Lurisia Archipelago

San Quentin (Johnny Cash)

l'aventure

What I'm Reading (And Drinking) Now

The holiday weekend started early for me on Friday afternoon. I've been more or less drunk since then. How I've managed to get out and about, from A to B and back again, I've no idea. Yesterday I spent the day poolside, reading newspapers (FT) and a book or two (one of which can be seen at left), checking out the local bikinis, and surreptitiously enjoying some home-made cocktails. The problem with starting on the drinks in the morning is that by the time lunch-time rolls around one can feel, as the French say, très pooped. So yesterday I fell asleep in the sun for over an hour and am now sporting a deep red-tinged tan and sun-bleached hair. It feels as if I've a million things going on at the moment, some of which I will tell you about. (Don't worry, it's all good). But for now, I'm hard at work trying to relax and monitoring my cocktail intake.

Savate !

Northern Sons Under Southern Skies

Identitarian Dream

'The parties, the lodges, the unions, the schools, the churches--in short, all who fatten themselves on the fodder of the System resent the identitarian argument from the outset as an intolerable threat. This hypersensitive reaction will not surprise the lucid minds that have known for a long time that the bio-cultural reality is, in fact, the only one that may instantly threaten all the confused minds of the universalist dogma: the messianic Judeo-Christian head; the ideologically liberal head; and the individualistic, technocratic and plutocratic economic head. And it will not surprise attentive minds, either, that the identitarian dream has always entailed the collapse of all the empires that were not organic, the last to date being the Soviet empire. And, finally, it will not surprise those who know perfectly well that the next one is Uncle Sam's.'

Pierre Krebs, Fighting For The Essence (2012)

Late Bar (Duran Duran)

Locals Only !

Condottieri

Über-Euro Males (WSJ)

'For starters, the Über-Euro male (UE) would never be seen carrying a man bag. He's a car keys, wallet and Marlboro Light carrier. Here's the subtext: "I drive an Audi/Aston/BMW/vintage Merc; my wallet (ancient Gucci, or more recent Bottega Veneta or Valextra) is full of platinum credit cards that, given my credit rating, I could never max out; and yes, I smoke, particularly in places I'm not meant to, during dinner, after a squash match and long before I remove my jacket or anything else on intimate or formal occasions."

The UE favors hair that is a little too long at the back. He likes the way the slight unruliness hints at youth and active endeavors (and he figures you will want to run your hands through it). His hair never looks freshly washed, neither does it look dirty. He uses a gentleman's pomade—likely the Blue Pomade hair wax from Geo. F. Trumper (£18)—to get that tousled look, and he has a barber in every city, who gets scissor-happy at his peril. His aftershaves are Creed (from £143 for 75mL), Aqua di Parma (from £47 for 50mL) and, more recently, Tom Ford, who is adept at creating great-smelling "old man/old school" fragrances (from £45 for 50mL).

Doriani in Milan is the store of choice for the Euro male. This old-school Italian tailor supplies him with his cashmere sweaters in vaguely feminine shades and his outré sport coats and ties. Blazers are the universal uniform of the UE (and his South American counterparts). But these are not finely fitted Gieves & Hawkes or even Dunhill models, complete with shiny gold buttons; they are deconstructed numbers from places like Brunello Cucinelli (linen, wool and silk, from £1,495), Boglioli (from £495) and Canali (water-resistant "Travel" blazer, £695). This type of blazer suggests confidence and a great physique, for only a man in good shape can wear deconstructed jackets without looking like a rumpled university professor.

My fashion friend describes the other part of the universal uniform of the UE thus: "This sort of superior Euro never wears socks in his suede driving shoes [Tod's, £235, or Car Shoe, £240]. He never gets a blister and his feet never smell. It's miraculous, really, but not quite as miraculous as the fact that Über-Euros never seem to put on weight and they are often kitted out in suits left to them by their father." Apparently, the UE is not an underwear man. "Commando," my friend says, decisively. "I think there's a special talcum powder that they wear to smooth the creases, from Santa Maria Novella."

A slightly baggy bottom in one's trousers and jeans is another sure Über-Euro indicator. UEs don't show off their physiques (they like to think women are attracted to their magnetic personalities and, anyway, they leave the "cute butt" stuff to the regular Euros). As a result, their jeans tend to be rather old-fashioned in cut (high) and make (Armani, or Acne if they are really pushing the envelope). If it's not jeans, then it's chinos, and here's where they will fly the American flag, with Ralph Lauren Black Label (£235).

UEs wear white to offset their omnipresent tans—but shirts only, and these are strictly from Charvet (cotton Oxford, £285), which they team, top button open, with everything from jeans to suiting. Incidentally, the UE does not sunbathe, he multitasks with an activity and a BlackBerry in hand—skiing, sailing and big-game hunting are all UE pursuits—and he eschews the gym for a game of squash (at Mayfair's Bath & Racquets club) or a run along the Seine, the Thames or the Hudson in his age-old Nikes, his Sunspel shirt and his baggy Fila tennis shorts.

While contemplating the suiting of the UE at Savile Row tailor Spencer Hart, which certainly has its fair share of UEs (one of whom, when he last visited, bought 15 suits in one go), I bump into man-about-town and stylist Tom Stubbs. "Stubbs," as he is affectionately known, has the air of a Dickensian dandy and a razor-sharp insight into the buying habits of his clientele. He knows what I'm talking about immediately.

"There are two types of Euro—the trendy and the classic. You're talking about the classic—the man with very expensive tastes and lifestyle, and enormously successful to boot," he says. Well, yes, but what do they do about their tailoring? "Spencer Hart, Cucinelli (the 1½-breasted suits), Rubinacci, Zegna or an old family tailor in Milan. Jackets from Piombo and Kitsuné, ties from Alexander Olch or Charvet (knitted silk)." Stubbs has definite views on the accessories of the UE, too. "Persol sunglasses, vintage Rolex 'Daytonas' on their wrist. If they wear a belt, it's the Hermès 'H,' and they always have lots of friendship bracelets to show they are spiritual, carefree types." I'm congratulating Stubbs on his insights when he stops me mid-conversation. "And, of course," he says, "they have a new poster boy." I'm guessing Lapo Elkann or Lamborghini CEO Stephan Winkelmann. Stubbs has other ideas. "Roberto Mancini," he says of the cashmere-scarf-wearing Manchester City manager. "It's gotta be him."'

"The Universal Uniform of Über-Euro Males: How to Perfect the Tanned, Sockless, White Shirt, Cashmere Sweater Look of This Billionaire Subclass," Wall Street Journal, 18 May 2012

Copyright 2012 Dow Jones & Company, Inc

The Art of Parties

Rammstein: Made In Germany

Brooks Brothers Number One

In the exclusive photo (at left) I am shown wearing a Brooks Brothers sharkskin 3/2-roll sack suit, a blue fine-striped W.H. Taylor spread-collar shirt, and a Robert Talbott repp tie from Richards in Greenwich, CT. I bought the tie in the mid-90s for my first job on Wall Street; it's a bit slim for my tastes, truth be told. The suit is a variation of the famous Number One sack suit first introduced in 1900, and, according to Brooks Brothers,  "is the earliest and most enduring of Brooks’ innovations."

National Resistance

"To be and appeal"

Synth Britannia

Restless And Enterprising



Note: immaculately tailored
safari jacket and well-tended
facial hair

"The social drive of the Romans was like that of safari ants. Their armies hurried across the land, in disciplined rank, carrying all before them, first in one direction and then in another. Centuries later a strain among the English, Scots and Irish produced behaviour more like ants in their alate or flying form. Restless and enterprising individuals responded to an impulse and took off overseas, where they set up trading posts, and then colonies, where they were largely dependent on their own initiative and ingenuity. This was my own background and when my father retired from India he made not for Ireland but for South Africa, where I was to join him."

George Adamson, My Pride And Joy (1987)

Speed Of Life

"Life flows too slowly in me. So I speed it up. I put it right."

Le Feu Follet (1963)

Nationalist Tribute

I recently donned a black Lacoste polo shirt (at left) in tribute to my Greek Nationalist comrades who achieved significant electoral success over the weekend. Well done! Good show. As I keep telling you, although it is prudent for now to play the game, ultimately the current crisis will be solved by extra-political means. You know it, I know it. I think it is noteworthy therefore that the Greek Nationalists have in their ranks former serving members of paramilitary units that fought on the side of our Serbian brothers in the 1990s. We'll get our civilisation back. It's only a matter of time. And, inevitably, bloodshed.

Hang Ten: A California Classic

Abenteuer Im Roten Meer

Sky Inside

Pictured (at left) is the exquisite silk lining of one of my made-to-measure suits from H. Freeman, a two-button, dartless 'sack' model in charcoal pinstripe. The sky-blue lining, I've been told, is the result of the hard labours of about 12 million silk worms raised on a diet of hand-furled tea leaves soaked in champagne. I'm not sure I believe it, but there you are. To my uniforms I like to add certain unexpected touches, such as a jacket lining in a unique shade, details that are dissident enough without being too discordant.

I Don't Mind (Buzzcocks)

Spearfishing Southern California

The Landing, Harbour Island

Future Elegy

(I)

In Marville the Banker's bar in Aurelius Heights stays open late. The lusty psychonauts gather in loafers by Ferragamo. In the dark of lengthening shadows we drink cocktails, letting slide critical observations of the tourists in clipped accents.

(II)

Is that whimpering I hear? How utterly pathetic. Stop complaining about how bad things are. Don't bemoan your fate, as if your life itself is a punishment imposed. There is nothing you can do about it. The world heads inexorably towards crisis. Face the sun. Embrace it. I want strife, pain, and conflict. I thirst for war. I long for it. I’m grateful to live in such turbulent times. The impending storms--as I keep stressing to you--are likely to produce a race of heroes. One way or another, we will all be tested. We're going to win this thing.

I have a longstanding sense of restlessness, of impending action. I live as a wanderer at the edge of darkness, an advance scout in pursuit of the immolations. I've slipped free of the modern conventional moralities, which is why my words at times may seem so alien to you. We kneel at different altars; we worship different gods.

(III)

The Southern California Spring is coming to an end, and we can expect warmer days ahead. This means spending days in the sun, reading novels and composing manifestos. I still have much to explain to you, including:

*a stint working for the Tories, including during Thatcher's last days in office
*adventures in Nationalism in Britain, Europe, South Africa, and North America
*sexual escapades in California, and my part in promoting the 'cougar' phenomenon
*unofficial 'intelligence-gathering' in Manhattan on behalf of a certain Middle Eastern country in the early 1990s
*paramilitary training in South Africa
*the amusing circumstances that led to my first jail term
*an ongoing struggle with addiction to gin and codeine

(IV)

Speaking of which, is it ever possible to drink too many G&Ts? The thought did occur to me last Saturday morning when I woke up on the tiled floor of my young girlfriend's beachside multi-story house with a ripped Façonnable shirt and one loafer missing.

Warhol Style

Suedeheads

Summer Suitings

The Number One Song In Heaven (Sparks)