Gentleman of Leisure: Summer of the Shorts

Gentleman of Leisure is writer, erstwhile lecturer and notionally overeducated Martin Marks's PAPERMAG column on the things he likes and why.

With numerous articles and style guides proclaiming that we are now in the midst of The Summer of the Short, this week, I serve as one part Miss Emily Post, one part Captain Quint from Jaws, steering us through the treacherous shoals and animatronic shark-infested waters of the half- and quarter-pant, in this, the Gentleman of Leisure’s Guide to the Proper Usage of the Beshortened Pantaloon -- or GoLGPUBP for short(s).

I’ve always tried to follow the unspoken rule that one may wear shorts whenever it’s sunny outside, or there’s a danger of getting wet (picnics, Six Flags, former Governor Spitzer’s office). Indeed, once upon a time, the wearing of shorts by grown men past six o’clock used to be grounds for involuntary commitment in a lunatic asylum. (My father, a psychiatrist, still strictly enforces this rule in our household. I won’t go into any specifics, but let’s just say that never again shall I go for my evening jog wearing anything that shows ankle.)

My love of shorts -- specifically, those in navy and olive green, of the phylum Cargo -- emanates from the same part of my brain that still thinks $2 Coronas being served on a South Florida pier, lit year-round by Christmas tree lights while a Grateful Dead cover band plays, is a little slice of heaven (As this no doubt indicates, my heaven is very specific, and more or less an extended Volkswagen Jetta commercial.) Alas, having spent several summers in New York, I’ve discovered that the Golden Age of the Cargo Short has come and gone, and unless one wants to look like a 90s holdover, a tourist, or a pedophile, it’s best to navigate the Dungaree Coast with extreme caution and without side pockets.

Thus, I’ve added several new pairs to my wardrobe over the years that take extra steps to transcend britch faux pas-dom; the first, from Rag & Bone, matches my “Cheeseburger in Paradise” model of demi-pants quite nicely, while wallets, keys, books, half-pints of Southern Comfort all fit into this pair’s very many pockets.

For a more tailored look that doesn’t sacrifice the shortiness of shorts, a pair from the estimable clothiers Loden Dager has kept me happy for many a warm day; as olive green as a hilltop on Thessaloniki, and with enough buttoned belt-loops and pockets to ford the River Amazon -- or the oncoming traffic on Houston, as the case may be.

A little know sub-clause of the Nuclear Weapons Ban Treaty has blessedly kept Capris Pants off our shores for the past several seasons. The end of this Thread Menace (not all the jokes can be good), has raised the inseams, bringing about a proliferation of jean shorts, tux shorts, breeches, and jodhpurs, and with it, the manifest danger of looking like a wayward schoolboy from Antwerp, or Catherine Branch on the Dukes of Hazzard. Avoiding these pratfalls (pantsfalls?) are the shorts of Antonio Azzuolo’s a.a. collection, all immaculately tailored yet vibrant and fun.

Though a seeming contradiction, the black tie of shorts comes from Commonwealth Utilities who make a pair that one would feel comfortable wearing while engaged in espionage. Their agent provocateur seems to be one Douglas “Legsy McGee” Marshall, who insists upon breaking the 6 p.m. rule with a recklessness that, in the Marks household, would have already landed him in a straightjacket:

Who wears short-shorts? Not I, said the man wishing to avoid a One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nestfinale to an otherwise placid summer’s day. Remember, Dr. Marks is watching…

Pictured above (from l to r): Shorts by Loden Dager, Generra and Rag & Bone