And that it was the place where survivors of the Titanic stayed when they reached the city. Quite a history for not quite as known a place.
Like the location’s eras-past pedigree, Abboud’s clothes harkened a return to formality. “It’s time to reconstruct menswear,” said the designer. “I hate the athleisure thing.” But it’s not like the athleisure thing is or ever really was Abboud’s territory; the man has always been about a suit. Now, though, that decorum has been ramped up. Look after look, in 50,000 shades of gray before other hues surfaced, strutted through the Wolcott’s hidden ballroom. The cast—and it was a strong cast—was decked to the nines in textures from quilting to tweed to carpet-like fabrics, layered with waistcoats and topcoats and sport coats and neckties and bow ties. Generally: the works. To Abboud’s point about reconstruction, some jackets had paneling sewn on the back, a design flourish that emphasized a sort of reparative impetus.
The best look was a twist on the tuxedo: Double-breasted in elegant black satin, the jacket boasted finely threaded butterflies over the body. It was styled beneath an officer’s coat with a furry shawl collar. The impression wasn’t necessarily throwback in style, but it did cinch that point about circling back to a certain sartorial etiquette and grace that Abboud wanted. “There’s a . . . star quality to a guy getting dressed up,” he said. Then, with conviction: “It’s pretty sexy to get dressed up again.”
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