I love his work. Really. But the guy who brought us deep into soulless, ’80s, Wayfarer-and-blue-jean LA wears this to a photo shoot for the Guardian?! Lord.
Sigh. Where is Jason Schwartzman when you need him (never thought I’d hear myself saying that but seriously).
So much is wrong!
Okay, it’s not all bad news for the modern mega-selling dude author of literary merit.
Ha ha. Just kidding. Seriously, folks:
David Mitchell: classic. Being handsome helps, but the man is also just put together. However, the winner is clear:
Yeah, Colson Whitehead!!! You look awesome!!!
Back in the day, writers didn’t dress like a sloppy stereotype of themselves. These luminaries look like they didn’t just watch the world through greasy glasses, they got up, got dressed, and fucking went out and LIVED:
Hard-living, perhaps. But living.
But he looked great. Not too fussy, but always 100%. He looked like…well, himself. A man who’d cultivated an aesthetic.
That’s a writer on a Sunday afternoon. Yes, he’s got a pipe. Of course he does. What are you doing with your life?
Speaking of living, there’s JAMES BALDWIN looking like he knows more than I do, handsomely, in Paris.
There’s my favorite author, Truman Capote, looking nerd-fey with a Southern twist. Alright, good sir!
Please let me die in an outfit like this.
There you have it. No more excuses, men of letters! Pull it together. Out of the airport-sweatpants, and into the seersucker suit. Because art is life, man.