The Pioneer Newsletter #8

Tuesday, Nov 7th

Introduction Paragraph(s)

It was around 1:30 AM at the Roosterfish Bar in Venice when my state of moderate inebriation lost out to inevitable fatigue. The passion-filled debate, with a few friends on the merits of eloping, had just ended in an equally inevitable stalemate, and my night of conversation hopping was decidedly over. But I still had a good amount of Sapporo left in my glass - a draft beer that could very well be on the endangered species list - so I resorted to the effortless art of people-watching. It was the tail end of the witching hour. Clumsy dudes, who’ve sweated through their $80 Vuori shirts, scrambled to find love in a hopeless place. But I’m not here to judge the two-minute drill. When it comes to marching downfield 70 yards with an Uber 8 minutes out - I’ve been there. However, that Friday night I was far more content with falling asleep to the wit and hijinks of Dr. Frasier Crane. So I believed after a few more swigs of Japanese lager, this was where the tale of my night would end. But last call proved otherwise.

As the music simmered down and the lights abruptly came up, martial law suddenly went into effect. The bouncers shouted like wardens - barking marching orders at the crowd. I watched in dismay as swaths of once lively and now sulking patrons flooded out the door in lockstep. Now I’m not sure if it was my zen-like contentment with a nightcap of Frasier or possibly the crispness of my Sapporo but suddenly, I found one last burst of energy. I promptly deployed it towards an act of pure 100% grass-fed courage. If just for an extra 10 minutes, I would be going absolutely nowhere. Like William Wallace, I was prepared to hold the damn line. I would stand up to senseless authority and exit just how I entered - on my own terms. I had nothing left to say or do that night. So instead, I peacefully finished my beverage at the bar and kept to myself. But I ignored the lights, shouts, and crowd flow, and it all felt quite empowering. I was like the main character in a cool guy movie - standing firm in the eye of the storm. All it took was half of a Sapporo and an ounce of self-respect. So let me offer some advice for any of you who find yourself under the hot lights and vicious authority of last call.

Own it.

We got ready in the bright lights of our vanity mirrors. A few more minutes under the spotlight won’t hurt. Even if you’re tired or discontent, don’t allow yourself to be thrown out to the curb like empty bottles. Instead, take a few minutes and depart the bar when you’re good and ready. Casually finish your drink, hell it’s last call - order another, or maybe just a glass of water if that’s what feels right. Most importantly, take a deep breath and collect yourself. Because if we’ve accomplished nothing else on a Friday night, we at least reserve the right to bid farewell to it with dignity. For the same reason I shut off my phone at 1%, I prefer to end things on my own terms. That night, Frasier could wait an extra few minutes. He’d still be listening.

---

Funnyman Fits - A Style Essay

Origins (50s-80s)

What happened to the funnyman’s fit? Stand-up comics, sitcom stars (if there are any left), and late-night hosts all dress atrociously dull. A plague is running through comedy and it’s not cancel culture. It’s the idea that having a sense of humor comes at the cost of caring about your appearance. But great comedy minds didn’t use to be fitlexic. Think Goodfellas. What’s the 1950’s lounge comedian (Henny Youngman) at the Copacabana wearing? A great fitting tuxedo. In the 70s, Michael Keaton started as a standup and then became Bruce fucking Wayne. Or how about this photo of David Letterman I found on Pinterest:

The Golden Era (90s)

The collision of a far more casual standard of dress wear with the further integration of the funnyman into movies and television made for a rather fruitful and individualistic period of fits. I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.

Jerry Seinfeld, mid-Seinfeld, keepin' it simple with some Timberlands and a ball cap.

Steve Martin went full-on six eyes for this fit during his Father of the Bride era.

Peak Chris Rock on stage in ’99. Imagine being funny enough to rock a metallic black suit and it sort of just plays.

I googled ‘Robin Williams drip’ and this came up. Aight.

HOW’D YOU GET BACK ON HERE DAVE.

The Beginning of the End (00s-10s)

Okay now get yourself a glass of water and settle down. Whenever you’re ready, let’s talk about what the hell happened. Simply put, the style choices of comedians began reflecting the movement in comedy at the turn of the millennium. It was the era of the everyman. The Kevin James-saissance was in full swing.

Funnymen, both on-screen and off, began finding more value in dressing like the joe-schmoes out there watching them. “Relateability” (not a real word) became the name of the game. Jeff Foxworthy and Larry the Cable Guy captured The South with the “Blue Collar Comedy Tour”. Dane Cook sold out Madison Square Garden while wearing a graphic tee. Judd Apatow’s The 40 Year Old Virgin, a film that specifically poked fun at the style choices of a 40 year old virgin, inspired the look of every dude in a Judd Apatow movie for the next 10 years. It was a fruitful time for comedy - there’s no doubt about it. But somewhere along the way, the idea of caring about what you wore while telling a joke became high-minded and a little lame. The funnyman’s clothing became an afterthought and effortlessly accidental.

Post-Kevin James-saissance a.k.a. The Mii Era (Present Day)

Today’s comedy landscape has its obvious differences. Sitcoms, studio comedies, and late-night shows are dead in the water. However, there are more ways than ever for the funnyman to make an income. Podcasts, streaming specials, and fervently attended live tours have lined the pockets of the Mark Normands and Tom Seguras of the comedy world. So one would hope this disposable income could shift the tides back towards the heyday of funnyman fits. Well, unfortunately, the now 20-year contentious relationship between style and comedy has sustained. The only difference is, with a couple of bucks, it has never been easier to NOT care about what you wear and avoid looking like an absolute slob. The caveat? Everyone just looks the same - and sort of like Mii characters (yes I’m talking about Miis from Wii). Unfortunately, the funnyman still has not shaken off the fear of intention in their fashion choices. While their jackets and pants may be custom-fitted by a Netflix-hired stylist, even the most colorful comedians still look boring as hell.

Tom Segura

Bill Burr

Mark Normand

The fits have become so uninspired, that the funnymen of the 00s who stubbornly stuck to their “oh shucks” plaid shirts and heavy polos are now champions of individualism. Kevin James has been memeified to no end. Adam Sandler is now lauded for still wearing his AND1 shorts from 2004.

While I must recognize Aziz Ansari and Eric Wareheim for making a valiant effort to reclaim the funnyman’s style on their two-season run of Master of None, I cannot find many who’ve followed in their footsteps. Maybe it’s because the funnyman is no longer required to carry the charisma and persona of a film or television star. Would David Letterman have looked that cool if the Top 10 list was a podcast he recorded from his living room? Would googling ‘Robin Williams drip’ return no results if he had not evolved from a standup act into an Academy Award-winning actor?

Who knows.

Regardless, the funnyman’s lack of interest in style is truly a philosophical question. Can humor and style coexist? (heavy shit, right?) I still believe it can. We have decades of fits that say so. So funnymen, all I ask is that you put half as much effort and intention into your clothing as you do into your act. You’ll look more like yourself and less like a Mii than you ever thought possible. And whatever you choose to wear, don’t take notes from Pete Davidson.

---

Recs

The Belair Lip Bombs (BAND) - A podcast turned me onto these Australian rockers. They’ve got a great jogging tempo so the tracks have been on heavy rotation this past week. I also really liked this music video. All hail the cheaply done fake VHS effect:

Wings of Desire (FILM) - Caught this Wim Wenders goon-sesh at the New Beverly last week. It was deeply original and at times intensely beautiful. I think some of you may enjoy it. Others may not.

Side note: I also saw Malia Obama there. I shoulda told her she made the newsletter a few weeks back.

Pulling into the intersection (plea) - When did we collectively stop doing this? I can’t sit at red lights forever. I’ve got a newsletter to write.

---

Conclusion Paragraph

I used the word fitlexic in the last paragraph. Did it work? Was it funny? I can’t even tell. But it’s too late and I’m far too tired to write about my hero for the week. I was going to write about this woman, Sally Snowman, who’s retiring from her post as the last remaining lighthousekeeper in America. That’s quite something, right? Imagine going to the grave with an occupation. There used to be people who sharpened scissors for a living. They were known as “scissor grinders”. That was until Staples said that’s cute bro, check aisle 7. That all has little to do with lighthouses other than to say, there are plenty of jobs that do not exist anymore. As I’m sure you can guess, lighthouses are operated by the Coast Guard through an advanced computer network. Unfortunately, many ships don’t even rely on their signals but instead just use their GPS when approaching shore. Long gone are the days when some half-crazed man, isolated on a rock, kept a lighthouse candle lit to guarantee a schooner’s safe passage. Sally Snowman, my hero, will be the last of them. So Godspeed Sally. We salute you. And if you read this newsletter, please tell me if you laughed at the word fitlexic.