Japanese photographer Teruyoshi Hayashida (林田照慶), who created legendary photo book “Take Ivy” as well as follow-ups “The Ivy” and “Take 8 Ivy,” died on August 8 after a battle with cancer. He was just 15 days shy of his 83rd birthday.
Hayashida was born in Tokyo in 1930, studying political economics at Meiji University. After graduation, he taught himself how to use a camera, and soon became a freelance photographer, most famously for Japan’s first men’s fashion magazines Danshi Senka and Men’s Club. Through the latter, Hayashida became close friends with Kensuke Ishizu of VAN Jacket and shot nearly all of the VAN fashion spreads in Men’s Club during the early 1960s.
When VAN employees Shōsuke Ishizu, Toshiyuki Kurosu, and Paul Hasegawa planned to shoot a short film of the Ivy League campuses in the Spring of 1965, Men’s Club begged them to also bring along a photographer to take promotional stills. Hayashida was the obvious choice, and the assignment gave him his first chance to visit the US. Hayashida was allowed to take any photos he wanted as long as he did not get in the way of the film crew. After returning back to Japan and developing the hundreds of photos, Men’s Club editor Toyoho Nishida knew they had great work on their hands and convinced VAN to let publisher Fujingaho release a separate book of Hayashida’s work to accompany the film. Both works debuted under the title Take Ivy in August 1965. While the film essentially disappeared from public view, Hayashida’s book lived on, becoming a style bible for each new generation of Ivy fans in Japan, and later, in the United States as well.
Hayashida’s legend in Japan became inextricably tied to the Ivy League campuses, and he returned multiple times throughout the 1970s and 1980s with different publications to photograph those particular eight East Coast locations. As he got older, his interest in the Ivy League broadened from the student fashion to a veneration of the traditional architecture. His 1983 work The Ivy focuses on the universities’ ivy-covered brick and stone buildings with nearly no people in sight.
With the powerHouse’s English release of “Take Ivy” in 2010, T. Hayashida’s work inspired an even larger audience than before, most of whom were not even born when the book came out. Back in 1965, during the very early days of overseas travel for Japanese nationals, Hayashida and the young VAN employees were very lucky to have a chance to visit the United States, the land of their beloved Ivy style. For this Ivy cult centered around VAN and Men’s Club, the Take Ivy trip was pilgrimage to Mecca, and Hayashida’s deep reverence for the students transforms what could have just been cursory snaps of the lazy days at the end of the school year into enduring cultural artifacts. Through his viewfinder, Hayashida saw something magical in what an American at the time would have most likely dismissed as commonplace. And thanks to his work, a visual documentation of the era’s style — the last throes of Ivy style before the countercultural wave of the late Sixties — will live on forever.
To learn more about Hayashida, I recommend a the rare, now extremely valuable, interview that the Trad did with him back in 2010: Part One, Part Two, and Part Three. — W. DAVID MARX
Last month we paid a style tribute to George HW Bush. But since then the preppiest prez has made news a couple more times, so we’ll give him an encore with a focus on one of his trademark style quirks.
No, we don’t mean his socks.
True, it was his hosiery that got mentioned in the media this week when President Obama toasted Bush for his charity work. Bush, who’s lately been known for his wacky socks, came bearing a sock gift for Obama. (President Clinton, you’ll recall, had a cat named Socks that roamed the White House, but no penchant for colorful hosiery.)
And previously, on the Fourth of July, GQ paid homage to Bush with a slideshow that included a couple of photos we hadn’t seen before. These photos included Bush’s preppy penchant before he turned to socks, namely striped watchbands. (Continue)
A new book on the relationship between clothing and power examines centuries-old European monarchs, maharajahs and tribal leaders, totalitarian dictators, and the Ivy League Look.
“Power & Style: A World History of Politics and Dress,” by Dominique and Francois Gaulme, presents JFK as the centerpiece of its chapter on post-World War II American style and global influence.
The authors write:
Kennedy’s personal style emerged from the Ivy League college tradition. In formal dress, Kennedy always wore a single-breasted, two-piece suit that gave him a young, athletic air. Like many East Coast Americans, JFK abhorred the double-breasted jackets associated with Roosevelt and Truman. His image was one of casualness and energy, unlike the fitted, deliberately elitist, English style of tailoring, Kennedy’s light, comfortable Brooks Brothers look was particularly striking when he met the likes of British Prime Minister McMillan and French President Charles de Gaulle, both stuck in garments of another age.
The chapter includes the photo at left, with the authors noting “… magazines showed JFK on the beach in a bathing suit and T-shirt smoking a cigar, in a sweater at the helm of his boat…”
While the authors note that off duty JFK “dressed like all American men in chinos and T-shirt,” I don’t think it’s quite that simple, for he was not just another American man. JFK embodies the contradictions of American democracy, in that everyone may cast a vote, but only an elite few are in the position to be voted for. Kennedy’s clothing items may have been common enough, but not their context. Not only did he choose a grey t-shirt, with its association of athletics, over white undershirt, which looks more like underwear, he allowed himself to be photographed in such garb in the context of sailing his boat off the coast of his family compound. One could say that it’s precisely because Kennedy wielded so much power, and was funnelled through the proper channels of Choate and Harvard, that he could afford to dress so casually.
There’s also something genuine about it. It’s hard to imagine a politician today allowing himself to be photographed on his sailboat, for fear of the elitist connotations. Likewise for a the t-shirt and chinos, which would come across as commonplace slovenliness compared to the mundane business casual garb worn by politicos courting the everyman vote. — c C m
Back in Ivy Style’s freshman year we did a post on Hugh Hefner’s Ivy phase called “Pipes And Cardigans Get The Chicks.”
Well Hef may have gotten Marilyn Monroe as the first Playboy Playmate, but Arthur Miller got her for a wife.
About a week ago Esquire’s website paid a little style tribute to Miller with a simultaneous lionizing of the sack jacket:
In this photo, taken in 1956 at the couple’s estate in Englefield Green, England, Miller is a paragon of East Coast style. A born-and-raised New Yorker, the playwright’s trad roots clearly run deep, from his dark-rimmed specs to his dotted silk tie to his oxford cloth button-down (with a pretty perfect collar roll, we might add.) But it’s that little buttonhole — right above his thumb; see it? — that holds the key to Miller’s superior style.
Basically a reworked three-button setup where the top button and buttonhole serve only as ornament so it fastens like a two-button, the three-roll-two is one of the most quintessentially American button stances. Closely associated with the “Ivy League” look that reigned during Miller’s mid-century career, it’s an enduring (and increasingly international) style to this day. Put simply: It’s a classic.
Esquire goes on to muse whether the sack jacket helped catch Marilyn’s eye. There was no mention of the pipe, alas. — c C m
The Finnish menswear site Keikari recently profiled David Mercer of Mercer & Sons, maker of traditional buttondown oxfords. David talks about life, the shirt business, and clothing that’s built to last:
I believe strongly that clothes you buy should last forever. I wear old Peal & Co. shoes I bought in the ’60s and ’70s, a Norman Hilton sport coat from the ’70s, the blue blazer from my wedding day almost 30 years ago, khakis, a belt from the ’60s, and a grey wool and nailhead suit from Brooks in the early ’80s. Good, well made classic clothing should last forever. Always easy to dandy up things up a bit with a new shirt, a colorful tie and some interesting socks.
Head over here for the full story. — c C m