Archive for April, 2009

Charles Hamilton

I know this song has been out for a hot minute, but for some reason I’ve been jamming it all morning. Gotta love that freshmen 10…

Local Urban Gentleman: L. David Stewart aka Nizm

We’re going back to the basics and re-starting some of the basic urban gent sections, like our beloved Local Urban Gentleman! So if you have serious style with a bit of swag send an email to urbangentblog@gmail.com, expressing your interest. Send about 3 pictures of your style and answer the questions below.
This weeks featured Local Urban Gentleman is L.David Stewart. He’s a Chicago native that lives a double life as an architect and rapper– pretty impressive. He spends his weekends kicking, pushing, and coasting, basically he skates– seems like a popular recreation choice among chi-town rappers. Amongst his living a double life, Mr. Stewart also finds time to model and is a proud member of Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity…

Presenting L. David Stewart, aka Nizm…

very nice layer combination.

Name: L. David Stewart
Age:
27
Location: Chicago
Occupation: Designer (Architectural)
Favorite Quote: “Character and temperament change under my dominant power”
Style Icons: John Legend, James Bond, Sean Carter
Favorite Brands (up to 3): Ben Sherman, Do Denim, Seven
Favorite Store: Too many
Favorite Piece of clothing: T-shirt
bow-tie or tie:
Tie
flat front or pleated pants: Flat front
Shades, hat, or scarf: Hat
Description of favorite accessory:
something that works within the architecture of the outfit as it’s own piece but has it own character.
Ultimate career/life goal: architectural designer of the restaurants and offices worldwide Favorite Book: The Bible
Hobbies: Rollerskating, writing, traveling, reading

Grooming product of choice: ANY type of AXE body washes mixed together (2 minimum)

1. How would you describe your style? A grown hip-hop/sophisticated casual with a touch of business.

2. How did you become so stylish? Where did it come from or who inspired it? In terms of stylish I feel its because of my love for design and music. Can’t be into creating style without loving style. I outline my style by my persona and character. As far as inspiration my mother as well as successful Black men in all industries.

3. What advice would you give someone trying to find their personal style? Like music, don’t go with trends, our personalities are not trends, we are who we are, and let your attire market the corporation that is you and be the best representation of that.

4. What’s the best clothing advice you ever received? Be yourself.

Common, “I Want You”

A Man Carries Cash… Are You a Man?

Esquire Magazine has a really interesting article, entitled “What is a Man” by Tom Chiarella . Read it below, and let me know what you think… or add to it…

A man carries cash. A man looks out for those around him — woman, friend, stranger. A man can cook eggs. A man can always find something good to watch on television. A man makes things — a rock wall, a table, the tuition money. Or he rebuilds — engines, watches, fortunes. He passes along expertise, one man to the next. Know-how survives him. This is immortality. A man can speak to dogs. A man fantasizes that kung fu lives deep inside him somewhere. A man knows how to sneak a look at cleavage and doesn’t care if he gets busted once in a while. A man is good at his job. Not his work, not his avocation, not his hobby. Not his career. His job. It doesn’t matter what his job is, because if a man doesn’t like his job, he gets a new one.
A man can look you up and down and figure some things out. Before you say a word, he makes you. From your suitcase, from your watch, from your posture. A man infers.
A man owns up. That’s why Mark McGwire is not a man. A man grasps his mistakes. He lays claim to who he is, and what he was, whether he likes them or not.
Some mistakes, though, he lets pass if no one notices. Like dropping the steak in the dirt.
A man loves the human body, the revelation of nakedness. He loves the sight of the ‘bare’ breast, the physics of the human skeleton, the alternating current of the flesh. He is thrilled by the snatch, by the wrist, the sight of a bare shoulder. He likes the crease of a bent knee. When his woman bends to pick up her underwear, he feels that thrum that only a man can feel.
A man doesn’t point out that he did the dishes.
A man looks out for children. Makes them stand behind him.
A man knows how to bust balls.
A man has had liquor enough in his life that he can order a drink without sounding breathless, clueless, or obtuse. When he doesn’t want to think, he orders bourbon or something on tap.
Never the sauvignon blanc.
A man welcomes the coming of age. It frees him. It allows him to assume the upper hand and teaches him when to step aside.
Maybe he never has, and maybe he never will, but a man figures he can knock someone, somewhere, on his ass.
He does not rely on rationalizations or explanations. He doesn’t winnow, winnow, winnow until truths can be humbly categorized, or intellectualized, until behavior can be written off with an explanation. He doesn’t see himself lost in some great maw of humanity, some grand sweep. That’s the liberal thread; it’s why men won’t line up as liberals.
A man gets the door. Without thinking.
He stops traffic when he must.
A man resists formulations, questions belief, embraces ambiguity without making a fetish out of it. A man revisits his beliefs. Continually. That’s why men won’t forever line up with conservatives, either.
A man knows his tools and how to use them — just the ones he needs. Knows which saw is for what, how to find the stud, when to use galvanized nails.
A miter saw, incidentally, is the kind that sits on a table, has a circular blade, and is used for cutting at precise angles. Very satisfying saw.
A man knows how to lose an afternoon. Drinking, playing Grand Theft Auto, driving aimlessly, shooting pool.
He knows how to lose a month, also.
A man listens, and that’s how he argues. He crafts opinions. He can pound the table, take the floor. It’s not that he must. It’s that he can.
A man is comfortable being alone. Loves being alone, actually. He sleeps.
Or he stands watch. He interrupts trouble. This is the state policeman. This is the poet. Men, both of them.
A man loves driving alone most of all.
Style — a man has that. No matter how eccentric that style is, it is uncontrived. It’s a set of rules.
He understands the basic mechanics of the planet. Or he can close one eye, look up at the sun, and tell you what time of day it is. Or where north is. He can tell you where you might find something to eat or where the fish run. He understands electricity or the internal-combustion engine, the mechanics of flight or how to figure a pitcher’s ERA.
A man does not know everything. He doesn’t try. He likes what other men know.
A man can tell you he was wrong. That he did wrong. That he planned to. He can tell you when he is lost. He can apologize, even if sometimes it’s just to put an end to the bickering.
A man does not wither at the thought of dancing. But it is generally to be avoided.
A man watches. Sometimes he goes and sits at an auction knowing he won’t spend a dime, witnessing the temptation and the maneuvering of others. Sometimes he stands on the street corner watching stuff. This is not about quietude so much as collection. It is not about meditation so much as considering. A man refracts his vision and gains acuity. This serves him in every way. No one taught him this — to be quiet, to cipher, to watch. In this way, in these moments, the man is like a zoo animal: both captive and free. You cannot take your eyes off a man when he is like that. You shouldn’t. The hell if you know what he is thinking, who he is, or what he will do next.

The May Issue.

via esquire.com

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