Dead Poets Society at Dries

It’s been raining men all week (quite literally at Burberry, actually), with men reigning the runways.

Photographs of the FW11 menswear collections have been seeping into my consciousness between emails and conference calls and tweets.

Amongst the digital debris was the delight of the Dries Van Noten show.

It may have been shot in full colour, but for me, what seeped in was steeped in sepia.

The details were sheer poetry, stanza by sartorial stanza.

They reminded me of a simpler time when men dared to be dashing.

Accentual verse
"...What thou lov’st well is thy true heritage" Ezra Pound
Ode to a lapel.
He Remembers Forgotten Beauty - William Butler Yeats
"Flame lit on their hair..."
"...And their burning eyes grew young and wise." - Rupert Brooke
Masculine rhyme - suits me just fine.
"I grow old... I grow old... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled." - Thomas Stearns Eliot
Perfect for Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, no?
"Beware of coming too much to the surface | And using for apparel hat was meant |To be the curtain of the inmost soul." - Robert Frost
Embellished language
"The past is the best prophet of the future." - Lord Byron

Original colour images of Dries show from Style.com, modified by moi. All other images courtesy of Wikimedia.

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