Published on November 6, 2013 | by Cyp Roy


I’m sick of #menswear

ALN features writer, Cyprien Roy [Emanuele Giovagnoli]

I’ve had this churning feeling in my stomach since stepping back into school in early October. It hasn’t mellowed out due to the fact that a fellow journalism comrade – and sometimes friend – that I cover events with is a victim himself.

Also, I work in a menswear shop on Beak Street in Soho where colleagues never, ever, stop talking about #menswear.

My sometimes friend is a textbook casualty of #menswear, and seeing as we steer ourselves in the ‘art school’ category, so are a ridiculous amount of guys who attend the fine institution that is UAL. And girls. But that’s sexy, so whatever. Back to the dudes.

My casualty friend slicks his hair so much I call him Slick Rick. He’s Indian though, so he doesn’t like that. But on a serious note, I can actually see vague reflections of our surroundings in his hair.

Let’s not get started on his beard. He brushes it daily, and I’m convinced he has a guy in some Scandinavian country shipping him some rare pine extract shampoo regularly. Yes, his beard is on point.

His clothes are cool, but that’s highly subjective. I don’t think they’re cool, I just nod in agreement and pretend to be interested.

I couldn’t care less about his clothes, but lately I’ve come to realise he’s just one of hundreds, if not thousands, who think they look individual. Thousands of seemingly individual cats wearing black and white gathered in one building, it’s like a priest convention.

To understand #menswear and the depths it reaches, websites like should sum it up for the unacquainted. Articles with an ironic twist only those in the know could understand, ranging from the curved lapel trend to features dubbed “Does Falling In Love Make You Basic?”.

Nick Wooster is a god to those #menswear freaks, and only because I work in Soho do I know who Nick Wooster is. Soho is filled with Nick Wooster types.

I genuinely do like clothes, but this #menswear trend is taking things to the next level. I don’t spend hours on, I don’t have a style folder somewhere on my desktop, and I sure as hell don’t wait in line for pseudo-rare collabs.

Kanye is not my God. Looking like a goth ninja was never part of the plan, and never will be. All black everything is not the new black.

While this most definitely looks like some sort of hate piece on this university’s gents, it is not. I fully respect the diversity and differing styles one encounters while walking our Saatchi Gallery-esque halls. I enjoy the yearly Japanese influx. I like the French girls and their seemingly effortless outfits.

Nonchalance is the name of the game, and getting ready took you five minutes right? Right.


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