This is disconcerting: Chronicle columnist Caille Millner has sensed something new about San Francisco over the last year. Something fresh. Something actualized. The lovely ladies who call Baghdad by the Bay home are now starting to dress with a semblance of style. "Some women have always dressed well in the Union Square area, but now they've ventured further afield, into SoMa, Potrero Hill and Glen Park," she notes. But. BUT. Millner is as thrilled as Vanessa Getty in a pair of DSW Crocs when it comes to the penis carriers of San Francisco and how they dress.
People in this city - in many cities - contend that such things don't matter. They offer the argument that has strangled American style for decades, that has led to the horrifying sight of flip-flops at school graduations and shorts at church weddings - that what matters is being "comfortable," that they "don't need to wear fancy clothes" for work or play or to be productive citizens.
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Men in San Francisco still buy this argument. They still wear the same tragic sports gear and hipster flannel, still dress as if the only activities they ever do are weekend warrioring or ordering in pizza for their startups. Many of them are recent arrivals - from places like San Jose - so I believe that there's still time for them to change their ways.
And change their ways they must, for the same reason they moved here: because San Francisco is supposed to be an actual city, with the things that actual cities have: taxicabs, good restaurants, public transportation, nightlife, interesting people, and the air of possibility and promise that comes with all those things.
We agree with part of this argument, disagree with the rest. First, this city bubbles over with gays. Bushels of homosexuals. So much so, in fact, that we're known as a queer mecca. The mayor of Castro Street, et al. With such a special known-for quality comes men who both stereotypically and literally appreciate clothing and style. And it shows. We think they deserve a special shout-out, yes? Especially when generalizing about the dudes of SF. (But not for all you SoMa beer bust-attending, str8-acting appearing gays; you clearly have a lot of work to do.)
And try telling Jerry he lacks a haberdashery's finesse. You can't. Offensive to suggest otherwise.
Also, though worrisomely en vogue right now, especially within the thought bubbles of local media, the men of San Francisco do not consist entirely of asshole burrito eaters at Dolores Park sporting hoodies and ink sleeves. They don't. Really. They're a vertical market if we've ever seen one. But, yes, by and large, some men who live in the city could dress nicer. Why not. The Brian Wilson knockoffs are getting to be a bit much. And the wearing of flip flops and a dirty t-shirt -- especially to work! -- is the public version of leaving skidmarks in your underwear for your wife to find. Stop doing that, guys. It's bratty behavior. But San Francisco is no Milan, so we won't hold our breath. That being said, we think the men of San Francisco look downright swell. (Have you seen how guys dress in San Diego? Shudder.)
While we're drinking a sherry glass full fashion advice, folks, let's agree that shorts are never appropriate attire for opening night at the theater.
