This space, which is permanent, is part of what is perhaps the third iteration of Crosby Streetâs menâs wear era. (R.I.P. Carson Street Clothiers.) Fashion-minded men, the same ones who were agonizing over soft shoulders and double monks, are at their least tailored in a decade. The arrival of Drakeâs is either too late, or ahead of the revival curve.
One of the other side effects of these many cycles of the New York menâs wear scene is that there are fewer secrets than ever. Where once there were only rookies, there are now veterans. Maybe thatâs why, for only the third time since I began writing this column seven and a half years ago, I was made during this shopping expedition â the six degrees of the cityâs menâs wear community functioning more like one or two.
I was spotted by Kevin, whose brother used to work at CâHâCâMâ, a store I happily frequent. Anonymity blown, I introduced myself to his salesclerk partner, Chase. When I was in the fitting room, up from the basement came Alex, whom Iâd met at the CâHâCâMâ pop-up over the winter. During that trip, Iâd lingered over one of the Drakeâs elephant-print handkerchiefs, and bemoaned that there wasnât a scarf available in the same pattern.
With covert action not an option, I instead opted for an open conversation about whether a store more interested in tailoring than athleisure could thrive in this marketplace. This, while flitting in and out of the fitting room trying on pants, wavering between two colors, navy and rust, in cotton trousers that felt casual enough to wear with sneakers but rigid enough for a wedding ($325). (A week later, I returned to buy the navy.)