Patrik Ervell Spring 2012: Dirty Sexy Money

In the world of menswear, like in the rest of the fashion industry, certain niche designers always draw a distinguished crowd; Patrik Ervell is one of them. And for good reason. His look is always cohesive, sleek, and never safe. To wit: this year, to the surprise of everyone, he displayed several women’s looks that offered the same simple, striking aesthetic, which he’s captured with his dagger-sharp suits for men. Ervell notes that this collection was the culmination of his ten years in New York City, a place where “the powers of commerce and finance” mix with “the grit and toughness of the street.” To his credit, I wouldn’t fuck around with the person Ervell visualizes wearing these clothes. There’s nothing mean about them, but they’re hard-edged, crisp and cool.
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In the world of menswear, like in the rest of the fashion industry, certain niche designers always draw a distinguished crowd; Patrik Ervell is one of them. And for good reason. His look is always cohesive, sleek, and never safe. To wit: this year, to the surprise of everyone, he displayed several women’s looks that offered the same simple, striking aesthetic, which he’s captured with his dagger-sharp suits for men. Ervell notes that this collection was the culmination of his ten years in New York City, a place where “the powers of commerce and finance” mix with “the grit and toughness of the street.” To his credit, I wouldn’t fuck around with the person Ervell visualizes wearing these clothes. There’s nothing mean about them, but they’re hard-edged, crisp and cool.
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In the world of menswear, like in the rest of the fashion industry, certain niche designers always draw a distinguished crowd; Patrik Ervell is one of them. And for good reason. His look is always cohesive, sleek, and never safe. To wit: this year, to the surprise of everyone, he displayed several women’s looks that offered the same simple, striking aesthetic, which he’s captured with his dagger-sharp suits for men.

Ervell notes that this collection was the culmination of his ten years in New York City, a place where “the powers of commerce and finance” mix with “the grit and toughness of the street.” To his credit, I wouldn’t fuck around with the person Ervell visualizes wearing these clothes. There’s nothing mean about them, but they’re hard-edged, crisp and cool.

His ties are short and wide, his brown leather aviator jacket—thin like paper—is to die for, his black leather chemise (for her) could be part of an executioner’s uniform. His shortlseeve sweatshirts are some of the best things I’ve seen this year (his quilted jacket, for her, is another), and if I can’t get on board with the psychedelic shirting (Hawaiian and other), in hand-painted silk, I’m willing to admit that it may be my loss.

I would have liked to have seen the colors in those shirts spread out thoughout the collection, which contained much brown, olive, black, burgundy, beige, and more brown (even though it was called “cognac”). Then again, I’m from Canada, where the money is all kinds of bright red, purple, green and blue. But maybe that’s the point: dirty money doesn’t have to be drab. It can be just as dark when it’s colorful.