[A stylish affair aboard the N train]
It's rare that I see such blatantly dressed WASPS on the subway, yet during rush hour last night I spotted these two (let's call them Walton N. Peabody III and Hunter S. Greenwell Jr.). Ever the pragmatics, Wally and Hunter "get" that sometimes the train is just faster, though it still pains them to only be spending $2 on their journey from Cipriani's uptown to that cocktail party of their at the Feinstein's apartment in Soho. Their conversation went something like this:
H: "For the life of me, Walton, I just can't figure out how you do it. How is it possible that you can show up in a bowtie and NorthFace puffy vest and somehow manage to look absolutely fabulous?!"
W: "Ha, mix it up my dear friend. You look quite dapper yourself. In case you're wondering why I have been looking down the entire ride, it's because I'm admiring your choice of mustard cashmere socks with the green overcoat and periwinkle neck tie. I feel honored to be your friend."
H: "Yes, Yes, I have indeed hit gold with this number, but tell me, honestly, do you think my hair is slick and shiny enough? I just don't want it falling out of this swoosh back that I spent hours on."
W: "Well let me see here..." (repositioning his Oliver People's), "Oh yes, yes, that hair isn't going anywhere, even in this god awful static ridden weather of ours, a mane as golden as yours has nothing to fear."
(I exit at Union Station, and am almost taken down by a punk kid on his skate board. I immediately thank the universe that I live in greater physicality to these teens than my dear friends sitting across from me on the N train).