Varon Issue 2 by James Lin

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Autumn/Winter

VARÓN

2010 Issue nº2 Gentleman's Magazine

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VARÓN A gentleman´s magazine Autumn/Winter 2010 Issue nº2

Editor-In-Chief Nacho Pinedo Fashion director Hugo Lavín creative director James Lin Art Direction On the Rocks © contributing Writers Maria Vela Zanetti / Julian Keeling / Alexa Hall / David Delfín / Aaron Francis Walker / Emilia Buccolo / Eva Perera-Tully / Benito Martinez / Milly Mcmahon / John J Healey / Gianni Buccolo / Luis Moreno Freire / Justin Melnick / Ben Cave contributing Photographers, ARTISTS, and Stylists Aiko Masuyo / Randall Bachner / Lonny Spence / Carlos Chavarría / Jesper Larsson / Bernat Buscato / Nacho Pinedo / Hanna Jeffery / Rebecca Thomas / Natalia Ferviú / Shirley Amartey / Gorka Postigo special thanks Cenital Estudios / Merche Santos @ Domotstudio / Jacques Shu / Ekaitz Arruti / Marie-Louise Broadhurst / Guy Parkinson / India Truselle Varón Madrid office Calle Pedro Muguruza,8 28036 Madrid phone +34 913 597 617 varon@varonmag.com www.varonmag.com International distribution Export Press. Paris +33 1 40 29 14 51 dir@exportpress.com For advertisement inquiries please contact varon@varonmag.com Printing CA Grafica , Pontevedra , Spain Copyright VARÓN © 2010,the authors and the photographers reproduction without permission prohibited ISSN 2171-6439

Gatsby

Dupont lighter in sterling silver, in Duran Joyeros. Photo / Yuki Matori

14/17 Obsessions Whisky 18/25 People & Things Shopping List Ampuku 26/29 Reading Writings of the Misunderstood 30/31 Profile Toby Grimditch 32/39 Art Harland Miller 40/49 Cover David DelfĂn 50/55 Art Pola Road 56/61 Profile Enrique Zunzunegui 62/67 Tailoring Made in South Korea 68/71 Style Heroes 74/85 Fashion Transformer 86/97 Fashion Modern Classicism 98/103 Fashion Suit up 104/115 Fashion The Call of the Wild 116/117 Fashion Last Look 118 Addresses

malt. A drop of single malt whisky on top of a flat surface serves as a way to look at the world. Whether a sip or a drop, the world seems calmer, slower, and more at ease. Just like how this 25 year old bottle has come of age, many things are yet to be discovered and figured out but at this moment only notes of cedar, licorice, and leather come to mind. Photos Aiko Masuyo

â&#x20AC;&#x153;What whisky will not cure, there is

no cure for.â&#x20AC;? - Irish Proverb

Single Malt Scotch Whisky Highland Park 25 Year Old

The List WHAT I NEED TO START MY DAY...

Brooklyn Madrid Los Angeles Madrid London

by John J. Healey Born and raised in New York City, he has cultivated relationships in the film industry. He then worked on numerous features in the United States starting as an assistant location manager and ending up as a First Assistant Director on films made by Woody Allen, John Huston, Peter Weir, Arthur Hiller and Warren Beatty. Last year he made another documentary, ‘The Practice of the Wild’, a portrait of poet Gary Snyder and author Jim Harrison that will have its world premiere at the San Francisco International Film Festival in May of this year. Mr. Healey lives in Madrid and directs the King Juan Carlos I of Spain Center of New York University Foundation.

1. Waking up next to Sole and Omero 2. Louis Latour Chablis 3. Domaine Tempier Bandol Rouge 4. Tiptree Orange & Malt Liquor Marmalade 5. New York Times 6. Criterion DVD´s

by Luis Moreno Freire Born and raised in Madrid, Ciudad Lineal District. He studied Interior Design in the School of Arts in Madrid. Mr. Moreno began his career in a luxury bathroom design store, Trentino. He currently works for Porcelanosa Group in Madrid, and focuses on combining luxury materials with avant-garde design.

1. Coffee 2. Trim my beard/groom 3. Shine my work shoes 4. Pick out a tie to match my shirt 5. Wake my boyfriend up 6. Grab: Sunglasses, wallet, keys, and blackberry. 7. Eat chocolate croissant

by Justin Melnick Justin Melnick was born in New York City. Justin is an avid photographer, digital artist, and has spent time oversees in the Middle East. This jump started his work for ARMâ&#x20AC;˘ME, which showed in the Gallery 385 in New York City in 2008. Justin also shoots for various backstage fashion shows such as Victoria Secret annual fashion show. He now resides in Los Angeles. To view some of his work go to www.justinmelnickstudios.com

1. Vita Coco 2. Egg whites & turkey 3. A hike with the puppy 4. The New York Times 5. "Baba O'riley" - The Who

by Gianni Buccolo NYC garment distric veteran (1982 to 1997) as an import/exporter for wholesale -retail clothing. In 1999 he decided to relocated to Madrid, Spain to further his career. He is Currently located in Madrid and works in real estate and as a restaurant entrepeneur.

1. My daily prayers 2. Morning booster: Actimel 3. Marlboro soft-pack cigarettes 4. Coffee 5. My lucky crystal stone, I dont leave home without it!!

by Ben Cave 'Ben makes things for people's ears from his home in Hackney, London. His audio experience includes a period reporting on the road with Slayer in California, a radio series on the legacy of Martin Luther King with Morgan Freeman and two unforgettable shows at the top of the Roppongi Hills Hotel with Gilles Peterson as the sun rose over Tokyo. After ten years flying around the world with a microphone he is now creating the world's first videogame-without-any-videoâ&#x201E;˘, Papa Sangre (www.papasangre.com).' Follow him on Twitter @ (bencave)

1. Find iPhone: check time, read and Twitter. 2. Put on different radio stations in three different rooms. 3. Coffee: Espresso with frothy milk, lots of sugar. 4. Buy a paper: FT and The Gaurdian. 5. Go running around Victoria Park. 6. Shower and shave.

Silent Garden by Aiko Masuyo

Ampuku El Pulso del Hara by

Eva Perera-Tully

El Ampuku se desarrolla en Japón inicialmente como una rama de la antigua terapia China Anma. La influencia del budismo llevó, el Anma a Japón hace mas de mil años, esta ciencia fue adaptada a las costumbres culturales del país por los monjes que la propagaron por todo el territorio. El análisis y la profundización en el Anma dio como resultado el Ampuku, que recibió su nombre y actual definición hace aproximadamente cuatrocientos años gracias al maestro Shiansi Ota , quien separó las dos ciencias y les dio su actual definición. Las técnicas de diagnostico vienen de la medicina tibetana y están basadas en la relación del cuerpo con los cuatro elementos de la naturaleza. “La enfermedad no existe en la naturaleza, solo existen seres enfermos, eso nos lleva a acompañar a los pacientes a que inicien un viaje que les conduzca a variar sus pautas de comportamiento, para eliminar los bloqueos emocionales y mejorar su calidad de vida” comenta Nir Levy terapeuta israelí con veinte años de experiencia y que actualmente vive en Madrid. Para entender que era exactamente el Ampuku nuestro director creativo James Lin fue a ver al Sr. Levy que se ofreció a hacerle un tratamiento. Después de la manipulación el Sr. Lin comprobó que no se trataba de un masaje tradicional sino que consistía efectivamente en un acercamiento al cuerpo mas profundo y con una intención mas dirigida a liberar bloqueos físicos y emocionales. Por supuesto para obtener los beneficios del Ampuku hay que seguir un tratamiento dirigido por un terapeuta especialista. “La persona tiene que estar dispuesta al viaje sino no podremos hacer nada por el” nos dice Nir mientras nos acompaña a la puerta para despedirnos. Para mas información: www.anma-ampuku.com

Writings of the Misunderstood

look like. And, although it was a bit awkward, I wasn’t too upset when a friend of mine confessed his intense envy of my easy charm, sartorial elegance and superior intelligence. These examples, though, represent the attractive tip of an iceberg of insults. Wild and sweating Scottish men abuse me on trains, nursing centuriesold grievances for which I am somehow responsible. ‘You fucking queer ponce,’ is a phrase I’m not totally unfamiliar with. A woman in an airport, who I thought I was flirting with, approached me to say: ‘I don’t appreciate the way you’re looking at me. It’s making me uncomfortable. Please stop’. Or there might be milder, but still unwelcome, comments like ‘sort your hair out’, or those trousers don’t suit you. My efforts to discourage this overfamiliarity (practising a mean and moody stare) have not been in any way successful. In desperation, I decided to let beard grow out, in the vague hope that a more manly and unkempt appearance might drive away the commentators. My only previous facial hair experiment had not been a success: bored out of my mind in a largely German enclave in Mallorca, I grew – in a spirit of light-hearted and childish racism – a small moustache of the type made famous by Hitler. I

Facial Hair by

Julian Keeling

f course I don’t quite have his way with words, but at least I do have something in common with the weary narrator of the Great Gatsby. Just as he found himself listening – against his will – to the ‘secret griefs of wild, unknown men’, there is something unfortunately approachable in my nature that causes people – friends and strangers alike – to feel able, entitled even, rather than being content to just think things about me, to say things about me. To my face. This isn’t all bad. I mean it’s ok when an attractive woman at another table in a restaurant comes over to tell me that she’s been distracted by looking at me and wondering what our babies would

derado que haya metido en dentro una diadema de brillantes), secándose simbólicamente de la cogorza, o recordándonos que, por mucho que la vida se ponga tercamente hostil, siempre habrá algo cálido y cómico con lo que consolarse. Ese carácter suyo eminentemente jovial, privado y pobretón, que se rubrica tan bien con el consabido “tomate” en el calcetín, (un toque de bohemio desacato con el que los hombres demuestran su independencia), ha prestado humor a una de las partes menos graciosas de la anatomía masculina, el tobillo, que en ellos es mansurrón, a veces escamado, y siempre soso. El tobillo masculino, digámoslo de una vez, no tiene gancho, ni futuro, y es en realidad, el talón de Aquiles de la belleza del hombre; necesita apoyo psicológico y unas urgentes nociones de Historia del Arte Moderno. Un hombre que no sabe elegir calcetines, que no siente su tentador peligro al verlos enrollados como serpientes-manzana del Paraíso, o que no comprende que tienen un alma juguetona y dulce, como bombones de licor, no es de fiar; ni en la política, ni en una partida de póker, ni en la cama. Hay asesinos de calcetines, por ejemplo, a los que uno descubre cuando cruzan las piernas y enseñan en toda su fúnebre seriedad un par de medias negras, que antes llamaban “de ejecutivo”, y que les da un aire de travelos empleados en un próspero negocio de pompas fúnebres. Los hay, en cambio, que prefieren el blanco letal de virgen atlética para echar por tierra unos bonitos zapatos de charol. Sí, entre todas las infamias indumentarias con las que uno tiene que bregar a diario, la combinación del charol negro con el algodón blanco es una de las más obscenas, porque el cateto calcetín blanco, robado a la tierna infancia, incluso a algún tenista de elite ,o a una devota misionera tibetana, ( todas ellas personas ajenas al refinamiento), exige zapatón cartesiano, nunca mundana zapatilla de charol.Los auténticos amantes del calcetín, una secta muy bien organizada , son activistas del visto y no visto. En ese fragmento de eternidad, ¡zás!, en el que un caballero enseña su calcetín,como si fuera el as de su la pantorrilla, su buen nombre corre mucho más peligro que cuando chapurrea el inglés con acento de Marbella. El calcetín es como el flequillo, no admite medias tintas: o Fuyita, o nada. Su intimidad desvelada de repente por un observador atento tiene que manifestarse con audacia, sin complejos pequeño burgueses y sin descanso. Un sólo calcetín de poca monta cazado en público o dejado al azar y llevado en casa sin escrúpulos revela al aficionado, o lo que es peor, al ansioso trend setter. La voluntad de distinguirse, el indiscriminado amor por todos los colores, el rayón macilento, las rayas deportivas rematando un canalé gordo, los logos, la tristeza, el calcetín entonado con el pantalón, un lavado abrasivo a máquina, en fín, casi todo lo que no sea maniática adoración hacia el calcetín, merece que el agresor sea condenado de por vida al botín de cremallera en piel blanda y tacón cubano. También cabe la solución artístic o erótica de llevar ese mismo botín a pelo, en plan salvaje, y apechugar con las consecuencias, como hace mi admirado Tom Ford, que un día en el que le sorprendí de esta guisa, argumentó que resultaba muy placentero sentir piel contra piel… Lo acepté y callé, pero, hasta el día de hoy, comparado con el arte de elegir calcetines, el arte de cómo No llevarlos nunca, sigue constituyendo uno de los grandes misterios de la Humanidad, menos para EL. Y además, privado de su jueguete favorito, su perro, un sedoso teckel color café Blue Mountain, está inconsolable. .

was firstly almost driven out of town by an angry mob brandishing flares and staves, and then, in a spirit of guilt and reconciliation, taken to the bosom of my Teutonic family and then made to suffer six hours of Wagnerian opera in the open air while being bitten by mosquitoes; later I was invited to an orgy. Still scarred by the experience, I grew my beard with some trepidation, but early signs were encouraging. While it didn’t quite discourage people from making their feelings known, at least the comments were positive. Words like ‘rugged’ and phrases like ‘man of action’ were bandied about. Girls stroked my chin or invited me to rub it against their necks. (My father, though, a lone dissenter, merely handed me a razor.) Why hadn’t I done this before, I wondered? Despite the itchy irritation and the occasional anxiety that bits of food might lodge themselves in my upper lip, I decided to stick with it. I saw a long and golden future of hairy happiness stretching before me. The problems began the moment I started trimming and shaping my new arrangement. My new and tidy beard and ‘tash combo attracted the wrong sort of comments. ‘You’re a good looking man,’ said one of my more tactful friends, ‘you don’t need to hide your face’. Others were more forthright: ‘Shows up your Celtic roots. Makes me think you might have ginger pubes; not a good look’. My friend’s daughter merely instructed me to get rid of it. I did. My experiment has confirmed what I have always believed about facial hair. It is fine to have it for practical reasons, like if you are a smallholder in the highlands and need it to keep warm while digging, or if you’ve been away surveying the Andes for six months and shaving has been impossible. It is also ok if you are a philosopher, serious academic or romantically-inclined poet who are so lost in thought that your physical appearance is no longer of importance to you. Obviously exceptions also apply to those for whom it is part of the uniform: retired pilots, Orthodox priests, Muslims, paedophiles or analytic psychotherapists. Everyone else must get their razors out, or else be happy to be thought the sort of person who fusses to greatly about their appearance and spends too long in front of the mirror. I know, given the plethora of goatees and groomings, chinstraps and muttonchops that I see on the streets that my empirical findings will not be popular. No doubt you will feel the need to accost me and tell me how wrong I am, but believe me, I can take it. I’m used to it. .

Los Calcetines Perdidos de Tom Ford by

María Vela Zanetti

Los calcetines nunca descansan, ni ese día en que todo el mundo

debiera estar en cama con resaca. El uno de Enero de cualquier año cruel, allí siguen, llenos de estupor, colgados de la chimenea, barrigones y felices, como banqueros de chiste, repletos de buena voluntad y modestas sorpresas, nueces, microchips o caramelos, siempre algún objeto sin valor, (no conozco a nadie tan desconsi-

My Style by

appeal of style authorship that informed my bungled attempts to subvert classic items of clothing as a younger man still rings true. Faint, but true. I look at myself now – camel wool/cashmere, striped cotton drill, grey tweed and enormous pair cyber-goth boots – and feel that the relationship between my own sense of style and my family’s has finally been reconciled. Although the conservatism of my childhood informs how I get dressed today, a streak of playfulness still underscores my taste. Given the strength of mind, would I be walking down the street in bondage-inspired drag? Am I that Great British social-stereotype, The Eccentric? My inner prince hopes neither. .

Aaron Francis Walker

My Mother is a Royalist and my Father a conservative. When I

was a little boy they dressed me like Princes William and Harry. Their rules were simple and austere – collars must not be turned up. Labels should inform the wearer, not passers by. Leather jackets lubricate the already slippery slope to heroin addiction. I could go on. Winning friends in a school filled with Kappa-trousered ruffians from council estates was a challenge. Short trousers, a tie, tweeds and brogues may look wonderful through the cataracts of retrospect, but at the time the experience was nothing short of dreadful. As a desolate nine year old, I squatted by the dustbins behind the school canteen and zipped myself into a waxed jacket with the hood as a sort of lid – knees, head and all. Maybe they’d think I was a tiny corduroy-piped waste paper basket and that my shoes were the pedals. This sounds sad. It wasn’t. I had a genuine and empowered disinterest for other children. Convinced that I actually was of blue blood and bound by the exacting sartorial tastes of my family, I became determined to become my own hero and retreated into a world of comic books, cinema and costume. I set about populating my bedroom with drawings of other versions of myself. I drew until my fingers blistered. Superhero outfits of my own design and drawings of characters from films I had seen would be obsessively rendered in felt-tipped pen. My near-psychotic eye for detail was painful and reams of false-start sketches littered the floor. As puberty hit, this two-dimensional world gave way to a tentative transposition of my style fantasies from the page onto myself. This was a risky step in an illiberal country village, but luckily my sense of self-importance acted as a shield against the jibes of my peers. A frenzied bent for reinvention took hold. Garments took the place of the ill-executed drawings on my bedroom floor as I threw out the classicism of my childhood wardrobe in favor of my brother’s grunge-era cast offs. Ripped jeans and converse rapidly gave way to the lurid techno-fabrics of the early millennium as I slalomed through the pages of The Face and a back-catalogue of subcultures. Audacious and teenaged, I moved to London in 2002. I became immersed in the gaffer-taped post-punk aesthetic of the electroclash movement, but found that even my most depraved and leathery fashion efforts would be undercut with reminders of my past – a wool trouser, a belted raincoat or an Aran sweater. Perhaps I was homesick. My stab at rebellion always felt laboured and my innate sense of the rural English wardrobe wouldn’t be shaken off. Were I back in the countryside, would my walls be hung with aspirational pictures of city skylines from Athena? Would I join the ranks of those who lumber proudly down Oxford Street in a pair of Hunters? My wardrobe today is steeped in memory and narrative. I choose clothes that feel correct, that would make my grandfather proud – a Missoni knit, an houndstooth coat, a Harris tweed blazer. The

Esto es Este by

Benito Martinez

ue por qué hablo de esto y no de otra cosa, tendrá que ver seguramente con el reflejo de mi última experiencia vital, o más bien, de todas las anteriores. Terminando en que me separo de familia y amigos en momentos de crisis y empezando… por mi infancia seguramente. Así como hay niños que fantasean con profesiones cercanas al superhéroe, mis intereses rondaban las profesiones de cura, peluquero y albañil. Tardé años en finalizar aquella etapa, pero como decía Antoine de Saint-Exupéry ‘todos pertenecemos a nuestra infancia…’, y seguro que conservo de aquello más de lo que cabría esperar. Me interesa la sociología, la filosofía y la enseñanza; y por mi profesión y educación percibo la ciudad y la arquitectura como la coalición entre naturaleza y sociedad, modernidad y tradición. Me intriga especialmente el por qué de las cosas, su lógica constructiva y su estilo, su razón social o humana, su trayectoria, de dónde vienen y a dónde van. Vine a Londres por tiempo indefinido y tras dar varios tumbos poco acertados terminé, en el Este de Londres. Sé que el lugar fue el lumpen de la ciudad en siglos pasados, bombardeado y arrasado completamente en el Blitz en la Segunda Guerra Mundial por la aviación nazi, al ser uno de los principales núcleos de industria e infraestructuras del país. Repoblado principalmente con anodinas viviendas sociales que aparecen a escasos metros de la tan de moda Shoreditch high street y muchísima industria entre medias, dando cobijo en las últimas décadas a inmigración de origen indio y pakistaní, que han echado aquí sus raíces. Hoy por hoy, es una de las últimas partes de ‘central London’ que despierta a la regeneración urbanística, arquitectónica y lo más importante, social y cultural, en cuanto que está sirviendo de refugio a las generaciones de artistas, estudiantes e individuos con recursos limitados cercanos al movimiento indie y pop que decoran y habitan sus calles. Esta mezcla de inmigración y nuevas olas, denota en sus calles cierto aire de incoherencia y aunque podría rozar la incompatibilidad, contrariamente se traduce en una absoluta libertad de estilos y referencias. En un tramo no muy largo de una misma calle se

puede ver desde una de las mejores galerías de arte de la ciudad como White Chapel Gallery, hasta el ajetreado mercadillo ambulante junto a la estación de metro del mismo nombre, donde la mujer musulmana cubre su cabeza de mil maneras según manda la tradición. El hombre con túnica y babuchas remata su estilismo, con blazer. El resto de los individuos de la escena completan la inagotable gama de propuestas de estilos de vida que se pueden ver en el hervidero de gentes en el que se convierte White Chapel Road durante el día. A los pies de la city londinense, donde ya nada huele a Big Ben, ni a cabina roja ni a caballo de guardia real, aparece este barrio convertido en ciudad autónoma y cosmopolita. Recoge la estética de la no-estética, es un estandarte de vanguardia y ciudad sin complejos, donde las cosas no nacen por bonitas, sino por útiles o porque así alguien las soñó. Innumerables edificios abandonados, muchos de ellos okupados, muros en ruinas que sirven de lienzos a artistas callejeros, mercadillos de gangas y porquerías y calles destartaladas a medio camino entre lo decrépito y lo futurista, donde siempre puedes encontrar un fabuloso café bajo un ruidoso puente de hierro del overground o un club con efusiva decoración barroca y música rock. Hoteles y nuevos restaurantes high tech van abriéndose camino para dar ese toque de acero inoxidable que no puede faltar en todo lo que quiere tener tufillo de novedoso. También por ahí, alguna granja de ciudad; sí, he dicho granja, donde puedes acercarte a acariciar a un burro; sí, burro, por ejemplo, en un momentos de estrés o soledad. Un placer andar por Regent’s Canal hasta Victoria Park, volver del trabajo atravesando London Fields en las tardes de verano, bajo esas copas de árboles exuberantes, entre las chimeneas de humo de las mini barbacoas y donde los grupos de amigos comparten cervezas y cigarrillos de dudosa legalidad o alguien enseña su último tatuaje. Los sábados de Broadway Market y sus comidas artesanales, los domingos de Brick Lane y las flores de Columbia road son cada día más los highlights londinenses, donde siempre verás una banda tocar, una tienda única, un personaje inolvidable, un hito en la moda, el evento más divertido, la exposición más interesante, un rincón apetecible en un patio trasero de una casa con un invernadero de otro siglo, un dulce comprado en un puesto ambulante, cerámicas y maderas, objetos de segunda mano, o tercera o cuarta… y sobre todo un toque a sutil extravagancia. El Este de Londres, hogar del pantalón pitillo, el zapato sucio, de la segunda mano, las bicicletas de carreras de piñón fijo, los pelos muy trabajados y la apuesta por el individualismo en el estilo de vida. Ejemplo de ciudad de retales y de partes inconexas, donde elegantes terrace houses georgianas tricentenarias en Fourier street, intentan dar lo mejor de sí mismas combinando el color de sus fábricas de ladrillo y sus carpinterías en estudiadas composiciones cromáticas; compiten por sacar la cabeza y destacar entre otros edificios menos agraciados o totalmente desgraciados, en este reducido y apasionante espacio de la ciudad, donde se da una drástica frontera socio - cultural y donde la más tierna modernidad y la más férrea tradición se dan la mano. Todo eso junto y revuelto. Se da aquí, en el Este de Londres. .

Cire Trudon Candles by

Alexa Hall

Good things come from under glass domes. Taxidermy, for

one thing, and alchemical substances, also trophies and Cire Trudon candles. If you’ve come across the in La Bonne Marche, or the exquisitely curated menswear market Present, in London’s Shoreditch High Street, you’ll know the wonderfully decadent idea - instead of sniffing at the candle directly, you instead use the dome to inhale the delicately scented air surrounding the candle. As a concept, it’s almost absurdly Huysmans. Des Esseintes, the febrile hero of A Rebours would have approved of the ceremonial perversity of the idea. Although the actual reason for this, Cire Trudon say, is to enable the customer to find out what their candles smell like smouldering in a room, the resulting impression one gets is of connoisseurship. Heaven only knows what would happen if you tried to smell one directly. Cire Trudon have a story which the most imaginative PR exec could not fabulate. Founded in 1643, their a client list including Louis XIV, Napoleon Bonaparte and, appropriately, Sofia Coppola, who used the candles in her 2006 Kirsten Dunst vehicle Marie Antoinette. Originally a grocer with a sideline in wax, the original M. Trudon, Claude, soon gained a Royal Warrant for his candles. Making candles for Dior, Guerlain and all the major Parisian cathedrals in the 20th Century, the brand lay undiscovered until the mid-eighties when enterprising creative director Ramdane Touhami took over and rebuilt Cire Trudon as a going concern. Having diversified into scented candles, Cire Trudon’s product list, a masterpiece of purple prose, betrays a Gallic pragmatism in terms of inspiration. Indeed, they referencing equally pre-revolutionary splendour (Roi Soleil, Manon, Trianon), the excesses of the Enlightenment (Revolution, Proletaire), continental Surrealism (Dada, Odeur de Lune) and the Catholic Church (Spiritus Sancti, Carmelite). All of which could be insufferable were it not for the undeniable quality of the candles themselves. 100% vegetable wax, presented in artisanal Tuscan glass, you can almost believed that one is ‘opened up to the magnetic field of the Dada movement’ as the blurb accompanying the eucalyptus and tea-tinged ‘Dada’ candle states. There’s even a charity candle – Nazareth - in aid of fashion’s new hero, the bumblebee, helping to prevent Colony Collapse Disorder, which kills bees and decimates ecosystems. .

TOBY GRIMDITCH / STYLIST / LONDON

Text / Milly Mcmahon Photograph / Rebecca Thomas

from high fashions most influential glossies Toby is also partially responsible for the incredible rise and rise of beautiful bespoke blossoming tailored mens design wear talent J W Anderson, previously working as the labels style consultant in the initial early and crucial collections. “Each season I tend to be interested in certain things… I have short attention spans, so always looking at different things. So these tend to get mixed together within my work. But saying that, there are certain things that I stick to & feel comfortable keeping as my signature. I hate fussy styling, big elaborate shoots scare me… I prefer simple & chic.”

Stripping back style to the bare, beautiful aesthetic roots from which it was born, Toby Grimditch loves the skin fashion comes from within. Whilst the rest of the world seems to be going Gaga for outlandish and elaborate trends, stylist Toby Grimditch remains a true credit to the craft of his simply based trade he champions quite unlike anyone else. Employing only the basic necessities when it comes to the rules of quintessential good taste, this understated talent has coined seasons passed signature looks always based predominantly upon character as opposed to concentrating on physique. Through this individual interpretation of personality within the statement outfits that Toby creates, a style is born which expresses a unique facet to the person he dresses, a quiet confident edge oozes from his looks and transcends into every editorial his work graces.

No one day is the same for a man working up high in the much heralded but guarded gates of contemporary fashion and Toby wouldn’t wish his life any other way. Mr Grimditch is a gentleman hungry for change, keen for action, scouting and living for the adrenaline of his next find or new idea, he is the reason we are looking to the new climate for a mens era.

First discovering his penchant for fabulosity from in Essex whilst squirreled away in his sister bedroom, Toby grew to kindle a passion for dress-up from an early age and his first fashion moment allowed him the escape he so very dreamt of. “ It came when l was a child watching my very glamorous older sister getting ready to go out clubbing. I grew up on a council estate where the normal uniform was a tracksuit & a baby under one arm. So it was not so hard being different as a young gay boy who loved anything a little weird or against the norm. Once again my sister, who is a great inspiration to me, used to let me dress her up in all crazy ways, so she fed my interest”

Five Favorite Designers: Raf Simons, Ralph Lauren, Dries Van Noten, Issey Miyake, YSL. Stylists: Jane How, Jodie Barnes, Joe McKenna, Panos Yiaponis, Camilla Nickerson. Films: Leon, My Beautiful Laundrette, American Gigilo, The Big Blue & A Star is Born (1976)

Since this inspired initial fall into fashion Toby went on to study Ravensbourne, choosing to pave his own way into the industry as opposed to assisting as so many of his piers did, sticking to his own personal mantra: Work hard & be known for your work rather than who you socialize with, of which he most certainly now, very much is. Now boasting a book fit to burst full of editorials

Bands/artists: Robert Mapelthorpe, Keith Haring, Grace Jones, Depeche Mode & Stevie Wonder Cities: I love New York… 31

the Ask Harland Miller

a simple question and heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll tell you his life story. The man has a Ustinovian capacity for anecdote and reminiscence. Like a chic Ancient Mariner in slacks and brogues, concision is not his forte. Anyhow, with much of his work having elements of autobiography, it must be a good thing that he has a hotline to his source material.

ARTIST Photos Lonny Spence Interview Alexa Hall

Harland Miller / London

His art is the kind people love as well as

admire. It is nostalgic, melancholy and accessible; it has jokes. Much of it is about being a fan; he curated the 2008 group exhibition You Dig the Tunnel, I’ll Hide the Soil, where friends and contemporaries responded to the work of Edgar Allan Poe in the depths of Shoreditch Town Hall and is currently in the preliminary stages of making a film inspired by Bram Stoker. He likes things – the paraphernalia of massmarket literacy – the Penguin paperbacks and the painted typewriters and the paintings of typewriters he showed at his show in the Baltic Centre Don’t Let The Bastards Cheer You Up. There’s even affection in his Hemingway and Norman Mailer pastiches. His 2000 novel, Slow Down Arthur, Stick to Thirty was about a teenage malcontent’s fixation with a York-based David Bowie impersonator, implying layers of homage and identification. He is possibly best known for his enormous Rothko-echoing facsimiles of Penguin book covers with new titles – I’m So Fucking Hard by Ernest Hemingway, Bridlington – Ninety Three Million Miles from the Sun. The North West and its drizzly conurbations are clearly Harland’s psychic landscape as much as Dublin was James Joyce’s, although, like Joyce, he is a willing exile from his spiritual home. There’s ambivalence, the eternal narrative of youthful escape to London, but it’s necessary as a crucible for yearning and a poetic melancholy. Besides, ‘Scarborough – Have Faith in Cod’ may not say much for the fishing town’s appeals, but the phrasing is pure Working Men’s club comic. It’s impossible to imagine what Harland’s work would be like if he came from London. ‘When I was living in the North I thought I had a much more cosmopolitan sensibility, and since I left there I feel more like I don’t have a cosmopolitan sensibility.’ is what he says about all this. It can be hard to square his most mordant and Yorkshire works with his louche image, like meeting Philip Larkin in Shoreditch House, but in person, it makes sense. Anyhow, Harland likes incongruity. Perhaps that’s why he’s in the early stages of making a film about Goths set in Whitby.

Yes, and taking pictures, interviewing people.

“Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be...”

“ I was living with a community of transsexuals on 14th Street, the Meatpacking District. It is fashionable now, it wasn’t. It was fashionable with transsexual prostitutes. ”

Is that a personal project of yours? It’s a film project. It was research for an idea that I’ve had for ages. Coming from Whitby, I grew up with the Dracula experience and a long, long time ago, Francis Ford Coppola did an adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. I don’t think it was, really, particularly true to the book but to give it credibility, they called it Bram Stoker’s Dracula. So when I saw that I thought yeah, there’s not even any mention of Whitby or anything like that, it’s been hijacked, in a way, by Hollywood. So I wrote this idea for a vampire type of film without any really vampires in. Which was gonna be Whitby’s revenge, or Bram Stoker’s revenge, on Hollywood. Which sounds sort of B movie-ish, which it isn’t. All set in – I don’t want to give too much of it away - but it’s set in Whitby during Goth Week. What has now become known as Goth Week, but what started out as this evening of appreciation of Bram Stoker’s work at the Lit Phil Society, which was the literary and philosophical society in a little side room of the museum and it’s grown exponentially. And it’s interesting to me, as I thought of Goths as skinny people, black clothes, emaciated types, but there’s all sorts of different types of Goth. Steam Punks, that was a new one on me, heard of them? I haven’t. They live in a world of like, cogs and goggles. They wear pit helmets. Like the cyber ones? No, the cyber ones are Goths from the future, living in the past, but these Goths from the past, living in the past, if that makes any sense. Mustn’t confuse those two. Well, they’re very easy to differentiate. Remember Jules Verne and those kind of characters? Steam Punks are a bit like that. But they themselves divide into two distinct types, Steam Punks who wear pit helmets and white shirts and a lot of brown, and then there’s Steam Punks who mutate themselves, so they’re half man, half machine.

I hear you were shooting some film in Whitby at Goth Weekend.

A machine of the past? 34

Harland Miller / London Yeah, when science was very popular in the Victorian era, you know, that look to science, back then. You know test tubes, Bunsen burners, that whole look of it. You know, time machine, Frankenstein, all those type of things. There were lots of people who came who looked like they were half machine, half human. It was astonishing. It was incredible to imagine what these people did for the week, for one thing. I couldn’t imagine them doing or being anywhere else. It’s a project that’s a way off. I just went to the Goth festival when it’s on. Are you a nostalgic person? I like nostalgia and I think even if I wasn’t nostalgic, I would like to be. Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be. That could be a title for your Penguin Books paintings. I think I’ve rigged up my mind to slip them in to conversation. I think it’s a bit of a curse as I’m trying to stop doing them. Why are you winding them up? I like doing them, I really like doing them. I love them actually. And I kind of feel that I haven’t done the ultimate one. I think I’m known for them, as much as I am known as a painter, I think I’m known for them, those kind of Pop images. Painting, especially in the 90s, was considered unfashionable, but even then, you had a reputation for being cool. Were you being deliberately contrarian? I was living abroad when painting died. I don’t think it had ever been alive in England, really. There’d been Francis Bacon, some of his cohort, but that was a very small thing, it wasn’t an art scene, as such, not like you have in New York, you know, where painting was really the meat and potatoes of art, as I’ve heard it described, of the art world there. See, I went to live in New York. But even in New York, you had painting downgraded. I was there in 1990 and the first Gulf War was 1990 to 91. And it was noted, after the Gulf War, there was this sea change, that painting was downgraded. Painting seemed to tail away and conceptual art was the thing. I’d been to Europe, Paris for a year, Berlin for a year, almost looking for the elusive scene where painting was still appreciated and exhibited

and talked about. And did you find it? It wasn’t anywhere. It was all about conceptual art. They tried to cancel everything out, so that they’re the only thing, that Wagnerian idea of mowing down the opposition so you’re the only one left standing. So it wasn’t just cool to be a conceptual artist, it was uncool to be a painter. It was as if you were doing something bad for your health. Like taking speed instead of cocaine. It wasn’t right thinking. So when I got back to England in the midst of all that... I actually started to write when I was away. What was it you found yourself writing, was it fiction? I actually started keeping diaries. I think, when you’re away, because you don’t speak the language, you have no idea of what anyone’s saying, so you get quite self-referential and end up talking to yourself. What were you doing when you were abroad, were you working? Yes, I was painting. I went to New York and I’d had quite a good year, before that kind of guillotine went down. And around that time I started to write, keep diaries, jot down my impressions. I was living with a community of transsexuals on 14th Street, the Meatpacking District. It is fashionable now, it wasn’t. It was fashionable with transsexual prostitutes. And actually, for a moment, they were quite fashionable. I went to a club with a transsexual and we got to jump the queue. It didn’t last long, but I got to know them from the old district. One day, what I worked out was that the police that patrolled that area had an arrangement with the girls, but when they changed their precinct, the new cops that didn’t have an arrangement would bust the girls, then they’d work out a deal and then it was ok for another month or so. So when I was first there, I witnessed that changeover. And all these girls who were normally walking up and down, leaning on the cop cars, were running away from the cops and they ran into my gallery. I was carrying a two foot pole and I saw cops running after them, so when the last girl had come in, without thinking, I closed the door and put the pole through the handles. I didn’t want a cop in the gallery 35

for a bunch of reasons. And he started rattling my doors and I didn’t really know what to say. So I pretended I was French and I said (he puts on a hammy French accent) ‘You can’t get in’ and got his night stick out and he started slapping his hand, and I was saying ‘It’s not possible’. And the guy said ‘Ok, I’m getting nervous, and when I get nervous, I get physical’. We had some shutters that came down, so the shutters just came down and he was rattling on the windows. And then I worked out that I’d locked myself in the building with all these transsexuals. They were all sitting on the roof, so we sat tight on the roof for the rest of the afternoon. And that was my ‘in’ to that neighbourhood. Sorry, why am I talking about transsexuals? While you were living with the transsexuals, you started to write... I met this girl and she was cool, so I became friends with some of them. They crashed in for a night and a night became two and then a couple of months had gone past. There was this girl there that I did really like, Monet, and she was writing a book about all the girls and all the kinky sex and she asked me if I’d like to knock it into shape. And actually I really regret that I didn’t keep hold of that book, I don’t know where it is. She was amazing and you could tell from the way it was written that she’d jotted down what had happened the night before. There was another girl there who’d written a book and she’d never show you, she held it like that. And one time, when she went out, the other man I was living with, he was French, he said ‘I’ve got the book’. So I said, we shouldn’t really, ‘c’mon’, so we opened it up and in tiny, tiny handwriting, she’d written ‘Naomi Campbell, Naomi Campbell, Naomi Campbell, Naomi Campbell’, pages and pages and pages of it, you know like that scene in The Shining’. She must have written Naomi Campbell over a million times. And they were the two books which made me think, ‘Well, I can do that’. Do you have an object fetishism towards Penguin books, typewriters? Do you collect them? I hoard them, I’m a hoarder. Where my hoarding does start to look like collecting is with books, I’ve got some fairly ok books, first editions and things. If you’re asking if

Black trench and beige trench, Dunhill. Stylist Shirly Amartey. Hair Stylist Hiroshi Matushita. Make-up Ken Nakano, M.A.C. Stylist Assistant John Pashalidis. Special thanks The York and Albany restaurant, London.

Harland Miller / London I fetishize writing – not really but like the paraphernalia of writing – I’ve always liked the idea of someone sitting at a typewriter writing, always liked shorthand as well. My mum taught shorthand, she used to work at the railway offices as a secretary and you had to learn shorthand skills back then and by the time she had me, she’d started giving shorthand lessons at home. And I’ve got quite a good memory of people coming out, young people, when I was six or seven. I think that might have been how I developed a secretary fetish. I really like the film Secretary. Is it true that you have a book coming out this year? It’s not true, sadly. I wrote a book called ‘Reclaim the Night’. I never finished it. It was about a transsexual who – it was about a kid who’d been expelled by Idi Amin, you know, Idi Amin expelled the Asian community from Uganda. It was the story of this young kid who’d been sent by his mother to England, she’d sent him on ahead of her, so he wound up in some holding camp somewhere outside Leeds. Grew up, and then, as he got older, changed his identity, became a woman and it’s his story really. Back in Leeds, working as a transsexual prostitute during the time of the Yorkshire Ripper, she was attacked at night in a manner that was consistent with the Yorkshire Ripper and never went to the police. I was speaking to this guy called Richard McCann whose mother was the first person to be attacked by the Ripper and he was interested in my book and told me about a guy, the only guy the Yorkshire Ripper had ever attacked, a guy called John Toney. So I went to see John Toney on a very, very rainy day and I wasn’t feeling very good myself, actually. My dad didn’t have very long to live at that point, it was quite a dark time actually. I was going down these basement steps and I just looked into his window. I turned round and I just went back to the pub on the corner and I had a drink and I called Richard and said ‘Can you apologise to John, I’m not feeling well, I’ll catch up with him next week’. And I never went back, I didn’t really have the stamina at that time. I will finish it. The links between art with music and film

have been well explored, but not so much art and literature. Yeah, art and film, specially now with people like Schnabel being good at it. I think artists lack the discipline, I could name a few other artists… So, the connection between artists and writers, I mean, it takes a long time to write a book and there’s a rigour to it. Artists don’t – they won’t like me for saying this – but I don’t think they have that rigour, artists, the rigour that’s required to write a book. Unless you’re going to take ten years to write it. Books write in a year, then you take two, then you’re going to spend a year publicizing it. And that’s a three year stand. A lot of artists, you know, kick off from nought to sixty, seventy, a hundred. I mean, in three years, you can have three, four, five shows. Do you think you have a dark personality? I don’t think so. Only in that I like dark stuff. I don’t feel that I’m dark. I find that people who like that kind of thing are quite normal. I don’t know what a dark side is, I mean, what is a dark side? Is a dark side someone who’s interested in dark things or someone who does dark things? Or harbours dark desires? I don’t harbour dark desires, you’ll be glad to know. (Harland’s phone rings) I’m sorry about this constant... That’s absolutely fine Shit... see I’m meant to be having this show right now. I thought I’d told everyone that I’m not having it. It’s a show in Amsterdam and I’ve put it back until September and I thought I’d told everyone about it. And obviously a few people are sort of ringing me and saying ‘I’m in Amsterdam’. Anyway... Growing up in Whitby, I was talking to some local people in Whitby as well as the Goths and they were saying ‘Ai, yar, we all believed in Dracula, like, you know’. There was this bloke who used to run the sweetshop who used to dress up. He ended up in prison for it, actually, because he used to dress up as a fiend and go and scare the kids. You were told, as a kid, there’s an upright grave, and you were told that’s where Dracula’s buried on the cliff top. Even when you realized that weren’t true, you grew up with that and it’s also quite a 38

gothic looking place, it’s not Cornwall, you know, the cliffs are very craggy and the beach isn’t so nice. The North Sea is rough. So it’s a place that makes sense more in winter. And you tend to quite like literature... I like anything that begins, ‘It was a dark and stormy night’, I’m quite at home with that. And is the interest in Edgar Allan Poe a continuation of that? I liked Edgar Allan Poe for lots of other reasons as well. What I was trying to do with the Edgar Allan Poe show was say, here’s a guy that everyone thinks of as quite gothic but he had all these different sides to him as well. He was an inventor of genres, he was a forward thinking guy, he was involved with magazines. He liked gothic stories and he got remembered for those as that was what was fashionable at the time. There were some reservations about it, working with Shoreditch Town Hall wasn’t as easy as it could have been for some of the work that we had because of Health and Safety. I fabricated a Sensory Deprivation Tank, the idea was that you would lie in it and listen to The Pit and The Pendulum. They wouldn’t let me operate it. I put it in there as I thought it was an attractive object and I put it in there with John Cooper Clarke reading The Pit and The Pendulum so you could hear his voice echoing out of the tank. Did you try it out? I went to a floatation centre and they said to me, ‘what would you like to listen to then? We’ve got whale noises or birdsong’. And then I said ‘Could you put that on?’ I lay there and the story itself starts in darkness, you know, he doesn’t know he’s in a pit, he knows he’s in an enclosed environment and so it was perfect really. The narrator wakes up, knows he’s in a restricted environment, he doesn’t know where the edges are, and that’s exactly what happens, in reverse, when you’re in a floatation tank. Although you do know where the edges are, the more you get into the experience of floating away, the more the edges fall away too, whereas with him, he actually discovers where the edges are, but part of the fiendishness of the pit is that the monks who are operating it are able to move the edges. ·

â&#x20AC;&#x153;I was living abroad when painting died...â&#x20AC;?

david delfín

From New York to Madrid, Mr. Delfín has made an international name for himself as a multi-talented designer. He has anchored his brand into clothes, wine, multimedia and music. Now a regular at the NY tents, Delfín's designs are impressive in the vision they represent - eccentricity, elegance and simplicity. At first meeting, Delfín is soft spoken, polite and deceivingly shy. We realize that he is anything but shy. He sits, observes, and expresses them in his work. Here he shares with us some of his written pieces. Photos Gorka Postigo

Fotos I Mi padre había hecho un mueble para el salón. Era precioso, de formica blanca, con estantes y cajones para esconder los secretos de la familia. En el fondo pegó papel adhesivo con tacto de terciopelo color azul. Terciopelo azul. Le gustaba la fotografía. Tenía todo lo necesario para revelar sus propias fotos. Lo instaló todo en el armario empotrado de la entrada y se encerraba allí. Luz roja. Le oía respirar. Era domingo y estábamos limpios. Ponte delante del mueble. Coge un libro de la estantería y lee. Y mirando el libro que sostengo en la mano, se puede leer: la Biblia, con mayúsculas. Blanco y negro.

II Estamos en la feria. Mis padres sonríen, mi hermana mediana tiene la boca abierta sin dientes, mi hermano y yo vamos vestidos iguales. Pantalón corto blanco y camisa turquesa. Tenemos cara de asustados. Estamos en el látigo. El látigo. Color.

Pirómano

Qué bien sales en las fotos Por delante y por detrás Y cuánto ganas sin cabeza Y aún así, qué cara tienes Cara de libro malo muy vendido Se titula Cobarde

Por ti no pasa el tiempo (Ya te gustaría) Está claro que no te gustan los cambios Bueno, viajar si Te gustan los cambios de lugar y no de posición Y para qué? Estás tan cómodo… Y por qué? Nadie te obliga… Y para quién? Nadie te importa más que tú (creedme, puedo escribirlo sin temor a equivocarme) Pues bien El antiguo loco paranoico ahora se ha convertido en pirómano Y pienso quemarlo todo Todas tus fotos Todas tus mentiras Todas tus quejas Y todas tus pastillas

Pretérito Imperfecto Era una planta cuadrada de ocho vecinos con el ascensor en el centro, en el que cabía mi bicicleta muy justa haciendo el caballito. Séptimo. Cuando salía del ascensor a la izquierda me encontraba con dos puertas. Las dos vecinas se llamaban Carmen: Carmen la de negro y Carmen la del pescao. Carmen la de negro era viuda, oscura, con tres hijos: Paqui la mayor, igual que su madre, Felipe rubio y delgado y Ani y sus tirabuzones, mis amantes, quizá mas parecidos al padre que nunca conocí. Carmen la del pescao tenía un marido pescador al que nunca vi. Por las mañanas la puerta de su casa siempre estaba abierta y su cocina se convertía en pescadería. Yo aprovechaba y aguantando la respiración, pasaba hasta el salón y admiraba aquella lámpara a la que le cambiaban las puntas de color. No estoy seguro si tenían una o dos hijas. Susi tenía mi edad y un día jugando a saltar escalones me empujó y me partí el codo. Teníamos tres años y cuando la miré se le cayeron todas las pecas al suelo. La televisión era en blanco y negro aunque yo la viese en color. Me encantaban las ilustraciones de los libros que me enseñaba otra vecina testigo de Jehová. Pasaba las páginas lentamente mientras bañaba mi codo izquierdo en agua y sal.

Diamantes Tú has entendido mal lo de la suma, no todo vale. Menos uno más uno es igual a cero, y eso tenemos, nada, ¿no? Un diamante no es para siempre, para mi no. Su brillo no me deslumbra, más bien, oscurece mi realidad. Sus caras me desconciertan, sus ángulos me hieren, su transparencia me advierte, en su interior, nada. Tengo una sensación extraña, o mejor dicho, todo lo contrario, familiar.

All clothes, David DelfĂn. Digital post production Ana Teruel, 0034 Photo.

Pola Road Photos Carlos ChavarrĂa Playlist James Lin

― N ew york was G reat b y T h e R a v e o n e t t e s ―

And The Stars We Plucked From Great Black Skies And The Stars We Plucked From New York Skies We Placed Them All In Front Of Us And Laughed What A Trip

― M ister S oftee J ingle b y M i s t e r S o f t e e ―

The creamiest, dreamiest soft ice cream, You get from Mister Softee. For a refreshing delight supreme, Look for Mister Softee. My milkshakes and my sundaes and my cones are such a treat, Listen for my store on wheels, ding-a-ling down the street. The creamiest, dreamiest soft ice cream, You get from Mister Softee. For a refreshing delight supreme, Look for Mister Softee. S-O-F-T Double 'E', Mister Softee.

â&#x20AC;&#x2022; B asic space b y T h e x x â&#x20AC;&#x2022;

Basic space, open air Don't look away When there's nothing there I'm setting us in stone Piece by piece before I'm alone Air tight before we break Keep it in, keep us safe

― D eadbeat summer b y N e o n I n d i a n ―

Come and run from the heat In the middle of a sunlit street Seeing thoughts in repeat But I´d rather get something to eat Feeling senseless and beat And I wonder if through chance we will meet

â&#x20AC;&#x2022; A mbling A lp b y Y e a s a y e r â&#x20AC;&#x2022;

Now kid, I know I haven't been a perfect man And I've avoided doing things I know I can But if I learned one thing, the tattoo on my arm will burn into my thumb It would be that You must stick up for yourself, son Never mind what anybody else done

Horseback Photos Jesper Larsson Interview Cristina Valera

Enrique Zunzunegui Madrid Lo primero que te llama la atención cuando conoces a Enrique Zunzunegui es su sonrisa. Es una sonrisa franca que tranquiliza , que te asegura de que estas delante de un hombre feliz. De complexión pequeño pero no tanto como un jockey “me sobran algunos kilos para poder montar depende que caballos”. Se mueve por las cuadras del hipódromo como por su casa. Un día con el Sr. Zunzunegui es como un día en el campo, te desconecta de la ciudad y te introduce con su conversación en su mundo del que sales completamente renovado. Entrevistarle es muy fácil por que en cuanto empiezas a hablar de caballos ya no para. Empezó a montar a los siete años en el campo , cerca de Sevilla , muy a la Española, caballos de campo, silla vaquera; desde entonces ha vivido siempre entre caballos. El caballo es un animal fascinante, mucha gente piensa que son como los perros pero son totalmente distintos. El perro es carnívoro y tiene que cazar para comer, el caballo es vegetariano y tiene la comida en el campo , toda la que quiera a su disposición. Sus estructuras sociales no tienen nada en común, mientras que el perro tiene una estructura mas vertical, siempre hay un jefe que generalmente es el mas fuerte. Los perros tienen códigos de sometimiento , agachar las orejas por ejemplo. El caballo se relaciona en una estructura mas horizontal , sin jerarquías, sin lideres dominantes y sin códigos de sumisión. Esto es especialmente importante a la hora de la doma y cuando tienes que relacionarte con el caballo en lugares donde le pides algo que quizás no tenga ganas de darte. Como por ejemplo aquí en hipódromo donde le pides al caballo que galope lo mas rápido que pueda. ¿Por qué dices que entender la estructura social del caballo es importante para la doma? Actualmente hay gente que basándose en un conocimiento del caballo esta trabajan-

do en lo que se llama la doma natural. Se opone al sometimiento del animal y habla de una vía distinta que consiste en presentarse al caballo como una buena opción para el. Tomando por principio que el caballo no reconoce lideres , el domador procura que el caballo le vea como a alguien que toma buenas decisiones para el. ¿Se aplica este tipo de doma a caballos de carreras? Tengo entendido que hay cuadras en estados Unidos que lo están desarrollando. Yo personalmente creo que es una gran idea porque le evitas “stress” al caballo. Le propones que comprenda que tu decisiones son buenas para el. La doma clásica contrariamente busca la obediencia por sumisión. Trabajaste como herrador en Francia, te has dedicado por un tiempo a la doma y ahora estas en el hipódromo. ¿Cual es tu día a día? Tengo la suerte de estar trabajando en la cuadra de Mauricio Delcher Sánchez que es en mi opinión el mejor preparador del hipódromo , tiene una gran sensibilidad para entender al caballo y es un preparador que te insiste continuamente en que lleves relajado al caballo y eso tiene mucho que ver con lo que yo hablaba antes de la doma natural , evitar estresar al animal. Lo que me gusta de mi trabajo aquí es que aunque soy mozo , hago un poco de todo. Las cuadras españolas no tienen grandes presupuestos y no pueden tener los especialistas que tienen en el extranjero. Aquí yo limpio a los caballos, les doy de comer , galopo e incluso si hace falta los desbravo. Mi día empieza a las seis y media de la mañana, nos reunimos todos en “la pizarra” y allí esta escrito el lote de caballos que le toca a cada uno ese día. Voy a buscar a mi primer caballo, le cepillo , le pongo las protecciones que necesite, le pongo la manta dependiendo de las condiciones meteorológicas y le énsillo.Nos dirigimos entonces a unas pistas de arena. Hay dos, una mas ligera para calentamiento y otra mas pesada y profunda que es donde los caballos hacen el entrenamiento mas físico. Después del calentamiento entramos dentro de una especie de picadero donde esta el preparador y allí el da el plan de trabajo para cada caballo . Esto ya es mas el trabajo de los jockeys. Cuando ellos han terminado vuelvo a montar al caballo y me lo llevo a caminar para 58

que se vaya enfriando poco a poco y finalmente le acompaño a su box para enseguida ir a buscar al siguiente del lote y empezar de nuevo. ¿Como se consigue que un caballo de carreras entienda que su función es galopar lo mas rápido posible y si puede, ganar? Un caballo de carreras es por definición de una raza que se ha ido depurando hasta hoy con el fin de galopar lo mas deprisa posible Llevan el gen del galope . Lo que hay que hacer y ese es el trabajo de los preparadores y de los jockeys es sacarles ese gen para que lo desarrollen al máximo. Hay por ejemplo un entrenamiento muy bonito que se hace con los potros , el preparador coloca a un potro que empieza entre dos caballos consagrados y les hace galopar en grupo una vuelta y media a un ritmo marcado de antemano, luego les obliga a aumentar el ritmo y al llegar a la recta de meta los hace galopar al máximo , el joven potro al ir en medio, por inercia, galopa todo lo rápido que puede para seguir a los otros y en algunos casos justo al llegar a la meta los dos veteranos son sujetados por sus jockeys para que el joven entre primero y entonces se le premia. Este tipo de entrenamiento enseña a los caballos a galopar y les despierta el instinto de ir al máximo. Hablando de caballos, caminando con ellos y mirando como galopaban , se fue yendo el día. Descubrí su nobleza y me impresiono su inteligencia. De vuelta a la ciudad no podía dejar de pensar en un mundo romántico , exigente y competitivo , donde las reglas del hombre y del caballo conviven y se están permanentemente ajustando por el bien común. ·

“A un potro hay que enseñarle a ser un caballo de carreras.”

Made in South Korea Photograph / Nils Clauss text / Emilia Buccolo

It’s around ten am in a small tailoring

shop set in the early 1950’s in Itaewon, South Korea. A short Italian man around five feet nine inches, travels from Italy biannually to have his suits customized to his frame. As he enters the tailor shop his eyes trail the wall-to-ceiling rack of fabrics. More men enter the shop, westerns and even native Koreans begin to form a conglomerate. Although, no one here gets priority for Mr. Choe (pronounced Chay) speaks English, Korean, and French, not letting any one costumer slip though his fingers. The shop is filled with smoke, and you can faintly hear an American radio playing given to Mr. Choe for his works by an army veteran now living in Korea. The silhouettes of men in all shapes and sizes are becoming impatient for they specifically came to this shop for Mr. Choe’s craftsmanship. There’s plenty of competition in town, quickly Choe calls in his assistants and the day for a Korean tailor begins.

Mr. Choe as well as many other Korean tailors has a quick hand for fitting men is less than ten minutes. In this case, Mr. Choe is accompanied by two other Korean men, which take measurements alongside him. These assistants are all assigned to different parts of the fitting process, making the task at hand much quicker. Due to the large garment industry based in Korea, these men including Mr. Choe have all learned the technique of tailoring through training, which started in their teen years. When ordering a fully made-to-measure suit in Korea as well as any other tailoring shops, Mr. Choe’s assistants take account in great detail the idiosyncrasies of the particular posture in its customer. A man with a very noticeable Italian swagger, the same who had been traveling back and forth to Korea from Italy was one of Mr. Choe’s best costumers. This man, my grandfather, Giovanni Buccolo Boschetti, was a man with a particular style, and a keen eye for delicate linens.

Months in advance to my grandfather’s visits to Mr. Choe’s shop; letters sent via postal, which were translated by an American Army Veteran would advise him of new textiles arriving. On his travels back to Korea, my grandfather would pack nothing more but his staple custom tailored double-breasted wool suit, for he would purchase another three from Mr. Choe, who retails his work for about $80. What was peculiar about a Korean tailor shop that beats any other tailoring industry globally is their ability to produce a custom suit usually in wool or polyester in thirty minutes. This was great for a foreigner like my grandfather who would travel long distances for a well made, cheaper priced, one of a kind suit and button downs. Most men in their closet have been accustomed to own at least one suit, for various dress occasions. The Korean market has played a large role in keeping this etiquette alive. As said by Mark Twain himself, “The finest clothing made is a persons skin, but of course, society demands something more than this.”

heroes I would go out tonight But I haven't got a stitch to wear This man said “It's gruesome that someone so handsome should care” - The Smiths, This Charming Man

by Hannah Jeffery Styling Hugo Lavín

Previous Page Polo Shirt; Trench, Prada. Pants, Loewe. Current Page Trench, Burberry Prorsum. T-shirt. and Pants Dior Homme. Bracelets, Replay.

Pants and suspenders, Burberry Porsum. Shirt, Dior Homme. Bracelets, Replay. Hair / Hiroshi Matsushita para Bumble&Bumble. Fashion Assistant/ India Trussell Model / Mark (Nevs Models).

OP/ED

The tailoring, the vision, and the art of fashion for the modern man. Var贸n A/W 2010

FORMER Photographs by Randall Bachner Styling by Bernat Buscato

Previous Page White dress shirt, Thom Browne. Vintage tie, Helmut Lang. Trousers, David Delfin. Present Page Sweater, Tom Scott.

Jumpsuit, Custo. Opposite Page Necklace with dart pendant, Pamela Love for NYC Motorcycle Federation.

Previous Page Removable collar dress shirt and trousers, Antonio Azzuolo.

Previous Page Dress shirt; bow tie; suit jacket and ski suit, D&G. Present Page Tank top and trousers, Jil Sander.

Color block shirt and trousers, David Delfin. Opposite Page Belt, PHI. Necklace, NYC Motorcycle Federation.

Shirt, David Delfin. Opposite Page Cardigan, Thom Browne. Hair Dennis Lanni, Art Department NYC. Makeup Jun Funahashi, Art Department NYC. Models Paul and Joseph, Fusion Models. Colby; Ryan and Arthur, Major Models. Trent, Red Models.

classicism Photos Lonny Spence Styling Shirley Amartey

Opening Page Jacket, Gucci. Shirt, Acne. Hat, stylists own. Current Page Coat and shirt, Mihara Yasuhiro.

Jacket and trouser, Tim Soar. Jumper vintage, Beyond Retro. Socks, Falke. Shoes, Trickers.

Coat and trouser, Carolyn Massey. Scarf, Tomasz Donocik. Socks, Falke. Shoes, Trickers. Opposite Page Coat and jewellery J.W. Anderson.

Opposite Page Coat and trouser, Burberry. Shirt, Acne. Current Page Whole look, Paul Smith.

Opposite Page Jacket, Tim Soar. Jumper vintage Beyond Retro. Current Page Whole look, Dunhill. Braces, Tomasz Donocik.

Opposite Page Jacket and trousers, Acne. Ring, models own. Current Page Whole look, James Small. Braces, Tomasz Donocik.

SUIT UP Photographs / Nacho Pinedo Styling / Natalia FerviĂş

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Previous Page Shirt, Zegna. Blazer, Morante. Cross brooch, Natalia FerviĂş. Jewellery Current Page Cropped sweater and blazer, Carlos Doblas. Shirt, Iceberg. Vintage sunglasses and hat, from stylist.

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Suit, Loewe. Shirt, Wrangler. Bow tie, Tommy Hilfiger. Opposite Page Shirt, Morante. Double layer inset, Dior Homme. Jacket, El Templo de Susu. Hair Daniel Martin, Jhd. Digital Operator Javier Torrente.

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THE CALL of theWILD

Photographs / Randall Bachner Styling / Bernat Buscato

Cory Bond wears Victor Glemaud's Fall 2010 Knitwear Collection deep in the woods of Kerhonkson, New York.

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Opening Page: Sleeveless cashmere cardigan with V-neck sweater inset and Cashmere shorts, Victor Glemaud. Socks, Paul Stuart. Arctic boots, Weiss & Mahoney. Opposite Page: Cashmere cardigan; cashmere sweat pants; and cashmere gloves, Victor Glemaud. Current Prage: Belted jacket, Victor Glemaud for Barbour. White shirt; cashmere shorts; cashmere fingerless gloves; and cashmere beanie, Victor Glemaud. Socks, Paul Stuart. Arctic boots, Weiss & Mahoney.

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Current Page: Cashmere jumpsuit, Victor Glemaud. Backpack, Osprey. Opposite Page: Cashmere cardigan; cashmere sweat pants; cashmere scarf, and cashmere beanie, Victor Glemaud. Arctic boots, Weiss & Mahoney. Glasses, Paul Smith. Socks, Paul Stuart.

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Opposite Page: Fingerless cashmere gloves, Victor Glemaud. Current Page: Cashmere shorts; cashmere sweat pants; and fingerless cashmere gloves, Victor Glemaud. Lamb shearling cape, Libra Leather.

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Cashmere cardigan; cashmere shorts; fingerless cashmere gloves and cashmere scarf, Victor Glemaud. Arctic boots, Weiss & Mahoney. Socks, Paul Stewart.

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Opposite Page: Long sleeve cashmere shirt and cashmere sweater, Victor Glemaud. Arctic boots, Weiss & Mahoney. Socks, Paul Stewart. Hair and Makeup Marco Santini, Community NYC.

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THE LAST LOOK...

A Pair of Trousers Photo Hannah Jeffery Styling Hugo LavĂn

a good pair of trousers is essential to any gentleman's wardrobe. These trousers by Lanvin is a great update to a classic. The wide diagonal Pinstripe, elastic waistband, subtle pintuck detail, and of course the skinnier silhouette are all welcome updates.

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The Trouser by Lanvin

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Osaka

Titanium eye loop A.D., made in Japan. Photo / Yuki Matori

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