Welcome to WHIMSY'S AETHER-MONDE, where Whimsy holds forth.

A full bio/profile of Whimsy may be found on the Affected Provincial's Companion page—although we feel compelled to warn those of a delicate constitution that there will be some scrolling involved.

Press clippings and gossip about Whimsy can be found on the Press page.

For articles, essays, video interviews, or radio broadcasts about Whimsy, please visit the Media page.

Videos, moving images, music compilations, and recordings made by Whimsy himself can be found on the Arcade page.

To read about Whimsy's book, you are invited to click here.

For a daily account of Whimsy's capers and cavortings, visit his magical yet somehow electrical journal.

On with the FAQs...








FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS
ABOUT THE BOOK AND WEBSITE.

Listed first are several COMMON QUESTIONS REGARDING THE BOOK AND WEBSITE, followed by a few QUESTIONS ABOUT THE NONSENSE FOUND IN THE BOOK ITSELF, brought out into the light of inquiry; and thus, given brief respite from languishing in the shadowlands of bitter misunderstanding.

(Frankly I cannot believe I've posted as much as I have, so I hope someone might take the trouble to read some of it. Someone unemployed, no doubt. ~W)

Below these questions lie a few PERSONAL QUESTIONS CONCERNING WHIMSY and HIS NINCOMPOOPERY, which the reader should dismiss as self-indulgent blather and ignore entirely; after all, the book is the bloom, and the author's life is but a pungent lump of manure. Nevertheless, these questions and answers remain for those who might wish to bore themselves into a stupor. Why post this doggerel, then? Because Whimsy loves you, silly.

............................................

Is it true that there's a film deal in the works? If so, who bought the rights to your book?

Yes. Initial Entertainment Group and Mr. Johnny Depp's production company, Infinitum Nihil, have purchased the film option rights to The Affected Provincial's Companion. I've known since the summer of 2005, but was not at liberty to speak of it until the official announcement appeared in Variety. The screenwriter and director visited us last summer, and a first draft of te script has been written. I've been told that Mr. Depp may wish to play the title role--but when I gaze into my morning mirror, the idea strikes me as likely as Brad Pitt doing "The Mickey Rooney Story".

Now all of this may sound like very heady stuff, but in reality it only means that the odds of a movie being made about me have increased from 1:1,000,000 to 1:10 (You know, that's actually pretty substantial, isn't it? Nevermind). According to the contract I am officially a consultant, but how much my opinions will be solicited (or whether I will have house guests anytime soon) is beyond me. I'm not quite sure what to expect from this point on. Call me provincial.


Am I still able to buy a copy of the early, self-published edition of the Affected Provincial’s Almanack?

Ah—an afficianado, eh? I wish I could help, but The Affected Provincial's Almanack, Volume One, is sold out and no longer available to the public.


I have a question about a particular pocket square fold/a certain tie knot/how to groom a moustache. Can you help me? And why on earth didn’t you put this sort of step-by-step information in the book?

Downloadable pdfs for tie knots, pocket square folds and moustache care are posted on the Tutorials page in the Trifles section. In the meantime, please search the Links page, which should prove helpful (tie knot and square fold links can be found). There are links to some sartorial experts who might—just might—answer your queries better than I. Never been big on workaday details. Obviously.

Although I give brief descriptions of both tie knots and pocket square folds in the book (and refer the reader to this website for more in-depth charts), my editors and I felt that introducing entire sections of exhaustive, step-by-step charts for pocket square folds and tie knots would have diluted the light feel of the book, and would have also bogged down its breezy pace. The website, being more fluid, is far better suited for ever-expanding content like the charts.




So...what inspired you to write The Affected Provincial’s Companion?

Here's what I wrote in the book's preface:

"The book can be read as a distillation of my daily life. It's a collection of fragments that together constitute an artifact: a sort of 'personal folklore,' if you will. And like all folklore, it has roots in fact: I do indeed raise moths, photograph orchids, and ride my highwheel bicycle through the small rural town in which I live. In short, this book consists of the notions and fancies born of my own daily life and that of my longtime beloved, Lady P. Not fit for civilian life, we are artists in trade and temperament, and so keep strange hours—reading, writing, and painting well into the night. We share our small home and garden with a host of creatures: fish in the kitchen, frogs in the trees, cats and opossums on the back porch, hummingbirds in the garden, a flock of ducks lounging in the grass, and a hanging carnivorous plant named Leonard who dangles from the eaves of our front porch (sadly, our lives remain devoid of anteaters). Inside this live-in bird feeder, quail eggs are being poached, books serve as furniture, and the highwheel leans against the curiosity cabinet; yet despite this mild chaos, the suits in the closet are freshly pressed and awaiting orders. It is from this outpost of spirited gentility that The Affected Provincial’s Companion hails."




How did the book get published?

Many of the book’s chapters were originally essays written for the Philadelphia Independent, a short-lived but widely praised independent newspaper that playfully took many of its editorial and visual cues from nineteenth-century broadsheets. When the Independent closed its doors after a three-year run, I decided to self-publish a collection of these articles as a small goldenrod paperback booklet, entitled The Affected Provincial’s Almanack. The interest in the book surprised me—I was soon receiving orders from all over North America, as well as from Australia, Japan and Europe.

This attention from both readers and the media encouraged me to test the waters of the publishing world. I sent a packet to only one New York literary agent, and that was Peter Steinberg at Regal Literary. Both he and the agency had an impressive background, so I sent a ten-page sample of the book to his attention. Two days later, I received a phone call from Peter, asking if I could visit their office and discuss representation. To make a long story short, I had an agency and a book deal offer within a week of mailing that single packet. I've been told by my agent that several publishers made offers for the book before all was said and done.




You use a lot of charts and diagrams in the book. Why?

Because even I get tired of dealing with semicolons, sometimes.

David Byrne, in the introduction to his wonderful book project Arboretum, illuminates this phenomenon beautifully, doing it greater justice than I do here. Another fellow traveler is Lawrence Weschler, and his book Everything That Rises: A Book of Convergences. I highly recommend them both.


Some of the charts get a bit risque, inviting people to test the size of their "zipper wookie"?

In one chapter entitled The Moment Of Truth; Or, Assessing One's Man-Antler, readers are invited to deflower the book to assess the girth of their "little general", and to see how they compare with the likes of Napoleon, Yul Brenner, and Billy Barty. Think you can top Billy? You'd be well-advised to think again, my acorn-sporting friend.


Is the book a satire?

That's a very good question.




Why the florid writing style? Isn’t it usually considered kind of "hacky" to write in that archaic manner?

Well that's the challenge, isn't it? Some might laugh when I say that I strive for economy in my writing, but I do. Most of the chapters in the book have been edited down to the point where taking out one clause will mar the whole thing. I like a verbal texture that's lush, but crisp and well-pruned. That said, I really don't see the point in treating English like a dead language by mercilessly clipping it back to the quick. It's an organic thing--let it flourish. As far as "archaic"...to me, it's all about texture, not time. I'm not very concerned over when something was written, just its inherent qualities. At a certain point, you stop worrying and start to love the split infinitive.




Even though I'm an American, I'll sometimes give myself permission to adopt the British spelling of a particular word, because they're sometimes more typographically attractive on the page (e.g: "moustache"), or sound more musical to my ear when read aloud (e.g: "amongst"). Sometimes the British variations of certain words will allow a more pleasing flow, because they will often have little consonants tacked onto the ends that allow the tongue to skip onto the next phrase when read aloud. It’s an aesthetic choice. After all, a sentence needs to be more than merely "correct"—it needs to feel "right." So there!

Certainly, this writing style heightens the puffery--but it's all part of the fun. Pretension is funny--it's an eminently human trait. We’re essentially apes putting on Olympian airs, after all. Oooga booga.



What is an "Affected Provincial?"

In Laurence Sterne's wonderful book, Tristram Shandy, Tristram's father is described as being the lively-minded sort of fellow who, despite not being a deep scholar, was adept at picking up fancies and notions, playing with them for a half hour's time, refining the points, adding some of his own, polishing them idly in his hands—then blithely tossing them aside in favor of some other trifle.

That's Affected Provincialism in action: modest in scale, but broad in scope. Rather than a grand ball it's a fête champêtre; instead of a court painting it's a pastorale; and rather than a huge symphony it's a string quartet, or perhaps woodwinds on the grass. It's a lighthearted synthesis of small, provisional, disparate ideas--a bit of a muddle, actually. I think Sterne put it best when he wrote:



Affected Provincials are prolific crackpots brimming with the amateur spirit. They are often autodidacts and do-it-yourselfers not accredited in their field(s) of study, often living on the margins of where the action is purported to be. With their boundless energy and restless minds, they tend to be entrepreneurs, philomaths, aesthetes, dilettantes, and jacks-of-all-trades. You'll know an Affected Provincial by the air of improbability they have about them, and by their nonchalant rumpledness; their style is a bit off, but has its own kind of dash. Erasmus Darwin, Benjamin Franklin, the Wright Brothers, Joseph Cornell, Erik Satie, and Edward Gorey all had a bit of the Affected Provincial in them. Affected Provincials are cosmopolitan in their own way: They may travel widely and get about in cities, but they will consciously choose to cloister themselves in some way--either in a secluded urban oasis or a geographically isolated area. Because they need space for the peculiar milieus they create for themselves, they live in a state of self-imposed exile, keeping the world at arm's length.


Affected Provincialism can take many forms, but personally I prefer borrowing heavily from the combined qualities of the naturalist, philomath, dandy and aesthete. Independence, liberality, optimism, playfulness, curiosity, lightness, and generosity are integral to Affected Provincialism; it's modeled loosely on the idea of the eighteenth-century gentleman amateur, as wrongly imagined by a twenty-first-century twit. Aspects of the urbane, aristocratic parlor vulture combine with the contradictory image of a country gentleman puffing a clay pipe under a sweetgum tree, breezing through a field guide on wildflowers (an archetypal dandy would never be caught in such a setting, let alone gushing enthusiastically about it). I enjoy the inherent contradictions in a notion like pastoral dandyism: a silk tie in the shade of a straw hat.



The Affected Provincial is a slightly more droll, playful creature than his cool, reserved cousin in the city; he doesn't take himself too seriously; he believes that humor and playfulness are far more civilized than bitchiness and bile. Victor Hugo wrote: "The provincial dandy wore the longest of spurs, and the fiercest of moustaches." Hugo implied disdain, but where he found fault, I find something reassuringly exuberant. Because the Affected Provincial lives beyond the city's halls of mirrors, he is free to nuture the idiosyncrasies that would have been pruned in more urbane environs. Thus, he tends to raise eyebrows when he sticks a feather in his cap and rides into town. Affected Provincialism proposes that not all of our innovations, in the interest of our culture’s health, must bear urbane DNA—especially in a time when cities are becoming more alike.

Like Sterne's father, I fancy myself a man of parts--but it may be more accurate to say I am a deeply committed dilettante. Being a sort of dabbler, I'm not an expert in any one field of study or discipline, but I do fancy myself an expert in synthesizing what I know. Some people might describe such a state of mind as postmodern. I would call it making the best of a public education.


You devote part of your book to dandyism. How would you describe dandyism?

(Oh, ho! We're plunging our spoons deep into the geek soup now...)

I concern myself mainly with how Affected Provincialism borrows from dandyism. Because of this, I'll often use the word "dandyism" in somewhat broader terms; I include dandyism's colorful margins, where its qualities are being borrowed and referenced (see Fig. I, below). My use of the word has kept a few obsessive, pajama-pressing purists up at night--which I find a bit strange, but comical.



From its very beginning, dandyism was a paradox: it was reactionary, yet radical. By most accounts it was set into motion by Beau Brummell, a member of the middle classes who climbed to the pinnacle of English society--not through wealth and title, but by his brazen sang-froid and the enforcement of his taste. Brummell helped to hasten the death of the age of aristocracy and the rise of the gentility by using modest, democratic materials to define his idea of modern masculine dress: restrained colors and an elegant silhouette devoid of the overstated, unnecessary flourishes so common in the fashions of the fading ancien regime. Many take his famous dictum of inconspicuousness out of context: Brummell was a brash revolutionary rebelling against the convention of powdered wigs and silken waistcoats of the late eighteenth century, and was doubtlessly a scandalous sight when he first made his rounds. (Later on, Wilde followed in this tradition by flouting the prudish, drab Victorian dress of his time, but that's another story.) In our age of corporate worldwide homogenization, this nonconformist, contrarian aspect of dandyism is more relevant than ever. The dandy is often both a hero and pariah in his own age.



Dandyism is an elegance of mind that finds its expression in one’s physical presence: clothing, manners, speech, attitude, etc. Dandyism used to be solely about the wearing of clothes, but our mediated modern world has caught up with the dandy, and has all but obliterated his inscrutability; modern people are now able to "read" the subtleties in his attire that were once his refuge. To be a clothes maven is no longer enough; one who stops there is merely well-dressed. The dandy of today is as much about his lifestyle as his wardrobe; the dandy is now an artist-philosopher who uses himself as a canvas and stage. He wishes to make himself and his everyday life into a living work of art, if not an outright myth--which has often been the dandy's calling card.

The dandy may deviate from normal society, but he holds himself to his own rigorous standards. Dandies are similar to bohemians in that they both deviate from mainstream society. The line between dandies and bohemians can be a bit blurry, but bohemians will usually aspire to be coarser in dress and behavior than the status quo, while dandies employ the opposite strategy, opting instead to become more refined than the status quo. Whereas bohemians disregard rules that mainstream society cannot afford to ignore, dandyism follows rules that mainstream society cannot afford to observe. The dandy heeds convention, but enjoys the subtleties of playing with convention, pushing against it without breaking it; dandies are quickly bored by the transgressive bombast of the bohemian set, who always seem to break their toys all too soon. The dandy seems to crop up most often when a culture arrives at a baroque, overdeveloped stage--when other more obvious, robust creative avenues have exhausted themselves. The bohemians throw down the broader cultural strokes, and the dandies then come in to draw intricate calligraphy between these strokes, playing at their margins, inverting or parodying the convention and cant of the day. Dandyism adopts and subverts traditional ideas, puts them in a new context.



Dandies who employ the more flamboyant forms of dandyism tend to exaggerate normality, whereas those who are more understated tend to make improvements on the status quo, elevating it from within. Both are perfectly valid expressions of dandyism.



Dandyism is usually a public art form, but there are aspects that can also be enjoyed privately. In other words, dandyism can be about strutting down the street, and it can be about the hand-embroidered lining inside of your jacket that has never been seen by anyone else. In a sense, a dandy is like a living wonder-cabinet with one of its doors left ajar, allowing only a fleeting glimpse of the curiosities inside.



(Sure you want to keep reading this pseudo-intellectual rant instead of catching a movie or grabbing a drink with a friend? No? Alright...)

Where dandyism is going is always more interesting than where it's been, so I'm not as interested in historical dandyism's hardened, dead center (Fig. 1, a.). It helps to properly define dandyism and it's a neccessary reference point to draw from, but idealized symbols and established archetypes like The Dandy should be emulated, not embodied. A dandy is a walking emblem, but an emblem of his own conception and design; it's impossible and ridiculous to try to be a clone of the original Brummellian dandy. The more ardently such an ideal of nonchalance is pursued, the further it will slip beyond one's white-knuckled grasp. To slavishly mimic the dandy archetype outright, to take a "dandyism by numbers" approach, is to truly fail, because to hide within a canned aesthetic--literal, hermetic, conventional, uptight, predictable, devoid of paradox, boring--is anathema to dandyism's ambiguous, contrary, paradoxical raison d'etre. Ignoring the boundaries within dandyism will merely take one outside of it, but to try to maintain a kind of "purity" in dandyism will stifle and kill it, leaving it an inert husk. Like anything alive, Dandyism is impure, embracing new "corrupting" influences (Fig. 1, b.) while simultaneously fending off its dissolution by reasserting its boundaries; this sophisticated tightrope act threatens, stimulates and defines dandyism.





I'm especially interested in dandyism's "diaspora" (Fig. 1, c.), where it remains a living sensibility--simultaneously old and new, reaching out into other spheres where it either keeps its internal boundaries intact by keeping the dandy ideal in sight, or drifts off and simply becomes something else (Fig. 1, d.). For me, the diaspora of dandyism is dandyism. Each dandy must reinvent dandyism in his own image to suit his own ends--making it fresh, vital, interesting.





Is there a code of dress for the dandy?

Personally, I feel there are no laws set in stone, but there are general principles and themes by which the dandy might define himself: self-invention, self-cultivation, dash, elegance, and playfulness, tempered by aesthetic sophistication. In other words, it's the inner logic of one's dandyism that matters, not so much the outer constraints. A dandy will only don a uniform of his own making; he doesn’t have to submit to a specific look, but he must submit to his own self-conception; each must decide where the boundaries of his dandyism lie, but once those boundaries are drawn, they must be observed--except, of course, when they aren't (more on this below). The dandy is always rigorously engaged in refining his own individual aesthetic, cultivating a personal vision, a carefully crafted ethos that has clearly defined borders against which to push. I liken dandyism to a walled garden: it is full of life and color, yet restrained.

As mentioned before, one cannot merely throw on a sort of dandy uniform, as that is turning an archetype back into a cliché. Dandyism is much too fluid and subtle for such a straightforward, vulgar approach; sometimes, one has to momentarily violate one’s own laws in order to keep them fresh. Dandyism requires an artistic temperament; and, as in all artistic pursuits, there are contradictions aplenty. Ultimately, dandyism is a balancing act between taste and exuberance.

A personal signature motif brought together seamlessly from various disparate sources is ideal; one should avoid crude pastiche—or worse, donning a head-to-toe readymade stereotype (teen subcultures like goth, retro victorian, etc.). Some transcend the cliché, but they are the rare exception.

Ideally, one should diligently study the creed to the point where it becomes second nature, then place it in the back of one’s mind and move on--whatever stays with you is yours. Thus, I tend to think that to be "a bit of a dandy" is perhaps the height of dandyism: jaunty, aloof, light, playful, nimble-minded, eclectic, clever, inventive, louche, and modern. Just a pinch will do.

The one rule I always obey is this: something on you should always be smiling--preferably the mischeivous "smile of the gods", if one can manage it.





Tell us about some of the models for modern dandyism. Who are the great dandies of today?

If there are "great dandies," it's probably because they've created their own style, and cannot be easily pigeonholed into a pre-existing category. Either that, or they have exemplified an existing style to such a freakish degree so as to redefine it; but because of the veritable minefield of cliches one must successfully traverse, such a creature is incredibly rare.

Those pictured on this page are friends or acquaintances of mine, and I have many other pictures of them posted here. At the risk of categorizing one’s friends like one might a species of beetle, I must say that the variety I have seen among them is fairly broad. They're influenced by a wide variety of sources—Victorian, Edwardian, mid-century modern, the thirties, the sixties, the imagined future, French new wave films, Japanese street styles, 80's new romantic, gay/club culture, the list goes on.

Barring some exceptions, most of them are beyond the media's gaze, living in little private oases of their own making—like aristocrats in exile—and in the unlikeliest of places.



Some consider themselves aesthetes, artists or just plain dreamers, and not dandies at all--or are too engaged in their lifestyle to care about such nonsense. I post entries in my journal about them from time to time, and I find them to be a constant source of inspiration. I'm always learning something from them. Lovely gents.



In any case, discussing who is or isn't in "the dandy club" is an exercise that quickly becomes a bore to all but a few obsessives. I'm far more interested in those who are currently engaged in breathing new life into dandyism, or are using aspects of dandyism to make something new.




Is there a "dandy movement"?

Only towards the liquor cabinet.

There are some in the media who have wished to paint such a picture, but the answer is and will likely stay "no". Dandies are marginal, not radical. By virtue of its complex, delicate, individualistic nature, dandyism is not easily replicated, especially in the current cultural climate. It always has been and will likely remain just a few rare birds here and there. Mass movements like the kind put forth by bohemia are not in the dandy's repertoire.




Why does the modern world need dandyism?

Dandies are completely superfluous but inevitable, just like the modern world itself. They're made for each other. It isn't hard to make the case that the ruthless expediency of our present world is sorely lacking in grace and charm. Most other forms of creative living have grown stale and unsatisfying, and dandyism allows one to be interesting without the predictable and unbecoming “teenaging” ethic. Besides, the streets have become terribly drab, and choked with sweatpants and hoodies. If we don’t do something soon to liven things up, creatively inclined people will lose their nerve for good, and the rank and file will eventually lose their dwindling tolerance. When that happens, then people like me will have no end of cruel idiocy coming our way.





Are metrosexuals the new dandies?

(Such a dated thing, but it's in the book, so...) There is a chapter devoted to this subject in the book. Upon first glance, it may appear that metrosexuals are the modern equivalent of dandies; but to my mind, the answer is no. Dandies are lovers of style, whereas the metrosexuals seem keen on fashion. What I mean by this is that the outer appearance of a dandy is determined by self-cultivation and creativity; the outer array found on a metrosexual tends to be determined by advertising and money. It seems to me that metrosexuality is dandyism without all the pesky thinking. It’s a new form of foppery—which is good fun if that’s what you’re after, but foppery is not really synonymous with dandyism.




Can women be dandies?

I have a chapter in my book entitled On Dandyism and Gender, wherin I say yes, there were and are female dandies--but they become so by adopting a masculine exterior, using male forms of dress. The world of the dandy is about male splendor, just like the diva's is about female splendor; but ultimately, the focus is on one's aesthetic gender, not physical gender. An argument can even be made that the "dandie" outdoes the male dandy, in that she takes her self-invention one step further.

And what of the flipside--the male diva? Well, visit Lucky Cheng's in New York if you want to see male divas and the feminine forms they adopt.




What do you feel are some of the most offensive style trends out there right now?

I dislike the idea of trends, because that has to do with fashion, which I dislike. To me, fashion is unearned style. What I find personally distasteful is when people add to the banality of daily life by not putting anything of themselves into their appearance. When they do put thought into it, it’s often a regurgitation of someone else’s idea of style, letting brand names do the work for them when they could come up with a much more tasteful outfit at a fraction of the cost. We now live in a time when jeans, t-shirts and sunglasses can run into the hundreds of dollars, yet it amazes me how such expensive items can look so cheap. The most tastefully dressed person in a room is often the one who has spent the least money on his or her clothes, but has expended the most thought.

Most of all, I take special issue with those style trends which reflect an aggressive, hard, sharky default mentality that seems to be everywhere right now. More black! More skulls! Give the camera the finger! Even those who supposedly oppose such idiotic values adopt its vocabulary--very few of us now refuse to allow their world to be framed in such terms.




What’s wrong with casual dress?

Crassness and ubiquity. Casual dress can be stylish and tasteful, but it has gone a bit “free range,” of late. Unfortunately, we now see casual dress at occasions and settings where a display of respect, restraint or decorum should be shown—even weddings and funerals. Unless one is truly impoverished, there simply is no excuse for such laziness. It’s symptomatic of the current dread of showing the slightest modicum of effort: a form of prudishness, akin to reverse snobbery.


In an age of casualness, it could be that casualness is now seen as polite, an indicator of how much you are at ease with others. Thus, formality and etiquette could be seen as being rude. Do you worry that people may take formality the wrong way?

One can be gracious without being stiff, I think; "Poised, but free" serves as a good motto. Besides, there are all sorts of ways to be formal, aren’t there? I prefer being informally formal--warm, more natural and less guarded than the air of studied “cool” and contrived indifference of being formally informal. In other words, it's better to be dapper and friendly than sloppy and sneery. Being an American, I have relatively little experience (and patience) with those whose formality goes to their very marrow. I don't think anyone enjoys it, not even the English.



Like the recently divine Mr. Crisp, I am a great believer in manners, but not etiquette. Etiquette is dead manners. Manners are a refined expression of a generous instinct rather than a rigid code; manners are born of a sense of kindness and concern for others. Etiquette, on the other hand, is a bureaucratic system of arbitrary rules intended in part to exclude outsiders, or make them ill at ease.




How might a person of undeveloped tastes and meager earnings start to develop a look that is unique and pleasing to the eye?

It depends upon the kind of emphasis you wish to place on your appearance: One may embrace haute dandyisme and spend a great deal of money on beautifully-crafted suits and other such items, or one can practice what I call in the book Tramp Aestheticism, whereby one can select thrift items and combine them in a distinctive way. The traditional dandy is like a society portrait painter, whereas the tramp aesthete is more of a sidewalk sketch artist. Fashion requires money; but fortunately, style mainly requires imagination. There’s a chapter concerning Tramp Aestheticism in the book that may be of use to the impoverished acolyte.




Your interest in the aesthetics of natural things is a major theme in the book...

I love the organic, the small, the poised, the humane, the modest, the exuberant, the obscure, the humorous, the improvised, the ephemeral, the quiet, and the delicate. Most of my squibs have to do with these qualities.



I'm very much in favor of accentuating the organic and the diffuse, and minimizing the mechanistic and the monolithic. I can only hope that the old brutalist vision of the future profferred by cold war-era late modernism will fade even faster than it already is, since few of us ever regarded such imposing above-ground bunkers and their bleak, uninviting spaces with any sense of hope. The seamlessness between the organic and the mechanical brought about through new biological advancements and nanotechnologies might render the old mechanistic vision as crude and quaint as the visions of the future that preceeded it. In other words, the future won't look like "the future"—but it may look like the distant past. Cities will still be chaotic and bustling, but they will be much more pleasant places to live in when the urban environment has seamlessly intertwined with the processes of nature, right down to the power grid and waste disposal systems. Perhaps people might have a better developed sense of empathy if, instead of pushing and pulling dead buttons and switches, they must stroke membrane control arrays and water distribution teats.



More readers should read up on the early naturalists and natural philosophers who embraced this modest, playful, organicist aesthetic--they're quite inspiring. I admire people like the Philadelphia naturalist William Bartram, who in his travels managed to save the Franklinia tree from extinction and established their cultivation; Erasmus Darwin, whose fanciful, botanically-inspired verse speculated upon and prefigured the ideas which his grandson Charles would formulate into the theory of evolution; Mary Adelia Treat, a botanist, entomologist, and ornithologist who lived in the NJ Pine Barrens and corresponded with Charles Darwin, helping him to write his famous book on carnivorous plants. (Charles Willson Peale made a pastime of blasting entire flocks of the beautiful and now-extinct Carolina Parakeet into oblivion, so to hell with him.)



I am taken with the idea of orgatecture, that architecture and civic spaces should seem to emerge from its natural surroundings, and be designed around people, not to be an imposition upon them. I agree with its insistence upon putting people as close as possible to their environment, and that dwellings should evolve from the natural context in which they are situated. Buildings should be ecosystems as well as structures. In the book I propose that giant baobab trees be used to line main thoroughfares in the world's cities, and be hollowed out for human habitation, as they can withstand such uses.



Folk science and the open-ended enterprises that draw from eclectic fields of endeavor are also worth looking into--especially early explorations into science by laypeople, and the clever but erroneous formulations they made. The blurred line between nature and aesthetics is fascinating: Japanese ikebana flower arranging, the eerie calm of New England luminist paintings, Chinese scholar's stones, to name a few examples.




What is Diaphanism?

I have an essay about this in the Companion--it's a favorite of mine. Essentially, it's the aesthetic appreciation of things which are barely there. It can be the milky surface of a porcelain vase, the lightness of a dessicated leaf, the fading sound of a passing shower, or the light of the moon on water. It treasures the most fleeting, light, passive, still, diffuse and fragile of things. Through collecting, one can appreciate small differences in things, and at last become a Diaphanist.




And what is a Retrosexual?

This too is an essay in the book, accompanied by a set of charts. Like Diaphanism, Retrosexuality requires silence, contemplation, and imaginative engagement in order to be fully appreciated. A Retrosexual is one who has rendered the yearning for that which is beautiful, elusive or lost into an art form. Through Retrosexuality, one savors the beauty and bittersweet serenity found in the art and artifacts of bygone eras, and nurtures one's desire to attain an eternal, idealized form through photography, film, painting, sculpture, et cetera. The life of a Retrosexual is but a preparation for the moment when they too might attain the ideal state of aloof poise and exquisite stillness found in those works of art which they faithfully emulate. Perhaps they too may eventually become an object of meditation and longing for those living in the ages to come--like iridescent, prehistoric insects forever frozen in amber. In a sense, such individuals have become, through the blessings of civilization, immortal.

The Retrosexual haunts museums, galleries, and theaters, dressed in his or her finest attire before a portrait, sculpture, stage, or theater screen—reverent and still, even trancelike—but with flared nostrils and flushed cheeks. The paintings, photographs, and screens the Retrosexual peers into are nothing less than portals through which the Retrosexual may slowly imbibe and relish the essence left behind by those who are now only made manifest through contemplation and fancy.





What is all this bluster about the Order of the Bagatelle (aka The Limp Panthers)?

There is a small manifesto in the book. The Limp Panthers are an international organization of polymaths and merryandrews; a chimera without a head or tail. We operate under the principles of emergence theory; that is to say, we are constantly dissolving and reforming independent cells, like microorganisms in ponds that are miles apart, unaware of each other's existence. We hold grand, festive processions during summer's sleepiest days, with armadas of kites and green silken banners fluttering over fife and drum bands and men in wicker hats riding highwheels. You're going to love us. (Click here for a downloadable pdf of the emblem. And click here for a downloadable pdf of the flag specs should you like to have one made.)






It's not in the book, but are we to understand that, in the tradition of all true quixotic nutjobs, you are now also the self-proclaimed father of your own country?

More like a "viral commonwealth," you might say—or perhaps "lark-state" might be a better term.

Like our Founding Fathers before us, We The People must summon the will to shed our bovine deference to The Powers That Be, boldly proclaim our sovereignty unto ourselves, and then continue to reinvent American-ness to suit our own ends—and not just meekly accept what we are told it is. After all, what could possibly be more American? According to Thomas Jefferson, "Each generation is as independent as the one preceding, as that was of all which had gone before. It has then, like them, a right to choose for itself the form of government it believes most promotive of its own happiness..." I intend to take Mr. Jefferson at his word, for this is a muster—a Call to Charms!

I'm disturbed by our current mechanistic harshness, aesthetic brutalism, and the tendency towards monolithic, absolutist belief systems and methodologies. I propose a more humane way of life, and believe in the constant generation of modest, provisional notions that work within a limited sphere for a limited time—and then dissipate, much like living things. Through Affected Provincialism and a concept I call the “Lark-State,” I propose a means to implement this vaguely Jeffersonian/Franklinian sensibility. I believe that it is time for America to become new and weird again.

Imagine an archipelago of Arcadian enclaves sprouting through the dead, grey slab of the status quo. "Stars and Stripes," meet "Old Moth and Bugs!" "Old Glory," may we present "Old Glamor!" The United Shires of America are a network of "pataphyical provinces"—mischeivous aesthetic refuges. The United Shires exist in both the physical and non-physical realms, and can shift between the two very well. Finally, a country you can imagine, download, pack up, or wear on your back! It keeps down costs, and avoids legal and/or military entanglements.

The Shires shall be a fellowship of the mind, a confederation of those who march forth with green banners in the name of all things light, humane, beautiful and free. The modest, oddball kindness of Affected Provincialism is the central creed of the Shires, and its pastoral, playful way of life is both the coin of the realm and the law of the land. Our borders are wide open to all immigrants, and there is no official language except beauty. We even have an anthem, so you might know us as we approach. Oh—didn't we tell you? We're on the march. Oh, yes indeedy.



(Click here for a downloadable pdf of the emblem. And click here for a downloadable pdf of the flag specs should you like to have one made.)

My wife and I have fashioned a small outpost for ourselves here--a kind of colony--but as stated before, Shires don't necessarily require a geography. Shires can be permanent oases, but they can also form and disperse wherever consensus allows (picnics, parties, rooftops, parlors, etc). Dominion isn't a deciding factor, since we now live in a time when one cannot simply flee and establish a foothold on some empty beach; we must be far more nimble and clever than that now.

A Shire is similar to what Hakim Bey calls a Temporary Autonomous Zone, or TAZ--but is different from things like Burning Man, a flash mob, or an urban block party. It's more like May Day, a luncheon on the grass, or A Midsummer Night's Dream. A Shire is an expression of gentility and a love of living things: It is a bastion of the green and good.

The United States of America began as an umbrella state presiding over a vast mosaic of smaller societies that were amazingly distinct from one another (some were downright outlandish, if historical accounts can be trusted). Young America was teeming with grand experiments established by religious fringe groups now long gone; high-minded eccentric utopians and intellectuals trying to establish the germ of a better society; or people who were simply looking for a fresh start. At one time, traveling to another town could be an exotic experience. Most of the shore towns that pepper the East coast were established as utopian retreats of some sort.

For the sake of its own health, it is time the American Republic once again operate like a republic, take some cues from Nature, and play host to an ecosystem of provisional republics that continually sprout, grow, split, absorb, and dissipate. The Tree of Liberty requires "societal grafts," clinging and growing in the hope they survive long enough to improve the health of its host. We have all become too similar to one another, drawing into polarized blocs; major fault lines are forming and are being exploited, and there is an inherent danger in such a development. So sayeth Whimsy, constable of these here misty Shires!*

This Cabinet article on micronations might be of interest.

* Like Washington and Cinncinnatus before him, I reject kingship and other such vertical hierachical systems. I prefer to remain a mere yeoman, for the highest honorific one may attain in this world—greater than "emperor," "king," or even "lord"—is that of "citizen". ~W









QUESTIONS SOMETIMES ASKED of WHIMSY and HIS WORKS, POSTED HERE for the CURIOUS, BORED, and DISTURBINGLY OBSESSED.

In which Whimsy delves deeply into the dusky recesses of his own navel, and then attempts to answer questions commonly posited by readers, interviewers and press, who hound Whimsy like crazed otters after an overfed crayfish (I'm the crayfish in this particular metaphor, in case you're confused):


Who are you?

I’m Whimsy.


No--who are you, really?

Whimsy, Victor Allen Crawford, III, That Degenerate with the Opera Glasses Behind the Rhododendrons—I answer to many names. It comes with the burden of being interesting. Nyez.


Of whom or what are you the lord?

Why, whimsy, of course!


Why “Lord Whimsy?”

There are numerous ways to respond to this question, so I will give multiple replies; one of which might best suit the reader's temperament, and the sum of which might best approximate the truth of the matter:

(Vague) When it comes to my writing, I prefer to use a euphemism instead of a name.

(Cryptic) "Whimsy" is a face that is often taken for a mask.

(Strategic) A peculiar or presumptuous name adds interest and latitude to one's life, confers both preposterousness and dignity, and gives one something to both live up to and live down.

(Culinary) I decided that the name "Bananas Foster" (a favorite desert of mine) was perhaps a bit much (as if calling oneself a "lord" isn't, right?)

(Cautionary) The name "Whimsy" is a form of public service, in that people are immediately put on notice that they are in the midst of a crackpot, possibly even a flaming jackass. Your call.

(Pragmatic) I grew weary of constantly explaining my habits and proclivities to others, so I simply started replying, "I'm Whimsy." Now I can wear my ridiculous shoes and ride my highwheel in relative peace, since others have stopped asking "Who are you supposed to be?" and now simply say, "Oh, that's just Whimsy."

(Artistic) Prose forms like fiction and non-fiction don't really have much to do with my writing (many would agree); it has more in common with theatrical forms like rhetoric, sage writing, and poetry. What all three of these forms have in common is that a persona is implied.

(Apocryphal) Actually, my nom de plume originally began as a good-natured jibe, one of many names bestowed upon me over the years by my friends (I seem to be the sort of person who accrues nicknames wherever he goes). For whatever reason, “Whimsy” seemed to suit me, and has clung to me like a barnacle ever since.

(Coy) As for the title of “Lord,” well, it's just a wry little emblem that somehow hitched itself to "Whimsy" under hazy circumstances now lost to the passing of time. That said, I do find that being a so-called lord is quite edifying in that such a title compels one to live up to it (unless one is born an actual lord, of course; then, it seems even trousers and sanity are negotiable). I do find that I iron my socks more often. Can’t be a “lord” with floppy ankles, now can we?

(Plausible) I like to imagine that I'm continuing a tradition established by the likes of Lord Buckley. Anyone who thinks I employ "lord" with a straight-faced arrogance must also wonder where all the little people go when the television is turned off. There have been Whimsies before me, and I've seen other Whimsies here and there, and hopefully there will be more Whimsies after me. I say bully for them all--it's a fine thing to be. Being a Whimsy should be an occupation that one can list on a tax form. It's like being a time lord, but with a better haircut.




(Informative) I should also add that I am not the first American grandee; that honor goes to a fellow by the name of Lord Timothy Dexter. There is a long tradition of Lords, Dukes, Kings, and Emperors in America—all rascals to a man, just as they are in Europe. Nothing new under the sun, it seems.


Hasn’t the name been taken, though?

Oh yes--a very similar name has been taken for quite some time. I should state at this point that any relation to the fictional Lord Peter Wimsey of the Dorothy Sayers books is a coincidence, an example of convergent evolution: things that develop independently of one another, yet arrive at a similar form. I do apologize for any confusion, but there are plenty of Joneses in the world, and they all seem to get along (well, most of them, anyway). Like my grandmother once said: “Sneer not at dolphins because they look like sharks.” Or was it marmots and hamsters? I forget.

One can take me at my word when I say there was a dearth of people reading wry British mystery novels in my working-class neighborhood when I was growing up. In fact, I confess that I've never read any of Ms. Sayer's books, and for obvious reasons I'm not likely to in the forseeable future (which is a pity, since I've heard nothing but complimentary things about them). How the name drifted onto the lips of my friends, I cannot say; maybe one of them saw a dramatic adaptation of a Sayers novel on public television while flipping through the channels one evening, who knows. Of course, it would be fitting if such a plebian origin turned out to be the case.




Do you expect yourself or the book to be taken seriously?

I don't even know anymore.


Why do you dress like a poppinjay?

One's life is a brief thing—an occasion—so one may as well dress for it.

Most of us would like to become what we imagine as the finest version of ourselves, if our circumstances would only allow—and my circumstances do. Not having a day job affords me the ability to indulge my proclivities to a greater extent. One might say that I have the luxury of being myself, only more so.





Isn’t worrying about your appearance a pretty superficial thing to do?

Dress is only superficial if one hasn’t invested any thought in it. If one’s appearance is an outer expression of one’s inner state, then it is deeply personal--and far from trivial.


What's with all this banal, insipid sweetness and light? Get real!

I'm not naive and sheltered enough to think that light and pleasure are so common in this world as to be deemed banal. As far as I'm concerned, it's aggression and darkness that are truly insipid: both are far too easy, and far too common. My friend Momus has some interesting thoughts on these prevailing toxic values: Read this. And this. Maybe even this.


Are you a narcissist? Do you think you are better than other people? Are you trying to pass for old money?

What's worse: the kind of open narcissism that gives pleasure and invites others to play, or the furtive narcissism that takes itself too seriously to proclaim itself?

Wealth itself doesn't interest or impress me, although the beauty that wealth leaves in its wake does: art, finery, antiques, architecture, gardens, etc. Cliche as it may sound, I do think that class is a quality, not a tax bracket. That said, I don't expect to be mistaken for a member of society's upper echelons--I could never pass. Besides, being a fastidious dresser doesn't fool anyone; old money hasn't felt the need to dress up for at least a couple generations. If anything, my dress is the mark of a rascal on the make, a suspect character—which of course, I am. Unlike the blue-blooded brahmins, I have little to lose by being something of a peacock on occasion.

Like most creatures of my ilk, I'm what my friend James calls a working-class dreamer--an aesthete of modest means. I now manage to support myself as a creative jack-of-all-trades, but before this happy circumstance came to be, I held jobs that have left me with an assortment of minor physical complaints which inflict me to this very day: unloading trucks, cleaning toilets, running printing presses, nabbing shoplifters, flipping waffles and hamburgers, washing dishes, etc. Oh yes, dear reader: I've spent years in the gutter looking up at the stars. (Cue the sappy violin sweeps...)

I try to express my regard for others by not being an eyesore. If I thought I was making people feel small by way of my demeanor or appearance, I would be sincerely dismayed.

Our world is geared more towards working than living, so dressing in a relatively flamboyant yet formal manner will often surprise or confound the average person. I obviously don't work in a conventional office, nor am I a student or day laborer; I'm neither fish, nor fowl. This pleases Whimsy.

All that having been said, I'll always feel superior to cynics who immediately stomp on anything wholesome or gentle that crosses their path, likewise with overgrown teenagers who willfully act like perfect pigs because they think it's somehow daring or clever. (Not that it's a pet peeve, mind you.)


Aren't you trying a little too hard?

By contemporary standards, yes. The sartorial bar is presently set so low, that trying at all is going to be seen as "trying too hard." At the present time, a tee shirt and jeans is what's truly inconspicous, so dressing well in any way is going to call attention. Brummell's old adage that equated dressing well with being inconspicuous no longer holds true, if it ever did.

That said, I do think sprezzatura is sound policy. I observe it (except when I don't), but I am often annoyed that this ideal of effortless grace is misinterpreted as permission to be either an insufferable bore or a slob in expensive clothes. I feel that this lowering of expectations—this mandatory, aggressive casualness—has in itself become confining, for to dress in anything other than default attire or casual frumpwear is now viewed as "trying too hard" (even though it probably takes far more time to squeeze into a tight pair of designer jeans than it does a pair of nice trousers).

I oppose this cynical anti-aesthetic that forbids any effort at all: If one carefully maintains their appearance and is not harming a soul, what of it? Granted, one doesn't want to always overcook the ham, but dress is one of life's pleasures, and adding a touch of showmanship to one's attire can be great fun at times. It's good to artfully violate our own rules from time to time; it keeps things interesting.



(Photo courtesy of Rose Callahan)

The care I take towards my appearance is my admittedly quixotic way of making my own little corner of the world a more agreeable place; if nothing else, people can smile or chuckle about the odd, “overdressed" man they saw on the street that day. I can hardly take issue with people for occasionally finding me humorous when I too often find myself humorous. The laugh is on me. Enjoy.


Don’t all these flourishes and affectations make you a phony?

Interesting, this fixation people have on the ideal of authenticity--especially when authenticity itself is often just another kind of pose, and possibly the most insidious of them all.

So yes—I am a sincere phony. I am fully aware of the artifice I employ, but I hide myself in plain sight. Artifice is often born of deeply heartfelt impulses. One can be both inauthentic and sincere. One could say I'm more 'real' than most people, because the mask I wear was made by me, to fit the contours of my own personality. Most other people--artists, doctors, teachers--must wear masks that have been assigned to them.

As to the affectations and flourishes I employ, they are no more egregious than when Samuel Clemens started dressing in white suits and took up the riverboat-inspired pen name, “Mark Twain,” or when Benjamin Franklin played up the role of the avuncular rustic colonial by wearing beaver skin caps to charm the French out of their money. These men were playful in the way they presented themselves, but whatever airs they had adopted were based on what was native and essential to their personal character. There’s a difference between self-embellishment and the outright misrepresentation of oneself.

We all employ masks, which often reveal more than our faces ever could, because the masks openly declare to others what we love, and what we yearn to become.


Are you being ironic, or are you in fact just a complete turnip?

Irony would imply some sort of contempt on my part. I suppose that leaves the turnip option, eh? A naughty, wiggly turnip am I. (For those who are interested, this Frieze article written by Charlotte Taylor sheds a bit of light on the subject of “intellectual whimsy,” which differs from kitsh, irony, and camp. I think it comes close to describing the sensibility I try to express.)


Do you wish to return to the past? With the anachronistic garb you sometimes don, aren’t you trading in nostalgia?

I'm not a "neo-Victorian," and I'm not trying to live in some idealized past: The late Owen Jones sums up my own attitude towards nostalgia in his classic book, The Grammar of Ornament, in which he writes: "The principles discoverable in the works of the past belong to us; not so, the results."

It's about the qualities of a thing, not its age. For example: I don't view a highwheel bicycle as an antique or a nostalgic fetish. To me, it's a sculpture that can be propelled by a human being. I look past its period associations and take note of its qualities--healthy, quiet, sculptural, environmentally friendly--so to me, the highwheel is very modern, because it has qualities that are useful and desirable. The textures that attract me are fairly constant--light, humane, introspective, elegant, playful, etc--but I'm always looking for new ways to express them. If it intrigues, it sticks. If it nourishes, it stays.

My grievances against our current day should not be seen as a plea to return to the past, but rather as a call to adopt that which has worked well in the past, and create for ourselves a richer vision of the future than is currently offered us. I have a chapter in the book that deals with this topic, entitled Continuity vs. Nostalgia.

I see myself as a very modern person. I do enjoy donning anachronistic items on occasions when a little theatricality is called for, such as readings or a particularly festive party—but most of my wardrobe is quite modern. I’m not personally interested in walking the streets in head-to-toe period garb; to me, reenactment and dandyism are very different things.

Eclecticism is the soul of modernity, and it really matters little what the mix consists of. I feel we all have as much right to use antique items as we do the brand-new frock hanging in a shop window, so why not enjoy them and mix them up a bit? We must use what already exists to get to the new, don't we?.

(You're still reading this nonsense? Really?)


Isn't this website a kind of shrine to yourself and your own self-absorption?

Yes. Welcome to the internets.




Did you know from an early age you would end up the way you are now?

Yes. I was equal parts Huck Finn and Little Lord Fauntleroy--a feral sissy.


Do you practice any sort of spiritual/philosophical discipline?

I sometimes claim to be an agnostic druid, or a particularly gaudy quaker. Being in thrall of the natural, I do not profess any belief in the supernatural—unless doing so is very, very funny.