Aside from being accused of Bogarting the remote from time to time, you don’t often elicit comparisons to smooth-as-a-fine-scotch Film Noir detective-y types. Your slow smile is a little too quick. Your fast-talkin’ is a little too slow. But that’s all about to change. 

It’s common knowledge that nobody wants to be the kid who gets socks for Christmas. Socks, as a Christmas gift, usually hit that not-so-sweet spot right at the nexus of “practical” and “boring”. 

Denimheads of the world, listen up: if you’ve ever lain awake at night obsessing over selvage denim and wishing there was some way, any way, that you could just envelope yourself in it from head to toe, well, your prayers have been answered. 

As self-admitted junkies for those objects that remind us of times long ago, we think it’s nonetheless important to keep priorities straight. It’s a difficult task, but we try to avoid hoarding every old glass milk jug we come across at the flea market– vestigial as they may be, we just can’t justify collecting old things just because they’re old. 

We’ve all had that moment: you’re sitting around enjoying a beer with some friends, talking about the difference between the sixty-minute and ninety-minute IPA, discoursing on the subtleties of a good Rauchbier, when it happens.

Not to brag, but when it comes to the hard stuff, you know what you’re talking about. You know your whiskey from your whisky, your scotch from your “notch”. You’re comfortable tossing around terms like “sour mash” and “peaty”. 

Growing up, it seemed like somebody or other was always scolding you for being too loud– whether it was your grandfather telling you to pipe down at dinner, or your folks critiquing your new look during that punk phase. 

Mom always told you that smoking is bad for you. And she’s right– we don’t encourage that type of behavior any more than your folks did. But, if you must smoke (we mean really, really, must smoke), the least you can do is try to be refined about it and clean up after yourself (another of mom’s favorite catchphrases). 

What’s up with this crazy weather, right? One minute we’re barricading ourselves in against the storm of the century, and the next, the smell of hot pavement is permeating the air on clear, warm evenings. 

So, it’s cold out. Real cold. Pretty much too cold to make us want to do anything but make ourselves a nice drink and sit inside with a few friends, trying to forget how cold it is.

We know what you’re thinking: “Lamps? What’s so great about a lamp?” Bite your tongue, sir. This is not just a lamp. 

Ah, the iPad. No matter how useful those damn things are, we still always feel a bit awkward tucking this slick little piece of equipment under our arms and walking down the street– it’s like carrying around a big flashing “Young Trendy Kid” sign. 

Wishing all our friends a happy and safe holiday season– we’re so grateful for all the wonderful experiences that we’ve had through Rye & Rivet this past year, from meeting and interviewing our heroes to continuing to be impressed and surprised by all the support we’ve gotten from you readers. We can’t say “thanks” enough.

Like any heritage enthusiasts worth their salt, we know that it’s just not the holidays without those traditional songs– Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby–but somewhere between Black Friday and December 24th, we go a little stir-crazy with the classics and feel the need to bust out some new favorites in order to stay sane.

Right now, if you’re anything like us, your mind is millions of miles away from the concept of “Black Friday”. Maybe instead your thoughts are consumed by turkey temperatures, directions to grandmother’s house, or where the heck all of your relatives are going to sit once they arrive. 

If you’re a compulsive scribbler like us, there’s a pretty good chance you have a teetering tower of notebooks hidden somewhere in your closet. Grocery lists, phone numbers, a line of poetic philosophy or two…it’s almost hard to believe that such a wealth of genius could be hidden in that raggedy stack of dog-eared booklets, but there they are.

We all know that beer is good for your mind and soul (right?), but we’d never before considered the possibility that it’s also good for your face. Luckily, there are people in the world more naturally curious than we. 

Contrary to what we all believed when we were kids, it’s not always necessary to advertise your predilections on your clothing. 

We’re not going to insult your intelligence by telling you for the billionth time how much we love fall. This month, we’re particularly enamored with songs that have a bit of that smokey, sultry, spooky vibe that makes autumn the best part of the year.

There are a handful of things every man should know how to do— mend a small tear, cook up a steak, mix a Manhattan. However, when it comes to the bigger things in life (that is, a bigger tear… not a bigger Manhattan), sometimes one needs a bit of help. 

This past Saturday, we were lucky enough to be able to go down to the Jazz Age Lawn Party on Governor’s Island. Between the St. Germain cocktails and Charleston lessons, we snapped a few “street” (“lawn”) style pics of sharp-dressed gents we came across. 

Sometimes, music and style are so tightly interwoven that it’s difficult to tell which came first. The Mods had their scooters. Glam had glitter. And rock n’ roll? Well, we all know that the uniform for any rock star worth his salt is leather. 

Fine arts startup Artsicle asked me to guest-curate an online exhibit using some of the works in their collection, coming from a menswear-y perspective. I have to admit, there were so many great pieces that I had trouble narrowing it down! 

In a lot of ways, we define our experiences as humans based on what’s left after the fact. Parties that you currently recall as unbelievably epic resound that way because of a deeply-ingrained, bodacious, extreme photograph or two that you didn’t see until weeks after the solo cups had been collected and discarded. 

While we love leather and selvage denim first and foremost for their long-wearing, practical properties, we must admit that, at this point, you could probably sell us a $30 Snickers bar if it was wrapped in Cone Denim and Horween. 

1947. Jack Kerouac sets off for San Francisco, making the first trip of what will later become On The Road. There are girls, parties, missed connections (no, not that kind),  miscalculations and mistakes. The resulting trip rocks the status quo and goes on to redefine America.