Stylish guys are now embracing a refined, almost old-timey, style: ‘It projects power and confidence.’
3 min
On a recent trip to the new Manhattan flagship for Stòffa, a menswear brand, Colin King made a beeline for the back of the store. The 36-year-old stylist and artistic director had booked a made-to-measure appointment—but not for a suit. Instead, he chose a cotton-silk shirt, relaxed pants in a classy wool, and a drapey, chocolate-brown shirt-jacket, all for his everyday wardrobe. He also snapped up slipperlike suede loafers. “They’re so handsome,” he said.
Lately, the way men like King dress has undergone a subtle shift. Those in the know have been embracing a more refined and considered, if not quite formal, style. “There’s a real move toward relaxed elegance,” said London designer and tailor Charlie Casely-Hayford. “It looks effortless, there’s a nonchalance, but it projects power and confidence.” Stòffa, a newly buzzy, 10-year-old label embodies the look.
Despite a few modern tweaks, we’re talking about the kind of get-ups that Cary Grant might have worn to lounge about—polished yet unstuffy, and with a certain old-timey appeal. The look is linked to the much-talked-about “quiet luxury” movement, but it often has “more personality than quiet luxury,” said David Telfer, creative director at British brand Sunspel. Think flowy, pleated pants, bold polos, souped-up chore jackets and loafers with waferish soles.
Lots of men who now crave easy elegance were stocking up on streetwear a year ago, according to Dag Granath, co-founder of Saman Amel, a Stockholm brand known for its tasteful tailoring. “What we’re seeing is that a 28-to-38-year-old customer is swapping out [streetwear from] high-end fashion labels for a bit of tailoring to anchor the rest of their wardrobe on,” said Granath.
Jon Gorrigan, 43, a fashion photographer in London, used to live in casual streetwear. But he’s “dressing smarter now,” he said, “more like my grandfather, who was a real sharp dresser. He wasn’t a rich man, but he always looked elegant.” He’s swapped sweatshirts for striped polos from London brand King & Tuckfield, and the odd fun piece like a faded Gitman Vintage Hawaiian shirt. Dressing “with more consideration,” as he put it, “makes you feel more grown-up.”
A pair of Saint Laurent loafers were Gorrigan’s entrée into elegance. “They are lower profile, which feels more streamlined, with a subtle monogram,” he said. Indeed, slim-soled shoes, from moccasins to sneakers, help define the modern Cary Grant look. “Men want slimmed-down shoes to go with the new, smarter, classic look,” said Tim Little, creative director and CEO at Grenson, a British shoemaker. The chunky, lug-sole bases that have reigned for years appear to have undertaken a juice cleanse. Current hot, refined styles include leather slippers by Lemaire, Saman Amel’s suede moccasins, and super-lean sneakers like Dries Van Noten’s suede style and Miu Miu’s interpretation of the New Balance 530. A finer shoe “feels a bit more dressy and chic, and won’t dominate the whole outfit in the way a chunky boot would,” said Granath.
Such streamlined kicks go nicely with flowy linen trousers, dark denim and polo shirts—whether preppy buttoned styles or “Johnny collar” polos , a sexier, buttonless take. Sunspel reports that sales of its Riviera polo, a trim design sported by Daniel Craig in “Casino Royale” (2006), have increased by 51% in the U.S. in the last four months, year on year. On the brand’s website, this polo is most often bought with an unstructured linen blazer, noted Telfer.
Those who want a tad less formality than a blazer will appreciate how the humble chore jacket is being reworked in luxe fabrics. The results feel easy yet urbane. See Zegna ’s floppy, silk-linen take, or upcoming fall designs from Scotland’s Johnstons of Elgin made from premium merino and Scottish tweed.
Though elegant dressing reads as expensive, you can score the look at reasonable prices. Accessible labels like Madewell, Percival and Cos sell sophisticated polos and roomy, pleated trousers. Meanwhile, you can find streamlined loafers at OG brand G.H. Bass for $175.
Elegant needn’t be boring, noted Bryan O’Sullivan, 42, a design-studio founder who’s based in both London and New York. His workday uniform consists of high-waist pants and taupe knit polos, “which does feel quite Cary Grant,” he said. But he’ll occasionally add “a splash of flair” with choice items like Bode cream pants embellished with quilted cats.
He said the confidence that this pulled-together, slightly offbeat look projects is good for business. “When you’re trying to convince a client of your creative vision, it does help if you look the part.”
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Randy Boyagoda’s new novel, “Lords of Serendipity,” delivers a biting satire of cheating, politics and dysfunction across modern universities.
5 min
Administrative cowardice. Rampant cheating. The soaking and scamming of undergrads and grad students. Performative wokeism. Intensifying competition for international tuition dollars from an expansive China.
These are either the latest dire headlines about American higher ed or the myriad subplots of “Lords of Serendipity,” an ambitious new novel by Randy Boyagoda. Unlike most campus fiction, its scope extends well beyond the cloister of the liberal arts classroom to whammy the entire university system, from its financial model to its function within a globalized economy. Along the way, it skewers its lightning-rod targets with a precision too sharp to be considered entirely fictional.
That its author is not only well-versed in satire, having written four other novels in the genre, but is also a professor of English at the University of Toronto and an experienced college administrator, further blurs the lines between comic fiction and brutal fact. It’s the kind of no-holds-barred book only a consummate insider would know to write—but only one who is also conveniently outside the American university system could get away with writing.
“This is someone who’s got the inside dope on what can go on at universities, especially with international students, and what kind of con games are going on,” said Margaret Atwood, a friend and fellow Torontonian.
The novel, like Boyagoda himself, is often very funny—even as the dilemmas its characters face read as tragedy. Its cast includes the bickering members of a Sri Lankan hotel cleaner’s family, insecure American freshmen, dead-end third-tier college professors and their highflying Ivy League counterparts and dispirited university functionaries. An old-fashioned Dickensian tale, it sweeps across continents and campuses, from a classic liberal-arts college to a stand-in for Harvard University to an urban technical school to the dilapidated buildings of a state-run university in Sri Lanka.
“I’m a joyful person,” Boyagoda said in an interview, though he prefers to see his outlook on academia as “hopeful” rather than optimistic. He smiles and laughs frequently. He bikes everywhere. He derives energy from his students and from his four daughters, ages 14 to 20. They help him and his American wife, Anna, also an educator, care for Boyagoda’s father, an immigrant from Sri Lanka who has dementia and lives with the family.
The germ of the novel came to Boyagoda during the pandemic, when he was serving as a vice-dean. An urban legend was circulating about a statistics grad student selling passing grades to international students. The cheating scheme itself may well have been apocryphal, but it felt tantalizingly plausible.
“As a novelist, it stayed with me,” Boyagoda said. “Who would sell grades for a stats course? Why would someone buy grades? What’s motivating them? Why wouldn’t the university be doing something about it?” What he didn’t want to do, he explained, was write “another novel about a creative writing professor and his drama with students.”
In addition to writing novels—the first of which was a finalist for Canada’s prestigious Giller Prize; he’s written eight books in total—Boyagoda teaches literature full-time. For his students next semester, kids raised in a purportedly “post-literature era,” he’s assigning three 700-page novels, he noted mischievously, books by George Eliot, Ralph Ellison and Kiran Desai.
On RateMyProfessors, students remark on Boyagoda’s heavy assignments, tough grading and distaste for cellphones, but also hail his “comedy.” When alerted to these reviews, Boyagoda laughed. “Guilty as charged,” he said.
“Randy’s one of those people in academia who is very well educated but doesn’t have an ounce of superiority about him,” said John Irving, who frequently guest lectures in Boyagoda’s classroom. “It’s amazing to see how willing students are to talk in his classrooms, how little afraid they feel of being mocked or put down—he gets complete candor out of them.”
Negotiating competing interests seems to come naturally to him. Like many college campuses, after the Oct. 7 Hamas attack on Israel, the University of Toronto was embroiled in protests, encampments and discord; part of the school’s response was to convene a working group on civil discourse. Boyagoda was put in charge, serving for two years. It’s the kind of thankless task many professors would flee from, but Boyagoda relished the prospect and thinks the group, which is ongoing, made progress.
He has since pivoted to another formidable academic concern: the waning prestige of the humanities. In July, Boyagoda became the director of the Jackman Humanities Institute and special advisor on the humanities to the dean of arts and science. This fall, he is starting a series of gatherings he calls the Dead Book Club. (Dead writers feature heavily among his favorites: St. Augustine, Dante, William Faulkner, Evelyn Waugh, Saul Bellow.)
“The goal is to encourage students to read for its own sake and have conversation for its own sake,” Boyagoda said. “The importance of the humanities will be revealed to those who participate.”
“Lords of Serendipity,” which publishes next week, reflects Boyagoda’s commitment to the pursuit of knowledge: “I’m supposed to say I learn more from my students than they do from me, but no,” Boyagoda said. “I enjoy sharing my excitement and joy about literature and ideas. There are these moments when you are teaching and you can see someone’s face change because they didn’t know something and then they did. That moment when you’re actually watch someone enlarge themselves is deeply satisfying.”
In literary circles, Boyagoda is often referred to as a Catholic novelist, a description he embraces. “A novelist willing to give shape and voice to contemporary religious experience is needed,” Boyagoda said. “I understand myself as a Catholic novelist, provided that I’m not only a Catholic novelist, I’m also a South Asian novelist and I’m a Canadian novelist. I don’t want to be captive to one label.”
His characters, he said, are subjected to what he calls “Graham Greene character situations.”
“They are trying to do good in a fallen world and realize the most they can do is less harm than someone else would do in that same role,” he explained. “They have to accept they are complicit in something that provides some good thing to others. It’s a very Graham Greene way of thinking about sacrifice.”
The campus green they inhabit is a febrile zone in which lofty ideals and cynicism regularly collide. It’s a place where a traditional holiday college celebration is now an occasion for political protest. Kids freely police one another inside and out of the classroom with social media their constant, ready weapon of choice. International students, knowing their family’s financial futures hinge on their degrees, operate in terror of failure and deportation.
Early readers of the book include Gary Shteyngart and Junot Diaz, both of whom have taught at universities and written comic novels. They each contacted Boyagoda midway through to say, in essence, “You nailed it.”
As biting as “Lords of Serendipity” can be, Boyagoda’s faith in higher education remains undaunted.
“It’s absurd that we live in societies that make the decision to take people between the ages of 18 and 22, when they are most physically capable of contributing to our nations and communities, and tell them, ‘Go away for four years, and read and learn and have conversations,’” he said. “I want students to be aware of what an incredible privilege that is.”
Corrections & Amplifications
Randy Boyagoda is a special advisor on the humanities to the dean of arts and science at the University of Toronto. An earlier version of this article incorrectly said he is a special adviser to the dean of humanities. (Corrected on Sept. 2)
