| man style
Mack Attack Deep down, I've always wanted to have that Mack Daddy style. Not that I'm itching to be a superpimp, but I dig the look that says "I ain't taking crap from no one." The Mack, epitomized in Michael Campus' 1973 movie of the same name, was usually found donning a sleek three-piece suit, floor-length fur coat and oversized fedora; flanked by a coterie of foxy ladies. Growing up in Connecticut, I was disgusted by the pervasive preppie look, but didn't have the disposable income to blow on fly threads. These days I'm a low-key, jeans-and-oxford-shirt kind of dresser and anti-fur. I thought I had left my original gangsta dreams long behind. But last year, the popularity of Blaxploitation film festivals and '70s retro fashion seemed to reach an all-time peak and the image of the Mack came strolling back. Browsing in a New Orleans vintage store this past summer, I came across a charcoal-gray, Sherpa wool cap. I immediately fell for the funky and floppy relic of '70s fashion - even though its lining was missing. "You can have a tailor make you one," the saleswoman assured, running her fingers over and through the cap's shaggy material. The exposed, dried-glue back of the Sherpa wool irritated my scalp, but I was too lost in the look to care. "Aw yeah," I exclaimed with a laugh and a snap of my fingers. I threw $15 down for the hat and some bug-eyed sunglasses that would ensure a Shaft seal of approval. Once home in Philadelphia, I tucked the cap into a drawer and forgot about it. Around January, I noticed Gail, a co-worker, wearing a grey fleece shirt-jacket and was immediately jealous. It was fuzzy and casual, but stylish. In short, it was everything that Sherpa cap could be, but wasn't. Gail had bought her shirt-jacket at Magazine/Pret-a-Porter boutique on Pine Street. A few days later I brought the cap into Magazine, clutching it like a wounded pet. "Can you can save it?" I implored Laurie Tindall, Magazine's owner and seamstress. "I can probably make lining with some felt I have," figured Laurie. A friend-of-a-friend, she agreed to do it as a favor. "No, you have to let me give you something," I reasoned. But she wouldn't listen. I could buy something to make up for it or, even better, I could get wooly shirt-jacket to go with my cap. "Could you make a jacket for me like Gail's?" I asked. "That would match the hat perfectly," she said, "but I'm all out of the grey fleece." My mackadociousness would not be stopped. I'd find the fabric, have Laurie make a jacket and finally kick off a full-fledged Mack Attack. A week or so later I was down at Kincus Fabrics on Fourth Street. They had the grey fleece. But they also had a wall stocked with bolts of fake fur; I was inspired to create my personalized version of the jacket. The fake black Persian lamb was nice, though $24.95 a yard was out of my range. There was the thick Dalmatian fur, but a Kincus employee warned me that it would be hell to sew. As I ran my hand over the fabrics, visions of a snippy Isaac Mizrahi in Unzipped - a very different kind of "take no crap" persona - fluttered through my head. "No, no that won't work at all," screamed the Little Mizrahi in me, exasperated. How did I know which one would work best? The blue fake fur is all right and only $9.95, but a little chintzy. The lipstick red - "Ugh, I should buy that one just to have the pleasure of burning it!" scowled Little Mizrahi. If I only had a cigarette to dangle from my lips so I could play the part better. The black sealskin was "Dee-vine!" but I wondered if the diamond-shaped pattern etched into it would make me look like a couch. Hmm... that ultra smooth fur would definitely entice the ladies to "feel the material." At $14.95 a yard, it was a pricey gamble. The sealskin wasn't returnable, and Laurie told me she had to see the material to be sure if she could work with it? but a Mack Daddy is always willing to take a risk. "This won't be a problem at all," said Laurie, complimenting me on my choice. Labor for the jacket would be $50 and take about a week. "Aw yeah," I exclaimed, slipping on the cushy finished product a week and a day later. It looked even more '70s than the Sherpa hat. I realized why Lenny Kravitz has all of his retro clothing custom-made - you never have to ever worry about that awkward, thrift-store fit and you can make your outfit as over-the-top as you want. Showtime! I began wearing the hat and shirt jacket ensemble on a regular basis. "Man, you're really pimpin' out today!" said one person. "There ain't no slacking in this man's macking!" said another. Still, my favorite response was a co-worker's simple disbelief: "It's so... hip." Yes, me - "Mr. Jeans and Button-Down Shirts" was gettin' down in a big way. But I'd been wasting the jacket on daytime wear; nightlife called. I hit the Josh Wink/King Britt record release party at the Palmer Social Club, dressed to impress. "Hey Dave," said someone I'd never met before. I explained that I wasn't Dave and figured the shirt-jacket was giving me such a hep look that this guy must have mistaken me for one of the regular scenesters. The guy smiled and rubbed me on the shoulder, checking out the fake fur. That's wasn't exactly the response I was expecting. A few days later a male writer at work gave the material an extra squeeze and told me he dug it. It dawned on me that men, who rarely get to wear fake fur, were much more curious about checking out the funky fabric than women, who are more used to wearing distinctive materials. The jacket didn't exactly turn me into the Mack Daddy babe magnet, either. Then I went on date with a woman I'd been seeing for a little while. She liked the fake seal fur, but wasn't exactly stroking it non-stop. We were getting ready for dinner and I threw the jacket on. I gave her a quick kiss and then another. And the kisses led to fiery sex. When we were getting dressed she remarked with a giggle: "It was the jacket... it really got you going." I brushed the fur. Finally, I felt like the Mack Daddy. "Aw... yeah!" |