Varela has presence

He also has a jacket that I wouldn’t mind wearing. And speaking about presence, that seems something that the store where he works and where I photographed him has in abundance. Akira, newly opened, 8 Calçado do Combro.

British cool

An Afro flavor, a Rockabilly flavor

Flavor

1 a archaic : odor, fragrance b : the quality of something that affects the sense of taste
3 b : a distinctive appealing or enlivening quality
4 a : variety

(this has a positive connotation, Ok?)

TIMBER!!!

When colour makes all the difference

Érica - Summertime!

There are 2 types of girls when it comes to compliments. Those that can’t hear the slightest remark without thinking that we want to bang them and those that are smart enough to know that we wouldn’t be praising even their most obvious attributes if we really wanted to bang them (I used the term “bang” just as I could have easily used another one… don’t be such pussies)

Truth be told, whenever I run into Érica she always looks cool, whether she’s surfing, in Lux or at the Miradouro where I just found her. I suspect she never takes me seriously, but I always make a move. Maybe if the move is made in writing (all this because I already tested her shrewdness a long time ago).

xukebox.blogspot.com

The first time I heard the word “blog” I must have had a reaction as shrewd as the pornographic interpretation I made the first time someone said they were going to check their "Hotmail". But let’s face it, the phenomenon has its charm, but for a very simple reason. A blog allows a person to talk about what they like the most. And when that happens there’s always the risk of creating something interesting. About two years ago, Mariana and Hugo created xukebox. The intention was simple, they wanted to share their taste for music and use the blog as a tool for discovering new bands and generate some kind of discussion around new and old trends. Then João joined them and, with some time and dedication (this part is inevitable), the blog kept on growing.

The first time I heard about the xukebox it was probably at that bar in the Lux that goes all the width of the room and where I’m usually eating something. It was probably there because that’s were I always find João. He always follows the same strategy. He praises The Lisbon Taylor and then he tries to sell me the idea that I should choose a music for the xukebox and write a post. You know me by now… I’m easily convinced and vulnerable to flattery so I always tell him “come on João, I don’t have much time for that, but Ok… and I already know which music I’m going to pick”. And then I always end up forgetting. When we meet again at the same bar a couple of weeks later the conversation repeats itself and one day I tell him, “João, there’s one way to make me remember. I’ll take your photograph and I’ll create a post in The Lisbon Taylor about xukebox. I love posting about stuff that is not fashion-related”. That was a deal. They met me at Terrugem and I took their photograph (I won’t even mention the fact that Hugo was not there, I’ll just pretend I’m not an easily offended guy)

One day someone came up with the idea that if people enjoyed the music they post on their blog then they would also like to dance to its sound. The result? They're already preparing their third party. Let me explain, it’s not a bloggers party, it’s not a chat reunion dinner. It’s a party for those that like to dance to the sound of something different from what we usually hear. When? Next Saturday. Where? At Ko-Zee Club (Calçada do Marquês de Abrantes) in Santos. Mariana, please invite some cute girl friends, OK? You see, my friends don’t define their nightlife itineraries solely based on the music…

It seems that my sister's duffel coat is not an exclusive (and I'll probably only see another one next November)

Skimming in Sagres

Juan & Javier

I was just chatting with someone near the wall that surrounds the subway exit when I saw them and said:
- I’m just going to take a photograph of those two (as if the fact that I wanted to photograph someone was enough for that someone to want to be photographed by me).

Without me even suspecting, the spirit of this post had already begun a few weeks earlier when, going down Rua da Rosa street, a shop had caught my eye. El Ganso. The name sounded familiar and the friend that was with me at the time mentioned all the buzz that this shop was creating in Spain. I liked what I saw, but my patience is running low when it comes to shops and not having too much money to spend also helped. Maybe next time.

- Can I take your picture?
“Yes, please do”, they replied. How weird was that, two Spanish guys speaking perfect Portuguese! “Oh, we live here”, they explained. That night I had in my e-mail the usual request that I always receive from all the people I photograph. They wanted to see the pictures. Their gratitude included an invitation to visit their store at Rua da Rosa, 31. Hhmm… “Rua da Rosa”, “store”, “Spanish”, there was a feeling of déjà vu in all this. And then I remembered, “El Ganso!”. I wrote them asking and they replied exactly what I wanted to hear (I have a fetish for coincidences, don’t you?).

The store is really, really nice. I bought a sweater (again, I’m not exactly swimming in money, to tell you the truth I don’t have a penny in my name! now that we cleared that, I must say that I don’t consider the store that expensive). Sweaters, coats, pants, shorts and sneakers, lots of sneakers. And for women too. Dresses included. Those types of dresses that we feel like touching (or raising… but that will depend of you and of what you’re aiming for).

P.S. – I don’t intend to make a post more convincing by buying something. My craziness about this blog does not justify that. At least… not yet. But this store is really worth a visit… it really is. Rua da Rosa, 31.

And then there's Hugo to show us otherwise. Being cool is not only a Nordic privilege!

We, the Swedish, are all effortlessly cool

If this is not street style, I don’t know what it is

Cool Marines [and the pride of wearing that uniform (the most beautiful one I know)]

Cute as hell (I didn't tell them, but I had already noticed them when I was walking down the street, some 100 feet away)

Sexy mother fuckers*

* refering to an attractive person. someone who is extremely hot. someone you want to do the second you lay eyes on them (in urban dictionary)

Imaginary conversations with my grandfather on Father’s day

- So... tell me about that blog of yours.
And I thought that if I had been born in the 20s, as crazy as they were, I would hardly understand. And so I told him, but with evasions, projecting my voice to the side as someone who’s talking but doesn’t want to be heard. I’m always very enthusiastic when I talk about my blog, but with my grandfather I felt slightly embarrassed. Not that I’m not proud of my blog. As a matter of fact, despite the angry comments I receive from the anonyms, heteronyms and pseudonyms that every now and then come here to remind me about the shitty blog that I have, to me, this shit, seems like the only noteworthy thing I’ve done in my whole life.

I know grandfather. This is not starting very well. Something called a blog probably doesn’t deserve much credit from you. The same goes with photographing people on the street. And photographing them merely for what they’re wearing only makes it all seem worse. But when I called you the other day, right before giving the phone to you, grandmother told me that you had gotten all emotional when you heard my voice on the radio. I didn’t know what to say. I know you were strict with my father and to be honest, it’s not easy to picture you getting all emotional. I never saw my father cry and to be completely honest, he wasn’t always gentle with me too. But in a way I admit that discipline will make a boy become a more adult man. And the truth is that I don't imagine myself an all that sweet father. Maybe I don't even want to be one. And that’s just the way it goes, isn’t it? There will always be complicated stuff between a father and a son. Being a grandson will always be easier.

You know, these people I photograph, are always people worth looking at a second time. I look at them once, as a reflex I look at them one second time and only then do I approach them. Sometimes the process is so quick and unconscious that I don't even realize it. I also know that everything would seem more legitimate if the reasons that make me look one second time were the curves of a woman or a piece of uncovered flesh instead of a coat, some boots or a hat. I’m going to tell you what this text is all about. About the need I feel to explain you my sensitivity. And telling you that my sensitivity is also part of my manhood. But I only feel that I must do this with you. As if you were the only man to whom I hadn’t proven myself as a man. Because deep down we feel the need to prove ourselves to our ancestors. Every time you see me you ask me about women and every time I see you I give you vague manly answers. And truth be told, it was with you that I was ever close to having the “the birds and the bees” conversation. That embarrassing conversation that my father was gentle enough to excuse me of. If this makes you more comfortable, then I must tell you that when I look at the past I realize that sensitivity and lust were always tied in my life. The best fucks were always the ones where the dirty words seemed the most tender, where the moments when I hold a woman in my arms after the orgasm always felt as good as those divine two seconds that precede ejaculation. I suspect that nowadays a man has to be as efficient nurturing a woman as he is fucking her. He has to be voluntarily as supportive as he is defending her and as dedicated in loving her as he is in protecting her. I know that for you it is very important to have a manly grandson. In my own way I guess I am one and without pretending to fulfill someone else’s image, but I confess that I would like you to have that image of me. I don’t imagine myself demanding this from a son or grandson, but what I demand one day from them doesn’t have to be the exact same thing that I demand from myself. And what I demand from me is to impress you. After my father, I want to impress you. More than women, friends or readers in a blog, it's you, grandfather. I want to impress you

Interesting guys

If I were ten years younger I would have definitely fallen in love

Colour doesn’t scare me!

Lisboa Fashion Week

The very stylish guy who tailored my business cards

The idea of the business cards followed me since the beginning. I thought it would be nice to deliver a business card to the people I photographed or approached with the intent of photographing. No more papers, pens, “please write here on my back”, “It’s a “The” before “tailor””, “not “Lisboa”, it’s L-i-s-b-o-n” etc, etc. The process would become simpler and definitely more elegant. On the other hand we were in January (2009), I had only published half a dozen posts and I wasn’t sure if this idea, that would probably only last a month, was worth so much trouble. Anyway the cards were created first. The answer came later.

Rui Quinta is not only “the guy that created the cards”. Rui was one of the few friends I talked with before starting The Lisbon Tailor and the one who said “great idea, go for it” etc, etc. That’s one of the many reasons why his number is the first I call when something good happens regarding this blog. That’s one of the many reasons why I will keep on calling him. Because, once again, Rui is not only “the guy that created the cards”. Rui is the friend I call to ask “do you have any Tailor business cards with you?” when I realize I have next to me Ricardo Espírito Santo Silva Salgado (the Chairman of the Bank where I work) who is more or less to me, please forbid me the exaggeration, like the Pope is to any Roman Catholic. Rui shows up two minutes later with half a dozen cards and allows me to make a true fool of myself as I present [myself] as a subordinate to my supreme boss and talk a little with him about this project that has nothing to do with the financial world. Because I believe that, when used with caution, silly acts help us triumph. Because it’s the acts, silly or not, that this blog is made of. And since I’m already making a fool of myself, I must do it with style. If the silly part is on me, at least now you know where the style comes from.

A mi me gustan las chicas simples

Istanbul in Lisbon

This weekend wasn't just about rainy days

When an overcoat makes the attitude

Le Petit Prince

(one day, all grown up and without a scarf, he got tired of taming the Rose and of flirting with the Fox, left his asteroid on a low-cost and went to London)

Have you ever been in a situation when someone is talking with you, but a voice, another voice or maybe your own voice, starts speaking louder than the voice of the person in front of you? And there we are staring at someone, nodding cynically while our mind slips away… I think this boy — very friendly I must say - told me that he had a camera just like mine. He probably said something like that, I can’t really say, because the voice was telling me about a trip to Paris and not to London in December 2002. In that trip a friend was always quoting the character [this kid reminded me so much of] that I ended up reading The Little Prince again. But I was not easily convinced. During the trip I was more worried about the intestinal problems that the fool sitting next to me had. With that and also with the Croatian girls that we met during the stay. When my friend would start with quotes from The Little Prince I would answer with a vaguely “Ok… Ok” and would turn my attention to one of the two or three Croatian girls that I wanted to tame (or whatever you want to call it). We thought it would be funny to spend New Year’s Eve in the Elysian Fields (how clever is that?), but I got lost from my friends in the middle of the confusion. A friend of mine once came up with a funny sentence about Croatian girls (true or not, it doesn’t matter) that said: “Croatian girls aren’t foxy, they’re very foxyyy!!”. That argument didn’t convince me much and I spent 3 hours trying to avoid the girls and desperately searching for my friends. And I realized that one of the worst things that can happen to us is feel lost in the middle of a festive crowd. It was then, feeling completely miserable in a night that was supposed to be happy, that I lived one of my biggest moments of happiness – pure and instant happiness served in small concentrated doses like adrenaline – when, without much hope, I found and embraced my friends.

And yes… I think it’s true: “we’re forever responsible for what or who we tame”

And yes… I guess it’s also true that the fool with the intestinal problems was really me

Notting Hill cowgirl

The beret… He wears it well

I must confess that I have a certain fascination about these berets. Perhaps because they remind me of British men. Perhaps because they remind me of the men from Alentejo. The first is a fascination from childhood - that I still feel when I walk the streets of London – that reminds me of check patterns, that delicious accent and the knowledge that the true gentleman… is the British gentleman. Like the childish fascination about Roger Moore, like the admiration I have of Gary Lineker [that in his whole career wasn’t given a single yellow card (how is that possible??!)] proving that even when it comes to football that island is not only made of aggressive savages (by the way… take a look at these guys…). The second is an obvious consequence of my family origins in Alentejo and of the regular presence of a group of friends of my parents proud in showing an accent that some have lost and others never had. Imagine one of those ads in the British countryside, in a very typical pub where a group of friends is singing chants and treating each other as mates as their faces become more and more flushed. That’s what more or less happens in my parents house but with an Alentejo flavor.

I’m particularly pleased by seeing young men with these berets. And if they didn’t look silly on me I’d wear them everyday. I like these berets so much that a year ago I had already posted, A man and his beret. I leave you with the concept of crossing urban street wear with a rural accessory. A fully customized man.

A small [that makes big] detail in a middle-aged woman

Mix and Match

The idea was to get a fancy title praising this girl's ability to mix and match such different patterns but I'm so sleepy that I can't do any better than this

There’s something (special) about her

Still about the neck...

I'm not very enthusiastic about accessories but those that can be worn on the neck are by far my favorites. They make all the difference... and sense