Editor’s Note: These are in stock. record needle scratch No, for real, in stock. No waiting until Thanksgiving, no only-size-we-have-fits-your-kid. In stock. Now. For real.
These are khakis that you can build your entire wardrobe around.
My first professional writing gig was for an investor relations company, which, in a branding blown tire of the imagination, named themselves The Investor Relations Company. The bad news was that this was a pool of very, very serious writers with an even more grave editor. It was competitive, modeled after the writers’ room on Saturday Night Live. That’s not a metaphor. The editor literally fashioned his system after the writers’ room on Saturday Night Live, complete with having to pull at least one all nighter a week, pitching and stealing each other’s ideas, etc. The editor’s name was Lindsley. What Lindsley did not factor in was that the writers on SNL had laughter as an exit ramp from the strain. Lindsley allowed no laughing by means of his own countenance, thus no exit ramp.
There were two bits of good news, though. The first was that Lindsley was a cigar smoker and we could smoke in the office. All day. Like all cigar smokers, Lindsley was easily “influenced” if you gave him a cigar, and he was Ebeneezerly (not a word give me a break I am the creative around here) tight-fisted so a cheap cigar worked just as well. The second bit of good news was that Lindsley, a most unlikely mentor, gave me the best bit of writing advice I ever got. I handed him a press release I wrote, he read it while I stood there, then he handed it back and said, “That is the worst thing I have ever read in this office.” You don’t start losing testosterone til your 40’s so I answered, “How can that possibly be?” And he said, “I don’t even know what this is about.” Then…
“What are you trying to say?” Lindsley glared.
“<whatever the subject of the press release was, give me a break, this was like ‘86>,” I answered.
“Then… say THAT.”
So here is what I have to say about the pants I am wearing today, the Essex from the Andover Shop.
These khakis are so good I refuse to roll them up.
Here’s a link. Take a look. I made it open a new window so you can swap your gaze between the uber-khaki and this page. Go ahead and open it. I’ll wait.
Let’s get the specs out of the way, so you know what to expect.
1. Plain front (of course) with on seam front pockets. I have seen other pants take a shot at this on seam deal and two bad things can happen. Either (1) the pocket is SO on seam that it is hidden, and you look like you are wearing a cheap Italian sports car or (2) it misses the seam and looks like it belongs in the Flawed bin. Or just a bin. These pockets are on seam which adds to the energy that you did not just pick out the first pair of khakis that you saw this morning, but the way they are constructed both you and the-person-admiring-your-khakis will know you have pockets.
2. Two back pockets with horn button through closure. Here’s a photo of that:
This is the pocket feel I was talking about, and these are the horn buttons. It is hard for Ivy to communicate success, it is a humble style, and most elements on an Ivy piece that try to do so look immediately out of place. These buttons are one of the few elements that I have ever seen do both – plant one foot in the Ivy sobriety side and the other foot in the These-pants-ain’t-Old-Navy side.
3. Bull nose fly. What’s a bull nose fly? It’s got a rounded edge, and feels better, and lies better.
4. Unfinished bottoms so you can tailor them.
5. 10 oz combed cotton which is heavy but not daunting. These pants hold a crease for real if you want one, but re not a suit of armor either. Mine are creased. I am wearing creased khakis. That is how good these are.
6. They are made in the USA. Massachusetts to be exact.
7. They are handmade in the USA. Massachusetts to be exact.
8. They are handmade for real handmade not hands pushing them into a machine handmade, in the USA, Massachusetts to be exact.
A quick review of why handmade is something important. It moves and hangs better. The way that food made by a chef with their hands tastes better, except this you can see and feel.
I am not saying the Essex Pant tastes good.
But I have to show you these up close. Here are the pants in my office. I am about to meet with C Level management at Amazon who wants to buy Ivy-Style. Ok, I am not about to meet anybody. But if I were, look at these pants. They are the perfect walk in between a suit and just pants. Actually…
A word on that last point. The Essex is the only khaki I have seen that has the pedigree to pull off both applications equally well. You crease these, like mine, and they hold up to any tie and jacket combo you can throw at them. You let them run around in the dryer a bit, and they are the khakis that tell people you are casual but not lazy.
Here is the on-seam pocket. See what I mean? The design is right down the middle, elegant enough to wear with a jacket, khaki enough to wear with everything else. Click on the photo to see The Essex over at Andover.
The interior. Pretty on the inside. Click on the photo to see The Essex over at Andover.
The whole shebang. Click on the photo to see The Essex over at Andover.
About the price. First, yes, these are not cheap. Which is the point, they are not cheap. These pants were not made with chemicals that you can find elsewhere in khaki production that both harm the earth and aid in the erosion of the pant over time. How old are you? 32? Our site analytics say the odds are that you are 32. Buy these pants. You will have them, in good form, when you are 72. What’s 40 into 235? It’s about $5.90 a year. These are the khakis you pay a premium for, to support your country’s economy, to get the premium… everything, because its ANDOVER, and because these pants will outlive you, oh average aged Ivy-Style reader.
Next week I will show you these in a few other applications, but for now, your collection deserves a centerpiece.