Vestiary Pleasures

Well, well.

Yes, indeed, it truly has been two years since either Tia or I has posted. How terrible! This blog is such a worthy cause, after all. *eye roll*

(it totally is)

Why come back now, you may ask? No? I shall tell you anyway.
I have two reasons to return to providing our huge fan base (of three) with sweater softcore at this time. No, one of them is not because it's winter and I am surrounded by actual men in actual sweaters.

The first one is due to a mutual friend of ours posting the most horrendous, horrible photo of a young man in knitwear on social media for us to examine. Said young man was wearing what can only be described as a...giant, brown doily. I'm not even exaggerating a little bit. Dude had on crochet pants. I want to cry just thinking about it. It so hurt my sweater-clad feelings that I needed to look at other pictures, mostly of nerds in sweater vests in order to get it out of my mind (if Men In Sweaters was like Pornhub, "Nerdbang" would be my go-to category. Or even more likely, "Older-overeducated-intellectual-with-weird-swagger-and-a-vaguely-condescending-sense-of-humor-bang). Kind of the way I need to watch cartoons after a scary movie so I can go to sleep I'm emotionally, oh, about 7 years old.

Doily man also had girl hair.

Shhh. never mind. lets not talk about it.

Actually you know what? Here:

SCRUB THAT THE FUCK OFF YOUR SWEATER LOVING BRAIN.
You never will. It's futile.
But read on, it may ease the mind hurt.

The whole ordeal made me nostalgic for the days when I could perv on guys in button-downs in a public venue, with other pervs, like the 2 or 3 of you. Or at least with Tia who will maybe read this. Maybe.

The second reason for my enthusiastic return is not as traumatizing.

I recently traveled to a far away hotel and, while riding the elevator with a very good friend,  I spoke aloud my keen desire to have a hot nerd in a sweater vest to bring me a fine whiskey. A perfectly reasonable and obviously awesome request, I feel, despite how rare they are these days. At the time she found my unabashed nerd-worship weird and comical...and suuuuper caucasian. Later I was able to bring her over to my side of the hot-nerd-love table, but still, for a while I had to do a lot of describing, picture-painting, and explaining about why the Hot Nerd is essentially the Great White (fucking super hot) Buffalo of men.


I did not get my whiskey, if you were wondering. <---i as="" grimacing="" i="" nbsp="" p="" that.="" was="" wrote="">
All that potent description and her subsequent support of my theory made me want to share that theory with the world.

But INSTEAD what I'm going to do is porn out with you over sweater vests, which are often a part of the Hot Nerd's wardrobe in his natural habitat (which I like to imagine is a lecture hall. I don't know. There's definitely a desk involved).

ONWARD, TO THE SLEEVELESS KNITWEAR OF SMART FANTASIES!

This is Hugh Laurie in a sweater vest playing a trombone.

BOOM.

You may die happily.

Oooh, yeah, daddy, teach me how to carry out experiments explicating aspects of wave and quantum phenomena and of solid state and nuclear physics using contemporary instrumentation!!!

Yes, this man's suit is too large. It's a Travesty. 

That being said, everything else going on here makes me want to jump of a fucking bridge

(in a good way). 

In fact, lets take closer look:

Now, that is the kind of argyle that says, "Tear off my argyle".

By the way, pocket squares shave approximately 40 minutes off of foreplay. Because they are foreplay. 

Minus whatever the hell is happening in place of a pocket square:

 TWEEEEEEEDgasm

BRACE YOURSELF:

...This is the money shot of nerd/sweater hardcore. 

*passes out*

The Hot Nerd (we will imagine) pictured here has caught a chill.

Yay!

Nope, not a sweater. 

Surprise! It's Joseph Gordon-Levitt hinting at how ridiculously attractive he's going to be in 15 years. 

John Hamm successfully demonstrates how to be way too intelligent for you in the 50's with, dare I even say it? A sweater vest cardigan. 

That's all for tonight. Next time I'll just, like, post a bunch of pictures of John Lithgow in a turtleneck or something. To balance things out (sort of), here is Colin Firth in glasses doing that weird, sexy thing guys do with their link cuffs.

(we shall always assume they are link cuffs!)

~Ché

In praise of the Henley and 70's Men.

As I sit here in my hotel room by the sea, lounging around until I decide to rise and stick my feet in the Pacific and spend some pesos on various beachy baubles, I find myself thinking fondly of chest muscles in tight Henleys. The "Henley" if you weren't aware, is possible the next best thing to a well worn sweater. Possibly, in fact, even better than a crisp, white button down. That's right. I said it. Possibly even better.  The reasons why, if not obvious to you, will be loosely outlined below. But first, here is a piece of edification on the abdomen-flattering Henley shirt as quoted from Wiki:

"A henley shirt is a collarless men's pullover shirt, characterized by a 10 centimetres (3.9 in) long placket beneath the round neckline, usually having 2-5 buttons. It essentially resembles a collarless polo shirt. The sleeves may be either short or long, and it can be made in almost any fabric, although cotton, cotton-polyester blends, and thermals are by far the most popular...

They were so named because this particular style of shirt was the traditional uniform of rowers in the English town of Henley-on-Thames.


Originally quite popular in the early 1970s, henley shirts have recently made a fashion comeback, especially in Western countries such as the United Kingdom, United States, Canada and Australia, but also in some East Asian Countries such as Japan and Korea.

In his biography of Ralph Lauren, the journalist Michael Gross quotes a New York merchant who recalled showing a vintage shirt to a Ralph Lauren buyer: "I showed this fellow underwear---a three-button long-sleeve shirt by Johnstown Knitting Mills. He said, 'This is a new shirt.' That's where he got the idea for the Henley shirt.'"


So, you see, it's underwear. But it's a shirt, too. Perfection. Perhaps this is why it's so undoubtedly sexified.  In the first photo, you can clearly see the pectoral muscles of the 70's man on the left side of the frame. I could shield myself from the African sun in the shade of his pecks. Thanks to his Henley,  and its trademark buttons, I get an idea of what's under it via the suggestive collar opening. I hope that was as creepy for you as it was for me.

The garment pictured below is not a Henley. But it's a sweater. And it is good. I have a penchant for 70's men such as the ones below. They weren't afraid to show off their crotches and sundry muscles with impossibly tight clothing choices. And stripes??!!  Oh, 70's men. So very fine (especially because now they're old enough for me to really be attracted too. Mmmm. Daddy issues). 

 So now, I give you just three Grade A prime examples of Henley's in action. I urge you to go out and observe the perfection of man-bodies accentuated by this fantastic, collar-bone/top of chest-muscle/often chest-hair exposing style. That little depression under the clavicle and just between the pectoral muscles of a well-formed upper torso is indubitably my happy place.

 

 

Double nerd fuel: Henley + True Blood. Bill Compton knows that a man need only have Henley's in his wardrobe to be a heartthrob. Unless that other, larger vampire is around. "Viking" trumps Henley.

 

There's a Henley in there somewhere. 

 

Henley/Carhartt combo. Divine excellence. 

Soon,
Ché

Gary Oyeeeeeeahldman

Hello, I don't have time for this at all. None.

Doin' it anyway!
Just a quick little bit of beautiful, veiny hands attached to sweater-clad arms for you this evening (morning). Next entry is delightfully titled: "Men in Henley's". Can you guess why?

 

Dear God. Seriously, DEAR GOD, thank you for making that *points up*. 

~Ché

Baryshnikobviously

Hello again. Hello again, all TWO of our followers.

I thinking I'm just going to go ahead and call myself "Ché" on this blog. As in "Ché Guevara", the military theorist, guerrilla commander, probably misappropriated symbol of youth revolt, and martyred Marxist hero. I mean, for obvious reasons...besides the one where I already call myself that elsewhere on the Internet. So whenever you see "Ché" at the end of a post, know that the penman is...you know, me, Ché.  That is to say, the half of the partnership who prefers bigger, broader, older, less effeminate Men In Sweaters.  I'm Also the cooler one. *cough*

 I've been was thinking more than that, however. I was ALSO thinking that I'm a hilarious writer and ought to be a columnist for a flashy and hip, London rag.


Today's post is going to be about a ballet dancer, yet I'm still going to maintain my non-effeminate standard of man preference. I'm clearly going to maintain my high levels of offensiveness to those sensitive to gender issues, as well.  C'MON, you know I'm not really that bigoted about men. Not REALLY.

...*snicker*...


Anyway, to start, since sweaters are certainly more provocative than nudity,  here is what the testosterone-oozing, Russian/Latvian Ballet overlord looks like WITHOUT a sweater:

I wish I had a laser pointer right now so that we may go over each ripple and bulge to the extent which it is deserved. 

Speaking of bulge...that reminds me;

Oh, and Thanks to Richard Avedon and gracious, superior genetics, he sometimes looks like this:

...when not wearing a sweater.


And just so you can fully appreciate what you're looking at, from top to bottom:

Do you think he would mind if I sat on him while he did that? If I sat there on his rock hard bottom and rested my wineglass on his expertly pointed foot? Think he'd be upset? 

Now, here is our White Knight in various stages of what is very likely (but could be debated) sweater-dress. I've added captions to alert you more accurately to what I'm pretty positive he's thinking. 

Well, ok. I'm not going to write a caption here because he's incontrovertibly receiving fellatio. 

(he is happy about that.) 

"...Good girl. Now put on Joe Cocker and do a little dance like Kim Basinger did in 9 1/2 weeks. I'm going to sit over here, have a scotch, and look at you like this the whole time." Instead of autographing the photo, he autographs your hind-quarters. 

"Excuse me, WHERE is my breakfast? Get into the kitchen and don't come out until you have a plate of perfectly golden pancakes to serve me."

OR

"My God! You look so absolutely breathtaking I MUST have you. Now."

~~~~~~~~

On another note, I implore you to PLEASE study very closely the size and beauty of this man's hand. *looks incredulously at screen*

This is quite possibly the most pornographic photo of a man in a white button-down that's ever existed. And you KNOW how much I like me a dude in a crisp, condescending, white shirt. Look! Ooooh, boy. Vein-y, long-fingered hands...forearms... muscly shoulders begging to be freed from precisely dry-cleaned imprisonment...starched collar...brooding look. Cheese and Rice! CHEESE AND RICE!! 

And Finally:

You are welcome. 

~Ché

FIN

We have returned, Dear Readers.

Hello.

We are decidedly back. Back from a year of moving, break-ups, break-ins, break-outs, wild successes, a few epic fails, and overall super shifts- we are here again to brighten your day with handsome, often rugged, hunks of pristine man meat for your hungry eyes.

As if the slowly colder evenings, the pre-Thanksgiving Christmas decorations, wood-stoves, and jacket weather wasn't enough (and the fact that I'm bedridden with the flu)...there is this:

Joe.

Joe Manganiello... in what must be the most comfortable, coziest sweater that has ever graced any overly-sculpted, bare man-chest in the history of purely-decorative clothing. Mr. Manganiello is *drum roll* a Werewolf. Well, that is to say that he plays one on HBO's series True Blood. Of which, of course, I am an avid watcher. I mean...who REALLY wouldn't want to watch this guy growl, strip out of his flannel shirt, tight denim jeans, and construction worker boots and turn into a powerful, wild animal?

How could I deprive the world of being sure to see THAT? *points and stares in astonishment at Joe's perfectly formed pectoral muscles*

Here's the deal. My idea is that the two of us, over here, will be a bit more dedicated to our baby blog (even though some tween has apparently tried to strip us of our man-in-sweater monopoly- we are the only true man-sweater blog!). Also, I'm thinking that we shan't be anonymous any longer. If my partner agrees, we will start signing off the blogs each of us write so that you can differentiate between us, thus making our antics more entertaining and cohesive. For instance, if my partner had signed one of the blogs she wrote below, say, the one starring the firewood, then you would know there was two of us penning this blog. In that way you wouldn't be confused when I then wrote something like: "That guy in the last picture, in the green sweater, is a flimsy little man-wiener and ought not be on this website", in the next posting.

See?

Anyway, I've got to go blow my nose and hock up a lugey. Mmmm. Right? You like it.

I will leave you on this note:

AAAAhhhhoooooooooooo!

(That's me howling like a wolf. Get it?)

Northwest Manifesto

Now, the imagery here may seem a bit all over the place. I'll give you that. Tomorrow I break from Chicago's summer heat and delve into the land of the Pacific Northwest.
The twinkle in my eye took up residence about a week ago imagining the potential combinations of pullovers, bicycles, hippy string bracelets, utilitarian boots, and muscular hands gripping cups of Americanos as perfect swirls of steam combine with the bite of Vancouver air EXPLODING in a GLORY of coffee/mountainous earth smell, windblown salt and pepper hair, and effing sexy.
My access to male model portfolios and stock photography pages certainly isn't helping me deal with my appreciation for these finer things in life, so I thank you for allowing me this outlet to channel my creepiness and hide my longing glances behind a computer screen. By allow, I mean you not doing anything except refraining from contacting anyone with legal authority regarding your concerns about my behaviour.
That said, my fantasies were FAR surpassed when I plugged the words "northwest" "man" and "sweater" into the getty image search.
Holy God. Holy, holy Lord. I thank you for my blessed life. I thank you for the beautiful creatures you've created to grace this earth. I thank you for the cold air's creation of this need to encompass broad shoulders and brawny forearms in tightly woven wool/cotton blends. You can be assured, your efforts are not wasted on me.
So, we have some variety. And I look forward to this variety. Enjoy.





OK, the hipster boy needs a cheesecake. That bike girl needs to step up to her apron duties or step. away. from. the sweatered bike man. yep.

Take me to the river

Now as much as this sunshine makes my heart smiley, it also conjures up some non-urban summery sweater images.
Okay okay, these aren't summery. You see, it's very hard to stop myself from dragging these adorable little icons to mydesktop even though the photos are out of season. I mean, look at them. **sigh**