Being a modern gentleman is a strange proposition. Modern times don’t lean upon the disciplines and interests of modern gentlemen.
Right now I’m holding a future family heirloom, a Burberry cup, filling it with Fortnum & Mason’s India specialty coffee. It’s exceptional, given to me as a Father’s Day gift. Alongside that I was gifted a brunch hamper containing Welsh Rarebit…peppered bacon, a bottle of Cotes Du Rhone red, etc. Is there a better way to start the day?
And all this decadence raises the question: where’s the line between being a modern gentleman and being a snob? I close the door, catch myself in the mirror, and there I am, head to toe in Sunspel, Whoop on wrist.
I think optimisation and gentlemanly pursuits get conflated with snobbery, because simply put, we’re in a time where acceptable aesthetic has been mainstreamed at every level. Range Rovers are not solely for the middle class and well off anymore. At least not in Britain. Fast fashion and subsidised finance has a lot of people looking nicer than they normally would. But these outcomes don’t necessarily lend itself to people creating something that lasts, something they can hand down. Or will be remembered.
As I drink this coffee, I’m sat in my office on a Herman Miller Mirra chair. And to be clear, this isn’t a flex. It’s a way into talking about optimisation.
I’m genuinely interested in ergonomics. My dual monitors are set at the perfect height so I’m looking straight on instead of cranking my neck. My chair is infinitely adjustable. My desk, a Fully Jarvis, a Herman Miller subsidiary, has every cable hidden away. These are the things that, in my opinion, are here to actually help us.
My last article was about AI enhancements and the moral conundrum they bring to those of us whose interests and hobbies sit within the humanities.
That piece, The Optimisation of Super Spies, was deliberate. I’ve purposefully not turned T2LA solely into a business, because full disclosure: I already do so much business. If I take my creative writing, my sharing, the occasional video I send you, and turn that into something with KPIs I hold myself accountable to, the writing suffers. I’d end up making more content and more money, but I wouldn’t end up making art. That’s ultimately what I’m talking about here.
The one’s who are remembered, work with commercial success and their love of the game, still in tact. Speaking of…
Remembering Nigel Cabourn
We recently saw the death of streetwear legend Nigel Cabourn, on June 11, aged 77, after a battle with cancer. I was always aware of him, but never had much deep overlap with his work, because my view on streetwear was different from his. His view was about taking individual elements of great British heritage and culture and turning them into something that fit into completely different spaces.
At least that’s my perspective.
Cabourn’s vibe would work at a champagne tasting on Cape Cod. It would work at the Castle Club at Disneyland Paris. It would work at the Savoy, with enough confidence. It would also work at a rap battle in East London. He was impeccable with that range. Only a few people came anywhere near his level of influence over slouchy, complimentary textures, the olive military garb, the parkas worn over clean dress shirts.
At the core of what he did was an undeniable amount of story. Style is more than brand. It’s the confluence of textures, patterns, tastes, and lived experience: places where you saw something that looked different from what anybody else saw, and you blended that into your own vibe. He did that, and he elevated the consciousness of every man paying attention.
Publications like mine, like GQ and Esquire, lean on James Bond when we talk about these gentlemanly pursuits. And I think this might be the first time I’ve said this: maybe we shouldn’t.
The world is in a weird state of flux. I’ve written about Star Wars and the culture war that’s hit it. I’ve written about the culture war around great British brands like Jaguar. We’ve written about the conversation around what colour Bond is or isn’t next, and that conversation has very little to do with elevating the average man’s style. There’s an overlap between identity and “if you can see it, you can be it,” I’ll grant that. But our culture is too fractured and too angry right now for us to land on a consensus the way we did after Casino Royale, when we all looked at Daniel Craig and agreed: that’s the style icon we’re all going to look to.
Be your own Bond… make your own moments. I count myself fortunate – it’s common for people to ask me my advice on holiday destinations, style and gifting tips, selling their watches or acquiring new ones. Nothing more fun in the world. It always boils down to rugged luxury for me.
What Rugged Luxury actually means
As I check the cast iron in the oven’s self-cleaning cycle, I think about rugged luxury. It’s the sharp style of the capable, confident man. It’s far beyond wearing a bombproof Tudor or Rolex, or a Whoop optimised for performance. It’s about leaving behind a legacy, preparedness and exclusivity as a brand. And even if you don’t endeavour to leave behind a legacy in the grand sense, it’s about knowing the imprint you make while you’re here is inherently yours, not someone else’s.
I’ve done some zig-zagging over the last few years. In my own Casino Royale, Vesper wasn’t a traitor. She took Bond (me) to rural Wales and we had to figure out what life would like after MI-6. Since adulthood, I’ve been trying to finesse the balance between goals of the corporate tech world and the DJ, the rapper – the rogue socialite musing about bourbon and Jay Z at the bar with a captive audience.
When you have kids or simply grow up a bit, you realise some of that needs to take a back seat, or change shape. Six years into having kids, I think I’ve finally identified what my balance looks like.
Maybe that took longer than it should have. But I also moved to an entirely new country, and within eighteen months of landing, a global pandemic shut down my entire industry, our way of working, and our way of building community, all at once. I give myself some grace for how long it’s taken to find my footing.
In that time, I’ve more than slain my share of dragons and corporate demons. Built a war chest, invested it and rinsed and repeated. It’s not always been fun, but it’s gone well. Realising there’s a version of life where I can be a highly productive, successful member of society, money in my pocket, hobbies and pursuits intact, and still have a smile on my face…means that on this wheel of life, we get to make adjustments. We get to tweak it.
As I watch my eldest daughter walk into the house. I make one of those tweaks and go earn the title. Father.
Look after yourselves.
Happy Father’s Day.
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