Cool Dad Clothes - Spring 1971

 

Celanese Fortrel - Bend the elbow.

Mmmmmmmm, Celanese Fortrel. That's polyester, to you and me. It's where it's at. Are you looking for a way to have that crisp line... that lasts, and simply can't be wrinkled? Polyester, man. Do you wish your jacket would absorb every interesting odor within a mile radius, for you to enjoy later? Yep. Polyester. Do you wish your jacket would form little fuzzy pills any time the fabric rubs against itself a few times? Aww, yeah, polyester. Maybe you're an active man who likes to get groovy, say, by walking around as stiff as if he's going in for spinal surgery, and then bending his elbow slightly, and then looking expectantly at people as if to say "Get a load of my bent elbow, baby."... but not bent too much because if you move too much the jacket'll pill up like Rory Storm? Sounds like you're a polyester man.

Polyester is Celanese Fortrel, whatever that means. Yeah, man. Mysterious, just like you, right?

Oh yeah. $70 in 1969 is like $495 today. Right on.

Click it to big it, baby.

Awkward Male, March 1969

When You Take the Wheel - Car choice.

Bunched, August 1957

The Guys Preferred Profile Pants

Fashion shoot. A model pretending to be a cartoon hobo.

In 1970, The Guys made pants, it seems. Stripey ones. Someone else made belts with giant holes in them, just to make sure they stretched quickly and looked stupid immediately.

Sorry, English readers, you must be confused. See, in America, "pants" is interchangeable with "trousers". Only in The Empire does "pants" mean "underpants".

Also sorry, readers here in The Future, you must be confused. See, in 1970, "a haircut" meant one poof over each ear and a third poof on top of your head. Only in The Seventies was this "groovy".

So, how to sell your pants as travel companions? Prop up your model against a tree in front of the art director's house as if he's clearly not resting from a long week riding in a box car. Then, hand him a bindle (that polka-dot bag on a stick that all cartoon hobos carry) and that lesser-known hobo prop, a cigar butt on a toothpick. Presumably, the idea is that a penniless tramp could smoke the cigar all the way down to nothing if he didn't have to hold it in his fingers.

The Bindle, from a design standpoint, is a flawed bit of engineering. Is there anything you can carry in a tied-up hanky that is more easily carried when suspended from a stick? It still takes one hand to lug around that way. Does it somehow require less effort to hang on to one end of a cantilevered stick over your shoulder, as opposed to just hooking two fingers through the hanky-sack and just letting it hang at the end of your arm? Sheesh. You've really let me down, The Tramp Community. I've come to expect better design solutions from unemployable drifters. This must be why so few engineering firms employ hobos.

Anyway, if, for some reason, you're a user of some kind of social networking service and you're tired of using the Windows 95 logo as your profile picture, we've got you covered. It's the poofy-headed groovy hobo from this ad. He's 1000 x 1000 pixels, so he's ready to represent your face when your real face just won't do. If that's what you're into. You're welcome, I guess.

Click for 1000px avatar thingy version.

Mavest - Oh, no, nipple guy.

Hi, everyone. Ready for a nice, easy shoot today? The client from Mavest had a mixup with the schedule, so they can't be here. So, yeah, it looks like this shoot will be nice and simple. Hey, we may even be done by lunch! Okay! Let's hit it.

What's that? Wait, wait. Over here, Terry, I can't hear you.

Okay, what's the problem with the model? The flu? Sonofabitch. I knew it would be something. What about a replacement? You did? Oh, Terry, I could kiss you! You're a marvel! Who'd you get?

Grant Wakeforth? That name sounds familiar. Grant Wakeforth, Grant Wakeforth. *Gasp* Wait! You got the nipple guy? Terry! Whyyyy??? Well of course he was available! He's the guy who ruins every shoot by fiddling with his nipple! Mo-ther-fucker. Shit. You know his real name's Gibby, don't you? Jeez, what a wanker. Wups! He's here. Okay, here we go. Let's just get through this.

Hi Grant! Thank you sooooo much for coming in on such short notice! We're all really excited to be working with you! This is Terry. Let her know if you need anything. The wardrobe rack is over there. One of those jackets should fit you. You're a 42 long, right? Great. We've got one of those.

Okay, Grant, looking good. The jacket really suits your sideburns. No, don't you DARE shave them off, ha ha! This jacket is kind of a works-for-any-occasion type of thing, so we want you to look like you're free and relaxed, and ready for any fun event that life throws at you, because that's what Mavest is offering men. Confidence. The confidence to look good anywhere. Sound good? Aaaaand go!

Yeah, that looks, um, good, Grant. Umm... yeah... just a little less... well... Please don't..... uuh.... Okay, well, we've still got lots of film. Okay, let's change it up! You've got your knee up on a tree stump, and someone is telling you an interesting anecdote, and your Mavest jacket is right there with you, looking sharp.

Wait. Grant, just give us confidence with a little less of the.... uuh.... nope, that's not what we.... oh come on.

God dammit, Grant, Would you PLEASE stop caressing your nipple, you fucking weirdo???

Click for 1000 px avatar / profile picture.

Dexter Shoes, 1970 - That's funky?

Yeah! Groovy! The Seventies! Everybody's getting funky! What's that mean? Who cares? Maybe we can use it to sell our very ordinary looking shoes? Yeah! Funkytime! You know! Frank Zappa! Freedom! Rebellion! Flared trousers! Shoes your banker might wear! Lazy marketing!

This ad was scanned from the November, 1970 issue of Esquire Magazine, the journal of the well-heeled American douchebag. And, in 1970, the fancy prick-about-town was interested in appearing "down with the movement". As any hyper-groovy member of the counter-culture would tell you, the supreme arbiter of truly funky togs is the advertising manager of Esquire, Inc.

So, uuh, these shoes are "funky" - at least they are on the Dexter scale, which is a measurement of  a shoe's funkiness measuring anywhere from zero to zero and a half. On the Dexter scale of funkiness, they're burying the needle. But that's what marketing does. Take whatever the latest fad is, stick it on your product and pretend you're "with it".

You want to see funky shoes? Look no further than Bootsy Collins, bass player for Parliament Funkadelic. Dexter, take notes. if you're going to invoke the name of funk, you'd better have your shoe-shaped house in order.

Boom. Funk complete.

Let's re-do the Dexter ad with more appropriate images, as befits the Dexter scale of funkiness. Phil Are GO! Graphic Blandishment and Photoshoppery Brigade, give up the funk, because weeee love the funk!

Yeah, man! Fun-keeee! By Dexter! Whoa, bay-beh.

Little ads, Esquire, 1969 - Your parents wore this. Sweet dreams!

When were these the now anything? I do not recall a version of "now" in which this shit was within a stone's throw of being okay. But, since everything is bought by someone, we can assume that someone's dad had these little beauties hanging in his closet, just waiting until the kids went to bed, so he could slip into his snakeskin briefs and get down to the business of making you a new little sister with your mom. That little horror show is the preferred scenario. Worst case is this: your dad wore this stuff while watering the lawn.

In The Seventies, there was a kind of effort to realize the eternal dream of "unisex clothing"...for some
reason. Was this because it was a huge pain in the butt to offer different garb for Bob and Barb? Looking
back, it's a quaint distraction. We now have a much greater fascination with unisex people. Anyway, why
was it that every time someone made unisex clothing, it just worked out as "everyone just dresses like a
woman"?

MUCH MERCH!

Holy crap! We got merch, people! Shirts, sweatshirts, mugs, probably inappropriate baby clothes! All made from stuff posted here over the last eight or so years. You can shop for such miscellaneous weirdness as...

-Henry the Eighth's Drum Solo
-Up Your Decor, with Vorbia Goatstain
-Molested pictures of old cars with too many wheels
-Uncle Sam's "Lookin' Good. Keep it Up!"
-Yonder Varmint Whiskey
-Raving geezer Whisky
-Bertiff Glavin night club revues
-Knitter's Remorse
-Songs of the North American Oak Tree
-Space Planet
-Understanding Policeman's Signals
-Various cartanks
-Rice-A-Rooney

...and of course a bunch more.

Here's the link, below. Or, just click the banner to the right.
https://shop.spreadshirt.com/PhilAreGo/

Just be prepared for some scrolling. There's rather a lot, because we tried to make lots of color variations available. We'll be adding more shirts all the time. If there's one you think we should make, just email us and tell us.

Carsuals - Aah, The Seventies, you do not disappoint.

If you're wearing high-waisted jeans right now, it's probably because A) You're a grandma who last bought jeans in 1992, or B) You're eighteen and you think they were just invented a year ago. Keep waiting for that old wheel in the sky to turn, turn, turn, and before you know it, college freshmen will be wearing striped flares, mock turtlenecks and shiny leather shoes with huge, pilgrim-sized buckles on them, thinking themselves to be very fashion-forward.

Esquire Magazine, 1970. The periodical of the upwardly-mobile douchewad. How do you sell "dress jean flares" to that breed of groovy prick? Easy-peasy. Have two guys looking arrogant next to some kind of European kit car, mostly ignoring a woman with apparent self-esteem problems draping herself over the windscreen, dreaming of getting a little attention from wanker A or B: exactly the kind of man most of your readership want to be. Then, describe the car and the woman in the same kind of statistical detail, just to make it clear that they're both just accessories.

Thanks, The Seventies. You never disappoint at disappointing us.

FORGE/Ltd. line - Exquisitely bored.

Okay, people! Time is money! Let's get this happening happening, you dig?

Don, have the kids got their Davy Jones getups on? Hey, where's Stan's vest? Has anyone got Stan's vest? Huh? He burned a hole in it with his weed? Terrific. He's only been here fifteen minutes. Don, make a note that the cost of the vest will come out of his pay, and take away his pot. Just put it in my car. Julie, run over to the rep from Forge and ask if they've got another vest. And do it like now.

Okay, you three all over here. Snap snap. Pay attention, kids. You all look fab. Truly fab. Well, except for you, Trisha. You're just here as a decoration for Stan's arm. Yeah, black sweater, I know. Hey, your day rate is your day rate. I don't wanna hear it, sweetie. Just try to look bored. I dunno. Really bored. Like, quaalude bored. Figure it out. Here's your stool. Your sitting and bored and you're wearing a black sweater. That's your motivation. Don't talk to me about motivation, sweetie.

Bill, you're in back. Lean on the wall. Well, actually, it's just a plywood flat clamped to a C-stand, so try to just look like you're leaning on it. Okay, that's good, sweetheart. Now, elbow up on Stan's shoulder. Good, good. Yeah, it's called acting, honey. Act like you're comfortable and really bored, like you're waiting for a bus but when it comes you don't care if you fall asleep and you miss it.

Stan, you're sitting on Julie's knee. No, she's fine. Jeez, okay. Well, then just kind of crouch as if you're sitting on her knee. Fist on your hip. That's great, Stan. Try to look down at her like you just noticed she's there and you're not sure where she came from. But bored. Don't forget you're bored! Groovy and bored. Gooooood, good.

Okay, Julie. Just a little more bored. Like, ummm... like you can't believe you took this gig and you're mad at your agent. Now, hold onto Stan's arm as if he might fall over if you don't. Because he probably will, that's why, sweetie.

Okay, you're all disinterested! You're fab and you don't care! Maybe even a little angry. Just a little! Good, good! We're getting good shots here, kids! Looking bored. Reeeally bored! I like. I like. Julie, stare off a little bit, but try not to look like you're thinking about anything. Perfect. Stan, stare at her hair. Yep, you heard me. Like you're not sure where that smell is coming from. Yep, Good.




Okay, that's a wrap, everyone! You're terrific! Don, we won't work with Stan again. You put the weed in the front seat, right? Great. It's a long ride back to the office.

Knitting & Crochet Designs for Female Space Colonists.

Greetings, colonists! This day, The Astronet brings us news of the most current exo-garments for you to acquisition, for the enhancement of our continued existence. All praise to the Mighty Engines!

Observe the trappings of our model, Fnu! Fnu is barely concealing her appropriate shame in this daring ensemble of perforated multiplicity! Fnu's immodest contrivance consists of a mammary-wrap, pelvic cradle, and shame cape, all of cunningly interwoven linearity fibers.

Each piece is optically transparent in the main, such that they provide negligible protection from alpha particles, as well as from the observation of male-designated appreciants, if you know what I mean! Attired in such things, Fnu will have her choice of partners at the Mate Selection Ritual, and all shall be eager to make their seed with her! Lucky Fnu! Thank The Leader!

Consternation and uproar! Let all in the Collective get a load of Glebda and Framulette in their matching linearity fiber coordinates! No, not galactic coordinates, silly! We have, of course, lost the knowing of galactic coordinate calculation, as the Flight Directive Journals were destroyed in the Wreckage of our Glorious Arrival. This is known. No, we mean to speak of cooridnated  fashions!

Glebda is looking kicky in her pink tank and promiscuity skirt! The tank can be fitted with attachment points for a standard EVA helmet, so she can venture outside the arcology without missing a beat. So, she'll be a sensation at the moisture farms, as well as the Joint Ventilation and Filtration Committee Selection Panel Discussions!

Meanwhile, Framulette has chosen to add the thermal retention jacket to her yellow ensemble! All garments, again, are selectively transparent on a per-pixel basis for uncontrollable potential partner titillation! Shameful and delightful! Praise the Mighty Engines!

Astonishment! Is that The Lawgiver, come to view the fashion proceedings with us today? Wait! No! It is not the Lawgiver, but merely our model Zapua in her self-made authority smock, with a jaunty waist tie! Suddenly, this hideous Lawgiver charade is amusing to me, for her authority smock is like unto that worn by the Lawgiver! Ha ha ha ha! Oh, that clever Zapua!

Zapua may very well be in radio contact with The Lawgiver, thanks to the high-fidelity earcups built into her hair arrangement. The earcups are receptive on the inter-dome security bands as well as the general use bands, and feature redundant I/O error correction, with total harmonic distortion of .004%. That's what I call hair with style! We'd better be careful what we say around Zapua! Ha ha! Thank The Lawgiver!

To become eligible for these fine garment units, see your object registrar and simply fill out the requisition form, and transmit your inquiry to Central Control via the next communications beam.

Thank The Leader! All Praise to the Mighty Engines!

Sears' Trouser Legs.

Sears Girthy Ties, 1971.

DuPont Corfam - Johnston & Murphy's Clubsman look.

Was there ever a time when we didn't laugh at white leather shoes? Err, probably. Was there ever a time when we didn't laugh at the privileged wieners who walk around in ascots at The Club? Sort of probably. That was 1969, I guess.

Johnston & Murphy? Who the hell are Johnston & Mur- Oh! They exist! Wups, sorry, guys.

This as appeared in the March, 1969 issue of Esquire magazine, the journal of the ambitious douchebag for over forty years. If there's any place you can find readers who say things like..

"As soon as I get a membership to St. Wanksborough Country Club for the Conspicuously Pampered, the boss is sure to give me that regional manager's position and then I'll be drowning in ladies' private parts for sure! I just need to make an ascot out of this seasonally themed napkin!"

In the serving suggestion in the ad, the lady (has been instructed by the art director to appear as though she) is pensively nibbling the earpiece of her glasses, trying to figure out how best to convince this upwardly mobile young pansy to bump uglies with her.

She's finally got him all to herself for a few minutes to try some conversation. It's her big chance. I hope it goes well for her! You only get one chance with Richmond Festersson the Nth! Good luck, lil' missy!

What does Richard Festersson the Nth know about footwear that we don't? Well, getting the owners of ladyparts to offer their wares to you takes more than a deviously tucked ascot. It takes some bright, glowy shoes. "Well, yes, of course!" you say, "...but what of the thousand inevitable smudges and smirches that such shoes are heir to? What will become of our dreams of ugly bumping when our shoes are kinda dirty? Whaaaat??? Hurry! Tell us!!!!" you finish, all in a tizzy. Okay, calm down. no need for trouser moistening. Johnston & Murphy has got you covered.

Corfam! Woo! It ain't leather, man! Leather? That's for your grampa's shoes! Leather's for sucks! Don't be a suck! Get your feet into some gin-you-wine DuPont Corfam (tm) uppers, so you can get into the lowers of the fluttery partner of your choice! Vinyl Corfam, bitch!

What do you do in your seconds-long refractory period, when repeated doings of "it" have left you slightly winded and you're momentarily bereft of the need to stick your thing in someone else's thing?

Well, there's always the continental breakfast table over by the topiary garden, or the squash courts. Orrrrr, you could be the antagonist in a late-Seventies early-Eighties summer teen comedy, possibly starring Bill Murray or John Cusak. Just be ready for your tee time at four with the Howells... or with that guy who's sourcing your next Alfa Romeo from that Torino dealer who can get them in just the shade of white that matches your Corfams.

Little Ads - Groovy clothes, 1971. Hey, you're not uptight are you?

If you're holding a magazine, and you want to see who the publishers think you are and what you're into, flip to the back and look at the little cheapo ads you find there.

This morning, a bright-faced intern dropped this Esquire Magazine from 1971 on my desk. Flipping through the pages now, I think I need to send him an email reminding him to do a few laps in our special Esquire Magazine Olympic-sized pool of Purel, and then take about fifty Silkwood showers. As for me, I'm gingerly turning the pages using my special Esquire Magazine salad tongs.

Berwyn Community Theater presents Space Hamlet.

With reassuring "front pelvis ass pockets" to make people think you're always walking
away from them.

Berwyn Community Theater presents Space Hamlet with Genitals Pretty Much Made out of Herpes Sores.

Fashion researchers in The Seventies annually spent millions in public funds trying to rigidly define the boundaries of "almost too much." It proved elusive.

CRITICAL UPDATE!!! Alert Reader John (last name withheld because he didn't specifically say it was okay to spew his full name all over the Ultranet) has done some nice, clean Photoshoppery and provided us - and the world - with a PNG of Jumpsuit Man, with and without head. Now you and your heirs can all stick each others' heads on Jumpsuit Man. Observe...

Jumpsuit man. Each sold separately.

Most of Jumpsuit Man, ready to receive your head.

LBJ in a jumpsuit, provided by John as a serving suggestion. I like the way he chose not to match the tint of the two not-quite-black-and-white images. Makes it better, dontchaknow. That's some nice work, John! You're a true patriot.

Botany 500 - Fashion Flare-Up.

It must have been easy to be an advertising art director in The Seventies The Very Late Sixties. Conceptualizing an ad for magazines like Esquire in '69, you could assume your readership had A) Plenty of money, and B) a consuming need for trendiness, no matter what.

As 1969 men's fashions go, this blue plaid suit is not the craziest thing you could expect to see. In fact, it's quite reasonable, coming from the era that gave us, uuh, this.

So, let's say you're 1969. How do you sell a suit to potential customers with loads of cash who insist on following the latest cultural departure from reason? You put your suit on a handsome dude and build a 1/4-inch plywood Peter Max holiday pantomime, of course. Grab a pretty model from your file cabinet full of headshots and paint her face like a trippy, puckish nymph. Wait. A prop. We need a prop. Eyeball cutout on a stick saves the day!

Advertising complete! Zeitgeist captured! Now, just put your feet up on your desk, blow a jay, and wait for the art direction awards to start rolling in.

Oh, by the way. $99.50 and $120 are about $100 and $600, respectively, in today's modern Futurebucks.

Red Checkered Suit

For those of us trapped in 1969 with no idea what to wear, Esquire comes to the rescue again with this red and navy (although it looks black in the photo) checkered suit.

Maybe you absolutely must know everything about this suit? Here you go:

Notable points in the description are the fact that the lucky devil wearing this suit will enjoy comfort "without sacrificing style", and the price, which was $165. A quick stop at the CPI inflation calculator tells us that's the equivalent of... let's see, carry the one...

Aah, there we go. A thousand FutureBucks. If you think about it a certain way, someone buying this suit is saying "I would literally rather have that suit than have (the 1969 equivalent of) a thousand dollars in real, actual money."

Were there people in 1969 laughing at the gentlemen who paid $165 for this suit? Hard to say. When you consider what was going on in '69 (which was more or less the wheels coming off of every corner of American society), anybody who wasn't simply walking around naked would have a hard time getting stared at.

Unfortunately for those who are into status symbols (you know: people who shop at Lord & Taylor and simply must have the latest thing and use the word "couture" without irony) there was no way for everyone to know you paid the modern equivalent of a thousand dollars for this suit, without just leaving the price tag on it as you walk around. And that would simply be tacky! We mustn't be tacky.

What is tacky is combining the triangular pattern on the tie with the checks on the suit. Oh my, Mr. Granite. What were you thinking?

Celanese Fortrel - Big Little Lord Fauntleroy

In 1969, what exactly the hell were you supposed to wear? There was simply no way to tell what clothes to put on before you walked out of the house and into The World, where public people could see you and form opinions about you. That's why the American culture was in such a hand-flapping tizzy at the time. It was a national nightmare.

Enter, this Celanese Fortrel ad in Esquire Magazine (the journal of privileged douchebags for over eighty years) to save us all. Thank, you, Celanese Fortrel! Shew!

Yep. there you go, American men. Wear this.

Just so you know that you're safe to walk while wearing those shorts, Celanese has knighted them with the title "walk shorts". Man! Talk about streamlining the putting-your-clothes-on procedure! See, most days, when you get dressed and then just stand there in your bedroom for fourteen hours until bed time, it doesn't matter what you put on. Jeans... a bath robe... or just slip into a really large carpet tube.... If you're standing, your options are totally open.

However, if, god help you, you need to get dressed and then "walk somewhere", you'd be totally screwed. You'd frantically tear through all your drawers and realize that none of your trouser items have names prefixed with the word "walk". Then you'd have no choice but to hang yourself, fashioning a makeshift noose out of your pants (which were presumably called "suicide pants"). But, thankfully, Celanese put an end to the tidal wave of affluent young men offing themselves out of fashion stress by finally producing Celanese Fortrel "walk shorts". You can safely walk in "walk shorts".

Release the doves, for Big Little Lord Fauntleroy has emerged from his Dressing Chamber with his parasol. What's he got planned for today? Well, there's tea on the lawn, and then, maybe a bit of  a rest from all that effort, and then croquet practice, and then perhaps a biscuit, and then perhaps some mincing about in the drawing room, and then tea with the Chancellor, another rest, and then viewing the latest fashions from Celanese, in preparation for the dressing procedure on the morrow. Oh, the worry! Such a life!

Big Little Lord Fauntleroy looks familiar. I think we've seen him recently looking equally silly, but slightly less pansy. Where was that? To the Chamber of the Archives!

A-HA! The guy on the left in today's ad - who looks like a fake James Garner - was Kerchief Man in a Day's Sportswear ad that we ran about a month ago. Observe this link. Here's his head next to his head, just in case you for some reason have a hard time believing this.

Big Little Lord Fake James Garner Fauntleroy Kerchief Man, always daring you to laugh at his clothes.

Yep, Big Little Lord Fake James Garner Fauntleroy Kerchief Man loves to rock the kerchief, but then so did lots of people in '69. Why was that? Did people live in constant fear of unexpectedly being offered some crab legs, and having nowhere to dab their lips? What a marvelous time it must have been. Such plenty. Such bounty!

"Celanese Fortrel". Double-you tee eff are those words? Did people men who read Esquire in 1969 go "Celanese Fortrel, aah, yes, of course."? Are we, here in The Future, supposed to have some recognition for those words? Well, from the context of the ad copy, "Fortrel"'s full name is "Fortrel Polyester", but apparently its friends can just call it "Fortrel". So, "Fortrel" is marketing bullshit for "polyester". Aah, yes, of course. Marketing Bullshit. So what's "Celanese"? The name of the company?

Well, the Phil Are GO! Research and Googling Team found that, when you type those letters in that exact order into a search engine, it is revealed that Celanese is, in fact, the name of the company. It is also revealed that, two days ago, Celanese had a bit of a "whoopsie" with one of their chemical storage tanks down in South Carolina.

No spill. Shew! Also, no pants. This Celanese facility makes paint, it seems. So, the flow of  walk shorts remains uninterrupted all these years later! Well done, Celanese! Also well done, The Spartansburg County Hazmat Team! You saved us! After all, we're all wearing walk shorts, not "flee in complete terror shorts". If only Celanese would devise some kind of cunning "walk-flee shorts", we could walk and then decide to suddenly flee without needing to go home and change first.