Styleforum has a lot of “favorite” brands. Last week, we covered a small selection of standouts, and this week we’re taking a look at a few more of the most popular houses and designers on the forum. They wax and wane in popularity over the course of months or years, and because of the diversity of our members these brands range from the rigidly conservative to the breathtakingly avant garde. Although this isn’t a complete list, it does capture a snapshot of some up-and-comers alongside a number of old standbys. Let’s take a look at a second set of Styleforum’s favorite brands, and what they say about us – the people who love to wear them.
Blue Blue Japan
The Dream: You live a simple but fulfilled life of meditative tranquility. You’re content with everything you own, and enjoy the simple pleasures of morning coffee and quiet walks in the woods. You don’t pay attention to what you wear, because to do so would be an unnecessary source of anxiety, and it all looks great anyway.
The Reality: You’ve completely lost all self-control, and you can’t keep yourself from buying yet another indigo-dyed bathrobe even though your closet is already full of identical items of blue clothing. Your friends are not pleased that you leave blue stains all over their walls, furniture, and pets.
The Dream: You’re a modern style icon; a living throwback to the halcyon days of movie-stardom and low-key Hollywood glamour. Your tastes are unique, your interests eclectic, and every time you post on Instagram a fashion subculture is born.
The Reality: You’ll never be Yasuto Kamoshita.
The Dream: Everything you own is of the highest quality, including the meticulously-reconstructed Jaguar you drive as though it’s brand new. Everyone knows your name and smiles at you, and you often hold court at hotel bars. Your routine is such that your job gives you as much pleasure as your days off, which you spend shooting skeet, exploring dingy side-street markets, or restoring antique furniture.
The Reality: You collect interesting pocket squares because they are the only source of color, whimsy, and fantasy in the crushing grind that is your grim, quotidian existence.
Dries van Noten
The Dream: You live on a fantastical, rambling estate that would make Tim Burton jealous, where you throw whimsical garden masquerades for your group of very close international friends, none of whom care about fashion but all of whom have innately good taste. Your house is decorated with art you personally purchased on every continent.
The Reality: Dries van Noten doesn’t fit you. It never fits you. Why doesn’t it fit you? If it fit you, you’d wear Dries van Noten exclusively. You think about wearing Dries van Noten so much that it’s as if you only wear Dries van Noten. Except you don’t, because Dries van Noten doesn’t fit you.
The Dream: All of the exquisite leather goods found in your manor home are of matching shades; this was unintentional but the results are pleasant. Once yearly, you bring your collection of shoes and a bottle of fine scotch to an aged man in a dark, wooded basement room. He wears an apron and grunts approvingly, then cleans your shoes for you while you sip whiskey and talk about the old days when everything was made to impeccable standards. Not once has he remarked on the several newspaper articles that are written about you every year, which you appreciate.
The Reality: No one, not even once, has ever given your shoes so much as a second glance.
The Dream: You travel between your various vacation homes and yacht in a limousine full of half-naked men and women. You rarely wear a tie. Wherever you go, there is a glass of champagne waiting for you.
The Reality: Everyone you know is desperately sick of seeing your chest hair, but are still hoping it’s just a phase. Your doctor says you should drink less.
The Dream: Your wardrobe is a fashion collector’s wet dream, and you own every archival piece worth owning. No one ever comments on your wardrobe, which you prefer – it lets you feel silently superior to everyone around you. Sometimes you’re stopped on the street by fashion photographers who are in the know, but you refuse to have your picture taken.
The Reality: You bought your first pair of sneakers after hearing “Margiela” in a rap lyric; now you talk about how Margiela was only good “When Margiela was there,” even though you have no idea when that was or how to pronounce Margiela.
The Dream: You spend your time jetting back and forth between New York and Tokyo, writing articles for men’s interest magazines in multiple languages the world over. Every coffee shop you go to knows your “usual,” even the ones you’ve never been to before. You still read newspapers that are made out of paper.
The Reality: You know, in your heart of hearts, that you are a size 40 – but the tailor at the dry-cleaner in the strip mall is getting really sick of sewing buttons back on your jackets.
The Dream: You live very simply in a very expensive flat in a cosmopolitan city, where you listen to experimental noise rock and melodic growling on speakers made of sculpted concrete. You wear one of a simple assortment of silk t-shirts every day, all of which are just sheer enough that unsuspecting bystanders are treated to a tasty view of your rock-hard abs. You collect rare architecture magazines and ultra-modern sex toys.
The Reality: “Working out is modern couture,” you say over and over under your breath as you ride your bicycle through your suburban neighborhood, hoping the over-long DRKSHDW tag in your shorts doesn’t get caught in the chain. Your dunks don’t fit on the pedals.
Saint Laurent Paris
The Dream: Your industrial-chic studio apartment is full of collectable vinyl and artsy black-and-white photography, all of which has been signed by the artist. No one knows what you do for a living, and you’d be hard-pressed to explain it. Your famous musician friends regularly ask for your opinion on their beats, and every weekend you go to house parties played by bigger names than most festivals.
The Reality: You desperately wish Hedi had designed looser jeans, because you’re starting to lose feeling in your feet.