incognito mode, all your accounts anonymous, keeping your notifications on silent in case anyone becomes suspicious of who’s continuously contacting you. 

One hundred and eighty-two days later—in the middle of which you started your sex-based communication—of preparing to lose your virginity, your family will find out what you’ve been up to, and your life will be hell. 

Everything has been going so perfectly. You found a guy enough distance away he isn't affected by your family’s influence, middle-aged so he’s experience and doesn’t mind handling a virgin, and is willing to drive an hour to meet you at a specified hotel when the time comes.  

All that hard work down the drain. 

You toss your phone and jump to your feet. Panicked, your bare feet pad back and forth on your rug-covered wood floors. Your teeth gnaw at your thumbnail as different scenarios of how everything will transpire flit through your head. Each one is more terrible than the last, and your anxiety heightens. 

Somewhere in your disquietude, it occurs to you. Your brothers are downstairs and so is Bucky, but it’s ten o’clock at night, and that means they’re gaming. That particular activity coined a rule that all players have to stow their phones in the guest room. The specifics are blurry but it was something about Bucky interrupting the session due to excessive texts. 

It’s an opportunity. A chance that you can creep downstairs, swipe his phone and delete your mistake—hell, you’ll break his phone if you need to—before he’s any the wiser. 

“And—” Bucky Barnes drawls out the vowel as the rough-textured ball hurls through the air and swishes sharply into the hoop. “—nothin’ but net.” He relaxes from the perfected basketball follow-through stance, hands dropping to his sides, while he regards his old friend with a cocky smile. “Beat that, Rogers.” 

Steve snorts and catches the ball when it bounces onto the concrete. Palming it in one hand, he dribbles it twice and trades positions so instead of being stationed next to the hoop, he’s descended to the driveway curb where the established three-pointer line is. 

“You still got it, Barnes,” the blond admits, loosening his shoulders and spreading his footing to be a width apart. His right hand balances the ball from below, elbow tucked underneath, while the left splays against the side as his knees bend, and he springs up. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he releases the orange sphere at the top of his jump. It catapults in a flawless arc and drops through criss-crossed netting with a similar swish. His lips curve with satisfaction as he adds, “But, so do I.”

Bucky laughs and seizes the ball as it falls free. “Callum and Henry have no idea they’re going to get obliterated,” he says, coming to slap his palm in an affable embrace. “Fair warning, they’re still as sore losers as they were five years ago so be prepared for that.” 

Steve Rogers chuckles. The former fourth to their high school cliquè, he’s aware of just how bad sports they are. 

After graduation, he left out-of-state to pursue a degree in technological engineering, which he acquired last month in May, prompting his return back to New York. Between the four of them, Bucky and Steve are the level headed ones so he’s glad to have the support to handle the wild children his childhood best friends are. 

“Speaking of,” Steve starts, dirty blond eyebrows knitting as he glances around the neighborhood’s cul-de-sac. “Where are they? I thought Henry was supposed to be waking up Callum? If we aren’t starting yet, then can I get my phone back?” 

Bucky clicks his teeth. “Yeah. They’re probably stuffing their faces right now. Their sister went grocery shopping and got a cake so. . .” He waves his hand in gesture before continuing in vehement passion on the second point, “The whole phone thing is bullshit, though. I miss a few winning shots ‘cause I was busy with some pretty little thing texting me, and now there’s a ‘no technology rule’.” He scoffs and folds his arms. 

Now that he thinks about it, he could totally have his phone right now. And he’s more interested in having it than usual. There’s this girl he’s been seeing frequently at local parties—six feet tall with gorgeous brown skin, always done up in intricate eye makeup, silver tongued (he’s very interested in her tongue) when she speaks—and he’s finally gotten her number. She could be texting him, and he doesn’t even know it! 

“You know, yeah, we should get our phones back if those assholes want to take all day,” Bucky decides, agreeing with steps toward the closed storm door, but opened front door until he hears the inquiry:

“How is Y/N, anyway?” Steve’s voice is genuinely and harmlessly curious behind him, and he stops in his tracks because Bucky remembers the poorly hid crush he harbored for you. “I saw her instagram the other day, and she must be quite the heartbreaker.” 

Spinning around to face him, Bucky lifts a brow. “Huh?” Then he processes the implication that you’re out dating and such. The mere prospect has him surprising laughter. 

With their dad and his girlfriend on a tour of the world, the three of them are the only ones in the household. Given you’re the baby of your siblings, despite being an independent twenty-year-old, your older brothers have taken it upon themselves to ensure you focus solely on school work. Callum and Henry know exactly how to threaten their message across that you are not to be bothered, and anyone who tries will end up battered and bruised. 

He shakes his head. “Nah. She’s not with anyone, hasn’t been ever,” he tells him. “If you thought Callum and Henry were overprotective back then, you should see them now.” 

Gunmetal blue eyes blink surprised at him, and there’s a faint battle between delight and disappointment. “Really?” He shoves his hands in his sweats and falters somewhat. “It’s gotta be hard considering the way she has grown up,” he says but Bucky’s face scrunches in confusion. “You can’t tell me you don’t see how cute she is.” Before he can respond, Steve adds, “Obviously I wouldn’t ever see or be with her in that way—I wouldn’t betray Callum or Henry like that—but objectively, you can admit she’s gorgeous, right?” 

Bucky has to take a moment and genuinely consider it—consider you—because he hasn’t before. (Other than noticing the genetic similarities to Callum, who shares your eye and hair color but is a shade lighter than you, and Henry, who shares your complexion and eye color, but his hair is darker than yours.)

There’s no denying your looks are better than most: the structure of your face works beautifully, dazzling eyes framed by your lashes and occasionally accentuated by mascara, lips usually adorned in gloss or anything that keeps them hydrated which could be described as alluring, and your hair is almost always done, sometimes switched up in style. But there’s an inherent innocence there, a sweet and clumsy awkwardness, and maybe because he’s watched you grow up, four years your senior, but it just doesn’t do it for him. 

You’re his best friends’ baby sister, for God’s sake. He’d never at you like that in the first place. Especially not when he’s been aware, in the past, you harbored a schoolgirl crush on him. It was painfully obvious, to your chagrin, but he found it adorable—flattering but unsurprising considering girls flock to him like seagulls to boardwalk french fries. 

Currently, he’s sure you know he won’t ever pick you—under principle, under the lack of attraction. Other than pleasant smiles and occasional small talk mixed with teasing, you don’t gaze at him with starry eyes anymore, at least it’s waned significantly as you matured. 

Back to the question: “Uh, no, not really. Even if Callum and Henry didn’t care, I don’t think I’d be attracted to her,” he answers truthfully. Your purity doesn’t provoke his sexual attraction although it does invoke a duty of protectiveness. “She just isn’t my type.” 

Steve arches a brow, a surprised playfulness in his expression. “Oh? Then what is your type, then?” he asks, nudging him with his elbow. ‘Cause from what I remember you’re up for anyone and everyone.”

“That makes me sound like a whore,” he feigns offense but digresses into a fit of chuckles as he thinks back to all his various sex-capades and Steve flashes him a look that says aren’t you? “Yeah.” He nods with a prideful chortle. “But I’m into more frisky girls, y’know? Ones who’ve been everywhere and done everything. They’re brass and loud and just do whatever the fuck they want. I like to be one of those things.” 

Behind him, his best friend, Callum’s orotund voice rings out between the pressurized shh of the storm door, “Buck’s into slutty girls, Steve.”

He cringes at the diction. “Don’t call ‘em slutty. Sounds degrading when you guys say it like that.” Most of the time, he agrees with him—and his brother—but when it comes to women, there’s usually a dissent and a need for correction. “But yeah. I prefer girls with experience,” he declares strongly. “They don’t get attached like girls with... less experience do.”

Callum rolls his eyes, bounding down the porch stairs to the recently pressure-washed driveway, and he plucks the basketball out of his hands. “Here we go again. Bucky and his ‘I hate virgin’s’ campaign,” he mocks, shaking his head. “Doesn’t make any sense to me ‘cause everyone knows virgins are the tightest.”

This time, Bucky is the one to roll his eyes. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense considering tightness isn’t dependent upon whether it’s their first time ‘cause, y’know, vaginas stretch, you morons.” Sometimes he has no clue how Callum passed sex education (then he remembers that he bribed the health teacher). “Meaning a girl can have sex, then after a period of time, her virgin ‘tightness’ eventually returns. The only reason virgins may seem tighter is because they’re usually nervous.” 

The look on Callum’s face says that what he just said went right over his head. “Whatever.” He shrugs and starts dribbling the ball half-heartedly. “I just know the woman I end up with better be a virgin.” 

“Right!” Henry’s likewise orotund voice, a pitch higher, speaks after he pushes through the glass door. He presses to the court-slash-driveway, wiping icing off his mouth. “That’s marriage material. I’m not fucking around in a relationship with no woman that’s been fucked already, y’know?” 

Bucky’s eye twitches, jaw locking for a millisecond. “But you guys aren’t even virgins yourself,” he points out their hypocrisy. When they look at him to rebuttal, he automatically knows it’s going to run his blood pressure up and it’s not worth it. “You know, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. You guys have fun with your conversation.” 

Swiftly, he whirls around and heads for inside. The last thing he hears is Steve’s ambivalent, “I get the appeal of virgins. But you know, I don’t think it really matters. I think it just matters if you’re into them, and if they’re into you. I wouldn’t care either way but. . .” 

The air conditioned air greets him coldly, and he revels in it. The June sun is killer, though perfect weather for playing a game outside, and the chill dries the sweat beaded on his forehead. He pads down the foyer, turns the corner to the bathroom and enters to take a much needed leak. 

Bucky has so much brotherly love for your brothers: neighbors since being in diapers, his mother the female figure in their life, and becoming and remaining best friends for over twenty years. There’s only one thing that grates his nerves when it comes to them and that’s their view of women is somewhat skewed. Sometimes—most of the time—went the topic comes up, he’s always one second away from throttling them. 

Hopefully after he pisses, they’ll be talking about something else, and finally they all can play basketball. It. 

Flushing the toilet, he goes onto wash his hands. He lathers up in orange antibacterial soap and rinses the suds off with hot water. There isn’t a towel, at least not a clean one, so instead he just lets the remaining droplets drip onto the floor. 

Emerging from the bathroom, James pauses and absentmindedly wipes his hands dry on his mesh-polyester shorts. His attention automatically draws to the guest room’s closed door adjacent to his position. A decision strikes him, and he steps forward and casts a curious glance down the corner. 

When boisterous and distracted laughter filters through the front door and down the empty corridor, it springs him into action. He figures there’s no harm in checking his phone while he’s here. He’d been especially resistant to giving it away because he’s engaged in a particularly stimulating conversation with a particularly titillating woman—popular in her own right, he can’t afford to miss his shot with her. 

His fingers turn the knob, and he shoulders through. The furniture is decorated and accented in yellow and white, condition otherwise pristine, save for the phones littered across the king-sized poster bed’s fluffy duvet. He strides across gleaming light oak floors and hones in on the only golden-colored, rubbed encased titanium. 

As he grips it, long digits curling around the back, pinkie supporting the bottom, thumb tapping the screen to life, he can hear the dwindling of high-spirited jesting through the en-suite’s rectangular horizontal slider window; a wondering of where he’s gone has him speeding up. 

Although he’d been gone for under an hour, his screen is bright with various notifications, social media accounts and text messages. He ignores the former and searches for the latter, specifically the contact, Val 😛💦. Scrolling quickly, he comes to a stop but not because of his original intent. 

His head cocks, and he knits his brows when he sees your name instead; formally nicknamed, bambi, due to your penchant for clumsiness and general fragility. You don’t text him—except for that one time you needed to be picked up from the library—and considering you know he’s just outside, his baffled curiosity is further spurred. 

With a sideways swipe of his thumb, your thread enlarges on the high-definition display. He isn’t sure what he expected, but this? Oh, this, definitely is not it. His eyes widen as the content loads, and reveals you, in all your half-naked glory. 

“Shit,” he breathes out raggedly, blinking multiple times because he has to be seeing things. But, nope, it’s still you—looking like that, wearing that. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Your brothers are beginning to call his name, demanding his attendance, and he froze in shock, unable to tear his stare away from the girl who’s tripped over her own feet more times than he can count; the wallflower who spends all her time studying in her room; the forbidden fruit who’s innocent has always stirred a vigilant feeling inside him—now stirring something hard between his thighs because there you are. 

Like always, your hair is done prettily, wispy-lashed eyes big and inviting, a saucy pout to your glossed lips. Your flawless complexion seems to glow in the reflection of the mirror, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the warm lighting, or if it’s the confidence you exude in your faux-innocent expression from where something so sinfully sexy. 

Three photos, and every single one is like a punch in the gut; displaying your usually hoodie-hidden figure in its bare, exquisite form. The skimpy white two-piece caresses your breasts in a lace halter top, leaving a teasing amount of cleavage. Your navel exposed, he becomes aware of how soft your skin would be. Moving lower, your untouched flower is wrapped in a thin thong with a bow on the center of the waistband. 

A million things flit through his head; a million disgusting things he never thought he’d think about you. 

The main one is every sort of attraction these snapshots arouse. A laser slices down his center and sears him to the core. The multiple poses calls every hungry part of him to attention, the curve of your breasts, the contours of your hips and the jut of your ass. And he shoves to the darkest recess in his mind because that’s just an innate reaction to lingerie. (Right? Right.)

He combats your images with that of Val: knows-what-she’s-doing and equally promiscuous as him Val. The anthropology major who downs beers within seconds and tongue kisses the first person she sees afterwards. 

The next is the one he focuses on, that you would take these and send them to him—as if he’d betray your brothers like that. Second-hand embarrassment strikes him because he knows if you’ll send something as risky as this, he’ll have to formally reject you and break your unreciprocated pining heart. 

He grimaces at the thought. This is why he doesn’t do virgins and the less experienced in general. The inherent strings are a killer, and he resents the drama; and it’d be ten times worse with you because of the added complications of your siblings. 

In fact, he hears something beyond him, coming down the hallway, and it’s probably them, but he can’t stop rereading your text accompanying the photos, partially imagining how it’d sound in your delicate voice: 

bambi (4:21PM): is this as pretty as you imagined? did i do good? just tell me what you want, and ill do it. i want you. soon, please - and yes, ill beg. i promise itll sound even better in person. 

[read it in its entirety on my patreon - one time fee of $5 to access!]

[menswearmusings]

After You Buy All the Essentials, Then What? My Personal List Moving Forward

Switching focus from the urgent to the important is a vital practice in the business world. Have you ever worked somewhere where it’s clear that instead of thinking critically about the core of the organization’s mission for ways to grow and improve, the focus is instead on whatever the newest, shiniest idea is (or often, whatever the latest crisis is)?

I always had a sense of urgency about buying clothes, because my goal was to dress in cool tailoring every day of the week in ways that I would consider meaningfully different. But being constrained by a budget meant I had to think carefully about what I bought, so I wouldn’t end up with something because it was a great deal, only to discover I had very little use for it. So I created a list of clothes I wanted that I imagined would comprise a complete wardrobe (for my tastes and needs). That helped me stay focused on my goals when sale season started and there were so many awesome things to buy.

Now, though, having largely built that wardrobe I imagined, I tend to get distracted by the new, shiny thing much more. I’ll find some product on eBay or in a shop on sale and become obsessed with it, going back to look at it over and over again. Without that hit list of must-buys to bring myself back from the brink, I always have a creeping sense that whatever it is I end up actually purchasing is maybe the wrong choice for me and I should instead be saving that money for some other, better purchase down the road. I’ve picked all the low-hanging fruit, but I have no personal guidance for reaching higher.

So, in an effort to try and refocus myself on buying what I can consider important purchases—not just those with the urgency of desire—here’s my list of next must-haves.

(By the way, if you’re just starting out and want some help building a wardrobe from scratch, check out my “Guide to Building a Tailored Wardrobe.” In it, I explain just that—how to have the right mindset about buying clothes, plus specific advice for versatility in clothing. Check it out here.)

More cotton-linen trousers for summer

Since becoming a dad—but even before then—dress trousers in wool just don’t get much wear from me. Primarily that’s because pants need cleaning more often, and I hate dry cleaning bills. But it’s also because I prefer a silhouette that just doesn’t work with dress pants, at least in wool. Jeans or even chinos made of denim or cotton twill drape differently and thus can work in the tapered cut I prefer. My previously perfectly fitting flannel trousers with that ideal taper from Spier & Mackay are now too slim because my calves got too big. So I have to go fuller. I’m fine going with that in a drapey wool, but day to day I prefer a slimmer knee and slightly tapered opening at the hem.

This is why cotton-linen trousers exist. Cotton-linen seems to have that perfect balance of cotton’s stiffness with linen’s drape, so they hang well but are forgiving if the fit isn’t bespoke-perfect or your proportions make things difficult. Pure linen just doesn’t give off the vibe I’m looking for typically (it feels a little more louche the way it hangs and rumples than I as a person am). And other options like wool-silk-linen blends are beautiful and amazing (I’ll get those below), but what I like about cotton-linen is I can usually machine wash it myself to no ill effect. Currently I have one pair, so it’d be nice to get another 2-3 to rotate through (much as I have with flannel in the winter). My list would be: 

A second pair of off-white 

Tan / khaki

Deeper brown

Maybe a light blue or mid-navy

Options I have for buying these: Spier & Mackay’s dress trouser fit is still my best bet right now, and I’ve been told they’ll have a crop of 7 colors of cotton-linen trousers in mid-April. That said, I also just purchased some pairs from Brooks Brothers’ Red Fleece line that arrive soon, made from fabric by the same mill as Spier’s, for $37 a pair that might work, too.

A rotation of good chinos and a pair of light wash jeans that fit

Chinos are nice because they dress up or down pretty well (you can wear a tie with them without it being weird, unlike five-pocket pants, but on their own without a jacket they’re good too), and if you get them in the right fabric, they’re pretty hard-wearing.

Finding chinos that 1- don’t have stretch, 2- are made from material that’s a good mid-weight, and 3- fit the way I want is extremely difficult. You wouldn’t think so but man it’s hard to find good chinos. And finding good, faded jeans with similar qualities is likewise hard without spending $200+. That said, if I can find them, what would make my wardrobe happy would be chinos in:

Off-white

Stone

True khaki

Possibly a pair in fatigue, which is a good color when it’s too hot to wear a jacket

Options for chinos are tricky. I like the idea of what fellow menswear blogger Ian is doing with his new shop Lost Monarch; $125 is hefty for chinos, but I suppose if they fit really well and the fabric rules, the investment might be worth it. I also always forget about classic chino maker Bill’s Khakis, which was always hailed as having the highest quality back in my early Styleforum days. They introduced a number of slimmer fitting styles over the years and are still fairly easy to find on eBay. Spier & Mackay’s chinos are a great deal but each time I’ve tried them, the fit’s been off for me in some way or other. I might try them once again this spring. 

As for light wash jeans, I’ll be looking probably at American Eagle, Polo RL, Abercrombie, Banana Republic, and other mall brands. Much as I’d like to get some 3-Sixteens or even Naked and Famous, they’re hard to get ahold of where I live and trying jeans on is critical.

A dark navy blazer in both single and double breasted configurations

I have seasonally appropriate navy jackets—one is wool/cashmere for winter, and one is raw silk for summer—and last summer I added a dark blue double breasted jacket for summer as well. When I recently tried on No Man Walks Alone’s Sartoria Carrara jackettried on No Man Walks Alone’s Sartoria Carrara jacket, which was a dark navy twill, I remembered why dark navy jackets exist: they’re classy as heck. All my navy jackets are slightly lighter shades of navy, which is great, but a good, dark navy blazer brings some gravity to an outfit, looks great in the evening and dresses up very well for more formal occasions.

That said, it’s gotta be the right texture. Hopsack wool is a good option; I would also be interested in some kind of blend like wool-silk-linen or similar. I’m not a fan of mohair, so I wouldn’t do that, and the high twist fabrics are tricky because they tend to look fairly smooth, while I like a little more surface texture. Given how much I like my SuitSupply Jort blazer, I’m hoping they release a double breasted jacket that might fit the bill this spring/summer. As for single breasted, I really, really liked that NMWAxCarrara jacketNMWAxCarrara jacket, so something closer to a 3-season fabric from him would be amazing. Of course Spier & Mackay has staple hopsack wool blazers in both their Neapolitan cut and regular cut, which sold out quickly in my size.

A dark navy double breasted blazer by Ring Jacket (model 6) I tried on at The Armoury in New York City. Click the image to see the product page of this actual jacket at their site.

A pair or two of summer trousers in a nicer fabric

Cotton linen trousers and chinos are as dressy as I need them to be most of the time in my life, but it’s still nice to have a pair of classier dress trousers in summer for occasions that call for it. I’ve had gray hopsack and fresco in the past, but those were more corporate than I was looking for.

Summer is the time for levity in the color palette, so I really like the idea of a light or mid blue (maybe a petrol blue). Every time Greg at No Man Walks Alone does spring pre-orders for Rota, they offer these beautiful wool/silk/linen blend fabrics, including petrol blue in the past, and every time, I love how they look but always stopped short of ordering for various reasons. A sufficiently textured, interesting blend in a light gray would also be nice and would be better than a corporate looking fresco or tropical wool. In the swatches below, which were for this season’s Rota trouser made to order options, the blue and gray at the top hold appeal, and even that green at the bottom.

Swatches for Rita wool/silk/linen trousers From No Man Walks Alone.

Some dress shirts from Anglo-Italian

It feels like I’ve been banging on about this for years at this point, I know, but their reverse stripe OCBD is great and I need to just pull the trigger and buy it. But beyond that, Anglo’s house dress shirt model is essentially the perfect shirt: the collar shape is an ideal wide spread with no tie space and that isn’t too stiff; the fit is comfortable but not baggy; and the details are all there both quality and design-wise. The back shirring is maybe a bit out there for many people, but these shirts are meant to be worn under a jacket, which is how I’d wear them. I’d buy white first then probably their blue end-on-end and maybe the bengal stripe. They’re expensive at $175, but that’s less than other comparable Italian dress shirt companies like Finamore or Borrelli.

A couple additional pairs of suede shoes

I love suede for its versatility in dressing up or down. What I wear 95% of the time are snuff suede penny loafers, snuff suede chukkas and tan suede tassel loafers. I’m looking to get more dark brown suede, which, sorta like true dark navy blazers, brings some gravity to an outfit. My penny loafers have been through some rough times; I plan to resole them (which they badly need), but it’d be nice to have a pair that aren’t so beaten up. I prefer a sleeker last shape most of the time (not pointy, maybe almond shaped) to the round lasts you see from classic Ivy brands like Alden, which are more casual and carry a lot more of that Ivy feeling (something I’m always trying to temper with more rakish aesthetics). That said, a rounded loafer of some kind to wear strictly casually is something I’d like to get to help share the load with the other shoes. I’ve also been really into the split toe derby look the last year or so. I tried The Armoury’s on when I visited there in 2018, and really liked it. 

So, the list would be:

Dark brown suede penny loafers

Dark brown suede Chelsea boots

Brown suede split toe

Dark or mid-brown suede beef roll or similar more casual loafers

I’ve noticed that the most comfortable shoes I love wearing the most are all made by Allen Edmonds, so I’ll be looking at those for sure. The Sea Island in particular looks awesome for that casual loafer. Beckett Simonon has some suede boots and given how comfortable their shoes are, their Bolton Chelsea looks nice. Meermin of course is another option for suede boots, and they have a penny loafer that might fit the bill for me, too. Spier & Mackay’s shoe offerings look very good, including this suede penny loafer. And of course the Armoury’s split toe derby is the one I’m most looking at for that category as I’m sort of picky when it comes to split toe shoes.

So there’s my hit list moving forward. I’ve already deviated from it this season by purchasing an excellent but not-on-this-list jacket from Spier & Mackay in 100% linen by Sondrio in a mid-brown glen check pattern. It surprised me how much I loved it, so I’m letting myself deviate from the list, guilt-free. And at the end of the day, the clothing hobby is all about enjoying life anyhow, and what could be more important than than?

(Help support this site! If you buy stuff through my links, your clicks and purchases earn me a commission from many of the retailers I feature, and it helps me sustain this site—as well as my menswear habit ;-)  Thanks!)

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Choosing Colored Wedding Dresses

It has turned out to be increasingly in vogue to break with custom for some, cutting edge ladies may need their wedding outfits to be one of a kind and mirror their own particular styles, so picking a colored wedding outfit can be an excellent method to make amazing weddings. Be that as it may, there are a few hints you may remember with regards to picking the shade of your wedding outfit. 

Skin Tone and Hair Color 

Ensure the shade of your wedding outfit supplements your skin tone and hair shading. A few hues can improve your shading and some can not. For example, hues like blue or darker may not be suitable for dim skin ladies as they will influence your skins to look darker, while brilliant shades will function admirably with you. 

Wedding Theme 

Consider your subject and shading plan of your wedding before picking the shade of your wedding outfit. The tone of your wedding dress must be in agreement with the wedding groups, however it doesn't imply that the lady of the hour and bridesmaid should wear the outfits with a similar shading. In the event that you are to hold a to a great degree formal wedding, you may not put on a wedding dress with a striking shading. 

Style 

Distinctive hues may make diverse emotions and suit distinctive wedding subjects. A wedding dress in red can be sensational while pink can be sentimental and female. Hot pink is a shading that influences ladies to look attractive and develop. 

Season 

Picking hues as indicated by the season you marry. For instance, a spring wedding may call for crisp shades of pink or light green, while a harvest time wedding is appropriate to a wedding outfit with warm shades like red or orange. 

Corresponding Colors 

Colored wedding dresses might not need to be enormous and strong. You can mix a tad of reciprocal hues into your wedding dress to add that wow factor to your wedding day. For instance, you can pick a striking red scarf to finish your pale pink wedding dress. Obviously, the hues you are to choose ought to satisfy the eye when combined. There are some shading combos, for example, yellow and blue, red and green, highly contrasting or red and white that all can make a staggering visual impact when consolidated.

About Colored Wedding Dresses

Not at all like before when individuals used to do weddings just in white wedding dresses, these days individuals do weddings in colored dresses. It is safe to say that you are arranging of purchasing a colored wedding dress and pondering what the diverse hues mean? Here is a guide: 

Which means Of Various Colors 

White: Although, individuals never again confine themselves to the conventional wedding hues, white is as yet the most famous shading. The shading implies immaculateness, tidiness and honesty. When you wear a white dress, it demonstrates that you want a basic life. 

Silver: It's a rich, impressive shading that makes a relieving and quieting impact. The shading is generally picked by ladies who feel uneasy about their enormous day. 

Multicolor: Although, most wedding dresses are monochrome, there are a few ladies who go for multi-colored or designed dresses. 

Dark: If you go to weddings frequently, you more likely than not run over a lady of the hour wearing a. Dark symbolizes security, development and an impartial, non-intrusive inclination. Research thinks about have demonstrated that numerous ladies don dark with a specific end goal to smother their identities. 

While there is no dependable guideline that you ought to take after while picking the shade of your dress, you have to guarantee that the shading you go for supplements your skin tone. 

You ought to consider the season that you are doing your wedding. For instance, in the event that you are doing your wedding amid spring you ought to go for light, pastel hues. In the event that you are doing your wedding amid winter, you ought to go for darker, more profound hues. 

To guarantee that your colored dress matches the topic of your wedding, you ought to complete a great deal of research and guarantee that you wear the correct dress. For instance, in the event that you are completing a renaissance-themed wedding, you ought to do your examination and distinguish the hues that were famous amid that time. 

Sorts 

There are numerous sorts of colored wedding dresses that you can go for. You should take note of that the diverse dresses are perfect for various seasons. These dresses include: 

Sheath: it's optimal when you are doing the wedding in a house of God or excellent domain. The sheath dress is additionally perfect if the general topic of the wedding is formal. Since the dress leaves your arms, upper chest, shoulders and upper back uncovered, the dress is likewise perfect while doing the wedding amid a hot season. 

Air pocket: an air pocket dress is perfect when you are holding an easygoing wedding. For a perfect look you ought to keep away from a wedding dress with brilliant hues, for example, pink. These hues not just look youthful, they additionally have a tendency to be excessively easygoing. To be erring on the side of caution you ought to go for a serene shading, for example, dark colored or dim. 

Sun dress: a sun dress wedding dress is perfect when you are a doing your wedding on an easygoing and summery setting, for example, terrace, shoreline, open air plant or local stop. Incredible hues for your wedding dress include: beige, naval force blue and white. 

End 

This is the thing that you have to think about wedding dresses. To know the correct shading and kind of wedding dress to go for, you should look for the exhortation of an expert.

Going in a New Direction With Colored Wedding Dresses

There was a joke distributed in Reader's Digest long back about a young man and his mom going to a wedding as visitors. The kid needs to know why the lady of the hour is sporting white. The mother answers that it's to mean her entire bliss after getting hitched; the kid next needs to know why the prep is dressed in dark. 

Indeed, whoever would it say it was that made the tenets? For what reason wouldn't we be able to have colored wedding dresses? 

Indeed, for ladies who wish to venture outside the limits of convention, the decisions in colored wedding dresses can be genuinely shocking. In reality, dress originators have been tenderly poking the wedding open towards tolerating shading in wedding dresses for a long time. Wedding dresses haven't been totally white in a long time now. The dress fashioners have figured out how to sneak in brilliant hues into scarves, neck areas, weaving, beading, embed boards - and so on. They've been doing it sufficiently long that today, while colored wedding dresses are not precisely normal, you can escape with them. 

Since wearing shading on your wedding is such a special activity, numerous ladies to pick this event to attempt different sorts of experimentation too. For example, they can wear a (modest) party gown and claim that it's all piece of their striking trial. It's a sort of special reward too that they realize that they get utilized the dress thereafter as well. Some will pick dresses from another culture by and large to be particularly vivid old - southern Indian dresses for example should be maroon. Those sorts of rich shading in an American wedding can be an extraordinary hit. 

Normally however, in the event that you're picking a dress, you must know about how ladies who run with colored wedding dresses get a kick out of the chance to not go too far. Ordinarily, they'll pick something light and humble - think pinks, blues and lavender. Be that as it may, further hues aren't not feasible either. At some point ladies took a stab at exploring different avenues regarding further hues too. These regularly look much better at themed weddings where everybody endeavors to coordinate their decision of dress to something like a tropical subject or a bloom topic. 

While you typically get awesome colored dresses at any marriage store nowadays, you may find that wedding stores are as yet unfit to provide food all that well here. For example, on the off chance that you need with an intensely colored dress - something in brilliant red for example - you may find that they don't have anything with a prepare. In case you're into colored wedding dresses for your wedding, consider custom requesting a dress.

Colored Wedding Dresses in Any Color You Imagine

Ladies have not always sported white, and they don't need to today either. The white wedding dress was put into vogue by Queen Victoria in 1840 when she wedded Albert of Saxe. Preceding this time, dresses for wedding were once in a while ever white. So if white isn't for you, you'll be happy to hear that colored wedding dresses are one of the most smoking wedding patterns this year. From pale relatively white shades of pink, blue and dim, to intense dull hues like red and dark, colored dresses are coming back with a considerable measure of request. 

On the off chance that you are wanting to utilize shading for your dress, we have various thoughts regarding colored wedding dresses to think on. 

On the off chance that you need a colored dress, yet have an inclination towards a basic look, at that point make a beeline for toe in one strong shading is an incredible approach. On the off chance that you will include weaving or beading, consider utilizing a to some degree darker or lighter tone, to make it recognizable. 

In the event that you like a variety of hues, at that point think brave! Utilizing different hues for your dress will include a ton of consideration and interest. You could go for numerous colored textures, layered up in unsettles, or segments on your dress. Or on the other hand a strong shading with brilliant weaving from make a beeline for toe. 

Love the prospect of shading, yet at the same time feeling enamored with a white dress? At that point consider applying colored accents. Possibly it's a full-measure intense colored bow, or only a section of shading. Or on the other hand, perhaps a sprinkle of colored weaving will include simply enough shading for you. 

An extra idea for those of you that still lean toward a white dress for the function, is a convertible wedding dress. Convertible dresses are an additional hot pattern for 2011, so why not have two patterns in one! Your wonderful white outfit can be collapsed, clamored and changed to uncover a second layer underneath that is brimming with shading! 

So on the off chance that you need to wear a colored wedding dress, you are in no uncertainty going to be spot on drift for this up and coming year! for

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Am I Pretty Enough?

Yesterday I sported a light pebble grey cap over my oily hair combed backward, my ears taking in the air and my eyes finely lit up by baby pink and plain yellow eyeliner while my lips were full on, bleeding deep aubergine, making for a subtle yet affirmed and stylish contrast with my unique light caramel complexion,  bringing the gaze back to the grey of the cap. Coming full circle. The rest of my outfit was boyish conceptual and sampled dark greys and some sandy beige. Only my wide spring jacket and its intense lilac color brought some brightness to the ensemble. I felt pretty, one of a kind, hip and most of all, very much myself, although in a newly found variation. I will not lie; I often feel pretty and have been told so by relatives and strangers alike (especially men). However, I rarely feel joyfully pretty, as in confident that I own my prettiness, that it is enough for me to be publicly (or at least in the public space that is my talkative mind) affirming it. Instead, I often feel like I am not enough, a bit transparent, a common kind of pretty. This perhaps explains why I have put so much effort since I am a little girl to invent special outfits, to style myself like none (in particular in the second half of my twenties). I had to be visible, to be seen for the special person that I am even though I look just like many other white girls. And yet, I am so different that them – my soul, my mind and my blood are testimonies to this (almost invisible) truth. I am Black with a white skin. Obviously, passing for white does stain one with privilege and therefore erodes or rather modifies one’s Blackness. But it does not make it less Black than it is. There are as many shades of Black as Black people and their unique experiences offer. I was born off of one of them. Since I was a baby, the first instance of female beauty was that boasted, and the word is relevant here, by my Black mother. Her Blackness is also special but again, in a white world, it is Black and I have grown up, knowing very well this fact while being able to forget about it as it was normalized in my family. A (very) white man (physically and culturally speaking), my Dad worshipped Black women. He was the usual white hippie of the seventies turned middle-class in the nineties; this had not changed his affection for anything “West Africa”-related, only his islamophobia had lately sprung out. So I spent my childhood observing my Mom being the beautiful, stylish (and exotic, in a small white provincial city of Western Europe) woman she knew so well to be while I religiously listened to my Dad praising Black beauty (in all its shapes, my Mom’s included). A good portraitist in his youth, my Dad had taken tens of pictures of my Mom before my brother and I were born and in our early years. On the shiny close-ups where he would have her or me or my brother or a combination of the three of us pose, it was impossible not to be struck by my Mom’s utter beauty. Her light coffee and milk complexion suited her dark brown kinky hair she wore, thoughout the years, in an iconic ‘fro, or a determined boyish cut or a more conservative long bob or sculptural plaited braids when we came back once from a summer in Lome. Her pulpy and perfectly drawn lips were always donned with a fushia or red lipstich, often matching the manucure that finished her small hands, or a beautiful potted anthurium my Dad had used once as an arty prop. Her high and prominent cheekbones were softened by her plump cheeks and the discrete strockes of blush powder I always saw her apply in front of the bathroom mirror. The unusual slanted corners of her brown eyes whose combed overlooking eyebrows created a mellow architecture for the upper part of her face, and made for a nice echo of the diamond shape of the base of her nose. But the final act were her teeth, their luminous whiteness, their perfect alighment and size, which with the help of the above mentioned beautiful lips could stage a dazzling yet never vulgar smile. My Mom was not only beautiful because of her face; her body figure was right on point, bottle-shaped with the tiniest waist and the bounciest behind, the thick thighs and the thin calfs, small arms, small feet, all this appealing flesh clothed in bright colors, soft fabrics and sophisticated and a twat vintage cuts. Luckily for him, my Dad was quite a handsome (white) man himself; his muscled body, his bluest eyes and his wide smile did not make him totally disappear when standing near my Mom. They made a handsome combination although my Mom always stood out. I guess that was the price to pay to be a (beautiful) Black woman married to the white world. And so me, raised by her and by my Dad, both, by their mere presence or their spoken out truths, came to grow up as a blond white girl who wished she was beautiful. Like her Mom was, like all the women my Dad exalted were. And I could never be. The older I grew, the more I realized my hope was doomed. I will never blossom outside the way I was inside. And with each year passing, and my femininity affirming itself (with puberty), my Dad’s Black women cult got me more and more frustrated and angry at him and at myself. Never at My Mom (at least, not about that). Her beauty was a sacred fact, something you could only revere and go with. They was no way of fighting it, but my own skin color, silky hair texture or my Dad’s obsession were issues I rambled over. It was not even a spoken conversation with myself, it was more a deep tension in my heart, a refusal to welcome myself as I were, a constant demonstration picketting against me, a permanent sitting in the midst of my soul, a life-long hunger strike on self-love. I do not remember my Mom praising my prettiness; she would talk more easily about clothing and styling. But I do remember the absence of compliments of my Dad, strikingly mirrored by all those he would indirectly or directly offer on other women. (Do not get me wrong, my Dad is not a perv’. He does not go around telling women they’re hot. He rather highlights how such and such woman, not in their presence but often in mine or my brother’s, are beautiful because of their smile or their generous personality or their skin tone.) I was deeply jealous of what they had and what I did not have. Hence any compliment coming my way from an outsider was highly valuled; so many (mostly Black) men did I let court me to find some minuscule reason to at least believe I was pretty. Pretty enough to believe it myself. But times have changed, I’ve matured, I’ve somehow made peace with my white Blackness (or rather, am I not as hurt and dissonant about it as I used to be in my teens and early twenties). To reach that stage, I cut and then shaved my hair, only to be able, a decade later, to grow them again and love them for what they are, shiny waves of (now) chestnut softness. And so yesterday, I had them combed backwards, a novelty by contrast with my current hairdo, a Joan of Arc-type of vintage bob. I had tried that new style, knowing my (Black) girlfriend missed my forehead, hidden for half a year now behind various types of fringes. I wanted her to find me pretty. As pretty as I was when I had less hair above my eyes. As pretty as the Black women she also (more) rightfully praised and that I envied since I was born. To her, I was Black but not always to me. That is why, conversely, it was not enough to be pretty for me, I had to be pretty for her too. (This would have also meant outsourced self-affirmation of my Blackness.) And when the only remark she made about my cap-do was asking why I looked like I was about to go out, something crumbled in the middle of my heart. The buoyant confidence that had inhabited me the whole day – while she was away, that whole time I kept imagining her noticing and loving right away the new style – just vanished. Self-doubt and self-consciousness took its place and made me withdraw from the scene. I was silently loathing myself for thinking that I could ever be pretty (and Black) enough. Later that evening, while we were both in bed and I was still deep in my dark thoughts, I however managed to remember a coaching mantra I had learnt about the day before: try to live your life from a place of abundance, and not one of scarcity. Pretty/Black was not a void inside me waiting to be filled up by others around me, in particular by those I romantically love (as thousands of daughters around the globe, I used too to be in love with my Dad). Pretty/Black was me, the fullness of me that just waited to pour out into the world and that didn’t need any new (photographic or love goggles) lense to exist. I was pretty/Black enough, pretty/Black enough for me, and that was so much more than what I had believed until this very night. Enough to keep me going for a long time. Way enough. And I am working on it.