Morning Pep

I usually see this hour (5:39a.m.) from the other side. So I thought I’d add a little perk to my morning brew by visiting the site for Japanese women’s fashion mag, PINKY.

Part of Shuiesha’s (one of Japan’s top cats in the publishing lark) stable of monthlies, PINKY is aimed at fashion conscious twenty-something gals. PINKY launched in 2004 as a sister magazine to the Japanese version of Seventeen, with several staff moving to help set up the newer title.

To my untrained eye, the magazine’s target readership is fresh, cute and girly-graduating-to-feminine, with aspirations of style and sophistication. Earlier this year one of PINKY’s free gift giveaways was a Betsey Johnson x Hello Kitty pouch.

(My two yen on Japanese magazines after the jump)

I’m a big fan of Japanese magazines. I think their design and attention to detail is often fantastic: the graphic side of the written word is really pushed to the foreground. Of course, I’ve fallen hard for Japanese design in general.

My suspicion is that the Japanese language promotes this on two fronts. First, basics of typography are interwoven into the learning of written characters. They are treated as visual, even artistic, forms from a young age through compulsory calligraphy classes in school. Such an education tends to be sorely lacking in the West.

Second, Japanese can be written and read left-to-right as well as top-to-bottom. This frees up designers considerably. For example, one can make use of thin, narrow spaces for copy, titles or captions which would be unsightly using Latin script (although compression from the needs of digital media, especially mobile platforms, has, I think made English readers more receptive to small line widths, vertical text cannot be of great length). A mixture of horizontal and vertical copy can help to create a more dynamic layout.

Anyway, more of that another time. I just wanted to look at all the pretty girls in their summer finery.

. . .

for Miss Élysées. In NYC yet?

Ooh, it’s a bit chilly today, Johnny. Better put another sweater on.

From the earliest age, English men are tricked into the idea that layers are but for warmth. Often the indoctrination comes in youth, at a time when they are prepared to piss in the face of the wind and damn the consequences.

They grow to scorn layers. How many are you wearing today? If you’re around London and the south of England, probably not many. The weather is glorious, as it has been for the past week. In such climes – indeed most climes – the modern young English gent sports a tried and tested T-shirt and jeans combo.

Nothing strange about that. It’s internationally approved male casual attire and there are many superb T-shirt designers out there.

Still, while the designs may be pretty, the fundamental outfit often looks extremely staid. Answers on a postcard…

Layers.

At least, it’s one way of going about things. Layers alter one’s sartorial approach. They encourage a man to think about an outfit rather than just a single piece. Thought may lead to experimentation.

Suits have employed this trick for years. When a man goes to a tailor or picks something up off the rack, he is immediately faced with the problem of what shirt, tie and shoes he is going to wear with the suit. After that, he may have begin to consider cufflinks, tie pins, watches, hats, overcoats, handkerchiefs and scarves. There is a snowball effect.

Yet some men own hundreds of T-shirts and only two pairs of trousers because of a disconnected approach to casual clothing. Their versatility and functional nature, not to mention the ease of sizing (though not fit), means that they are the scourge of a co-ordinated wardrobe. They foster bad habits.

Men should be dissuaded from wearing jeans and T-shirts. However, the approach towards selecting outfits often needs to be adjusted.

Choosing a casual piece should be no different to investing in a well-cut suit and accessories. It should be considered in context rather than isolation. Of course, if you’re like Mishima in Karakkaze Yarō and like to wear nothing but a leather jacket, go nuts.

. . .

Clothes of Sand