Each day this week, Roger Stone walked into a federal courthouse in Washington, D.C., like he was modeling the latest antique styles from a long-shuttered bespoke tailor called something like Wiggy & Cheats. He wore his signature round Cutler and Gross sunglasses, which make him look like the guy you stay away from at a Steampunk rave, and sculpted his white hair into a villainous white combover. And as I looked at photos of him waving and grinning his way into the courtroom, where he is on trial for lying to the government and witness tampering, I kept wondering something.
Why is the far right so into clothes? And why are they so bad?
Stone loves clothes. Just this week, his outfits read like the diary of a man who gets high on the tailoring equivalent of something you are not meant to smoke:
Monday: a black, black suit with a white shirt and a knit tie, with a pair of black boots.
Tuesday: a gray suit, with pocket flaps on the jacket and pleat-front trousers, and a pink dress shirt.
Wednesday: a deep charcoal suit with a spread-collar blue striped dress shirt and a white-and-navy striped tie.
Thursday: a Prince of Wales check suit (the kind of thing that photographs horribly) with a blue spread-collar dress shirt and a black tie.
Each outfit has been accented with a pocket square that looks like he took the white flag of surrender, dyed it some sad, odd color like a criminal disguising himself on the run, and starched it back into obstinacy. He looked like the Uncle Fester of Savile Row: Put a lightbulb (or an incriminating document) in his mouth, and he can make it light up.
Stone clearly loves the rules, the prestige, and the exclusivity of bespoke clothing. Spread collars, pocket squares, and pleat-front trousers aren’t things you see even at white-shoe law firms or on Wall Street anymore; in the United States, this kind of natty, by-the-obscure-European-books dressing is now an eccentricity. He even gets his jackets made with three-roll-two buttons, where the top button is placed under the lapel and never used—the kind of tailored menswear-head detail that guys mostly get just to flex their arcane knowledge (or to try in vain to look like James Bond). Nonetheless, these looks have been somewhat subdued even for Stone, who’s worn everything from a black beret and leather jacket to a top hat and full morning dress—attire that’s so difficult to get anywhere beyond the confines of Savile Row that you’d almost consider it a costume. Stone’s obsessive dedication to the sartorially garish certainly makes it seem that way—costumey.
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