I <3 This Brand

Cordarounds!

(horizontal-wale corduroys)


Their blog (cordarounds.com/blog) is delightful fun, not to mention their customer emails. Tales of ninjas, high-seas adventures, and vengeance-themed attire grace their communications. Apparently they're perfect for sneaking around: "The meshing wales of these wonderpants allow for effortlessly swish-free sneakabouts -- no vrrt-vrrts, woosh-wooshes or other onomatopoeic tip-offs that you’re on the prowl."

I first stumbled upon this brand a few years ago while seeking a gift for a guy friend, and fell in love with the fresh marketing ideas and whimsical messaging. Then I promptly snapped up a pair of horizontal seersuckers.

Most impressive is how they've managed to craft an entire culture around these pants. You can read their blog, check out the recent Wired article, cruise their (occasional) eBay auctions, peruse the Flickr album, or even Facebook 'em.
(∆∆ A smart list of digital media, that.)



Who can't love a small business that takes a simple pair of horizontal-wale corduroy pants (with a fancy printed inner lining) and spins a yarn like this? It's just sheer awesomeness.

"And what makes these pants so valuable?

• The cotton of these fine seersucker trousers was grown and loomed exclusively on the International Space Station, then hand sewn by professional hand models, also in orbit, using fibers from the Shroud of Turin and Barry Bonds' 700th homerun baseball.

• King Tut's sarcophagus was melted down and molecularly compacted to form the 24 millimeter button of your trousers.

• Inspector #6 inspected the pants 6,000 times before proclaiming them flawless, then dying in ecstacy.

• Your Summerounds were washed in a bath of babies“ tears, warmed by a still-smoldering meteorite.

• They carry the scent of the small of Sophia Loren's back.

• They were serenaded by the ghost of Liberace.

• Finally, and we“re not sure how, at least eight Faberge eggs and a squadron of stealth fighters were destroyed in the production of your pants.

We know you would expect nothing less.

With love,
Your Faithful Servants at Cordarounds"

*fangirly swoon for the lovely writing*

Who needs designers?

Everyone knows that infomercials solve all the world's problems. And that every problem can be solved by massaging a cream on something. (Wish that worked for everything.)


Best part: the Emotionator. Because when I think of baby seals, I think of the Love Boat.

Talkin' bout my generation

You've gotta ask yourself.
Why is it that, in the age of communication, we're producing increasingly inarticulate youth?



The verbal trends of (some) young people are more than just mildly annoying. They hint at deeper issues:

1. We're not entirely sure what we really believe in. Not surprising. It's simply uncool to have, for example, deep religious beliefs. Because only the crazies do that.

2. We're afraid to give offense to someone who may believe differently. Welcome to the PC generation. Not "Personal Computer" but "Politically Correct." We'll argue over whether Brittany deserves to keep her kids. Whether that last Wes Anderson movie was good or not. But we're not gonna talk about the things that really matter, lest we alienate a friend or even a passerby. Play nice, kids.

3. We're less willing to act than ever before. Conformity is the order of the day, right from this generation's cradle. Raised in playpens in daycare centers. Two decades in schools, kennelled in rooms segregated by age. Then at last, free - to work in a small grey cubicle. Sure, this may be the "I" era: iPod, iPhone, iChat, I-Personalize everything I wear and consume (music, clothes, hair, shoes, bags, meals, etc) down to the nth detail. But the differences that matter, in beliefs and in actions, are strongly discouraged. So why bother?

Conviction, folks. In our business, it sells work. In life, it's what separates the legends from the onlookers. The successes from failures. And on occasion, it changes lives. Because convictions are what give life meaning. They make life worth living. And work worth selling.