Scion of fabled wealth, collector of rare art, sophisticate, international financier. Except he was none of these things - the man known for a decade as Clark Rockefeller was, in fact, eventually revealed to be Christian Karl Gerhartsreiter, a German national who came to the United States in 1978, and adopted a series of false identities until his eventual capture and conviction for several violent felonies. But in some ways Herr Gerhartsreiter was more genuine heir to the Rockefeller clan than he knew.
Gold leaf has become relatively, infuriatingly, common in flashily expensive food. Restaurants and bars use it as an excuse to price an item ridiculously, clickbaitably high at little expense to them (the quantities used per item must be nearly worthless). Of course, gold adds nothing to the taste of an item, either. Perhaps I find it infuriating because it is so uncreative, so tawdry.
This November marks the 50th anniversary of Ralph Lauren’s juggernaut clothing, home, and lifestyle brand, Polo. What began as a little tie business known making for napkin-sized neckwear out of upholstery fabrics has evolved into one of the most successful, influential, and lasting fashion brands of all time. And so, to commemorate this milestone, Abrams Books has published a coffee table sized illustrated biography of Ralph for this auspicious anniversary, Ralph Lauren: In His Own Fashion, penned by none other than menswear guru Alan Flusser.
The Earth is six billion years old, but the oldest surface of the floor of its oceans – more than 70% of its area – is only two hundred million years old. At the boundaries between tectonic plates, rather like a geological conveyor belt, a process called subduction forces surfaces down, down, down below the Earth’s crust into its mantle. In such a way ancient surfaces are continuously, inexorably destroyed and renewed without any regard to human life, span or sanity.
There’s an ancient story about three entrepreneurial lads who come into possession of a cloak one evening and decide to sell it at the market. Perhaps they came into possession of it at the market. Best not to ask. It’s a not the finest of garments, but it’s eye-catching, and at dusk that might be enough to win a sale. They set up their stall at the far edge of the market, to avoid running into its previous owner.
Instead of a gentle close, summer weltered and sweltered on. Social media automatically reminded a friend that on that same date exactly a decade before, she’d written about the joys of a cooler season, the rituals of changing out summer clothes for sweaters and all the changes in clothing colors that accompanied those of the leaves around us. Now, temperatures continued to notch the 90s under skies where the sun pounded down.
One of my favorite recurring articles from the good folks of No Man Walks Alone is the alternative style icons. I like the idea because how many times do people need to be told to dress like Steve McQueen, am I right? There has been one glaring omission to the hallowed halls of alternative jawn gods though, and that is clearly Howling Mad Murdock of the A-Team.
The great writer Stendhal, author of The Red and the Black, once wrote that he was so overcome by the beauty and culture of Florence that he had heart palpitations and “walked with the fear of falling.” Two centuries on, dozens of other visitors to Florence have similarly experienced what doctors now call “Stendhal syndrome,” a general term for overwhelming emotional response to art.