The Side Part Is the Navy Suit of Haircuts # A good haircut sits between two failures: so fussy it eats your morning, or so utilitarian it looks like you’ve stopped caring. Most classic cuts are just different answers to that one problem. The six # Classic side part. Scissors only, no clippers. Cary Grant, Sean Connery, Don Draper. Two versions — longer and slicked with pomade for a 50s feel, or shorter with matte clay for something current. It frames a face the way a navy suit frames an outfit, which is exactly why it works on nearly everyone. Slicked back. Straight back, no part. Gordon Gekko, Patrick Bateman, and lately a lot of finance. Needs a strong jaw and a full head of hair — if your hairline’s going, this points straight at it. Curtains. Bangs falling forward. Big in the 90s with DiCaprio and Depp, back via Timothée Chalamet, and apparently traceable to Oscar Wilde. Youthful, a bit rebellious, reads more posh boy than professional. Also high maintenance — blow dryer, sea salt spray. Best if you’re young and not chasing authority yet. Ivy League. A crew cut with a bit more on top. Less work than a side part, more considered than a buzz. Damon, Reynolds, Gosling, Pitt. Styles forward or down, so it’s two looks from one cut, and it survives thinner hair. Its flaw is that it’s unremarkable — nobody will compliment it, and nobody will ever think it’s wrong. Pompadour. Serious volume at the front, from James Dean and Elvis. Looks great and costs you a blow dryer plus several products every morning. Tips into cartoon easily. The restrained version is roughly Harvey Specter. High and tight. Very short or shaved sides into a longer top, military in origin, mainstream via Peaky Blinders. Almost no daily upkeep — product on top and out the door — but you’ll be at the barber constantly to keep the sides clean. Avoid the hard disconnected undercut; a gradual fade looks far better. People will assume military or police. How to pick # Four things decide it, and only one is about looks:
The most common fountain pen mistake isn’t technique. It’s the drawer. A good pen bought and then protected does nothing at all, and every benefit it has — a signature that’s genuinely hard to forge, handwriting that helps you remember things — exists only in daily use. Everything else is a small tax # Once you decide to actually carry it, the care rules are short and mostly one-time.
Imagine someone gives you a Lamborghini. Free. You now owe five times the insurance, premium fuel, tyres priced like a holiday, servicing at $1,500–2,000 a year, and months of waiting whenever a part fails. The purchase price was the cheap part, and it was zero. Every luxury has a tail # That’s the general case. The sticker price is a one-off; what you’re really signing up for is a stream of obligations that shows up monthly, forever, and never appeared in the decision.
Simple Things Outlive Clever Ones # The things that last decades have almost nothing in common except what they lack — no proprietary parts, no sealed housing, no features designed to expire. Durability turns out to be mostly an absence. Five that hold up # A cheap Casio. The A158 or the F91W. Not a warranty story — just robustness, with decades of people reporting the same watches still going. The battery alone runs about ten years. Around $20–35 used, and the adjustable band means you never need a shop to size it. A G-Shock if you want the indestructible version. A Rotring 600 pencil. German, launched 1989, full metal body with a knurled grip. Takes standard 0.5 or 0.7 leads, so no proprietary anything. One weakness: drop it on the tip and it bends — but the tip is a replaceable part. The black one wears to brass at the edges, which looks better with age rather than worse. A ThinkPad T480. Widely considered the last really good one: removable battery plus an internal one so you can hot-swap, two drive slots, two RAM slots, replaceable keyboard, screen, trackpad. Standard Phillips screws throughout. A physical webcam shutter, which newer premium laptops still don’t have. Upgraded and running Linux, ten to fifteen years is a realistic expectation. An Opinel No. 8. French, made since the late 1800s, about $20. Beechwood handle, carbon steel blade, a metal collar that twists to lock. No springs, no mechanism. The warranty is nearly meaningless and it doesn’t matter, because there’s essentially nothing in it that can fail. People are still using ones from the 1950s. Goodyear-welted boots. Red Wing Iron Rangers or anything built the same way. The point isn’t the brand, it’s the construction: the sole is stitched rather than glued, so it can be replaced over and over. Buy the method, not the label — Thursday and LL Bean’s Katahdins qualify at lower prices. The pattern # Read those back and the common feature is refusal.
