Scent: Mancera Intense Red tobacco Topped with Versace Eros Flame Smoke: Macanudo M Toro, coffee infused Pour: Woodford Reserve Rye

Cold day grabbed my new grey flannel pants and a silk/linen v neck. Used my CT red tattersall as a foundation, Robert Talbot blazer tie so naturally grabbed my HSM navy blazer. Pendleton socks and 1982 Alden Shell cordovans, red and blue pocket square and Wenger field watch.

My newly acquired Thane wool sweater, Kuhl pants, Cole Haan penny loafers, Anson tan belt. Watch TBD, but likely my trusty Citizen eco drive duo chronograph

I’ve trusted Allen Edmonds for years because their Recrafting program is marketed as a heritage-level service — “the same craftsmen, the same machines, the same processes that built your shoes originally.” That message carries weight. It implies precision, pride, and an old-world standard of care. My recent recraft, however, revealed a very different reality — one that required persistence, escalation, and far more involvement from me than any customer should have to supply. Here is the full story, exactly as it unfolded with my custom patina A&Es October 8 – I purchased the recraft service with full confidence in the brand. October 20 – The shoes were shipped back as “completed.” A 12-day turnaround might look efficient, but the work told a different story. They looked rushed — uneven finishing, shape inconsistencies, and nothing close to the meticulous standard AE advertises. October 24 – I sent them back for correction. Any customer familiar with AE’s craftsmanship language would have done the same. The shoes simply didn’t reflect the level of detail they claim their recrafting is built upon. October 28 – AE received the returned shoes. According to their policy, I was supposed to receive recommendations and updates within 5–7 business days. Instead, I heard nothing. No updates. No action. No accountability. For weeks, the shoes sat. The process stalled. And the brand that built its name on service and heritage craftsmanship went quiet. Mid-November (Saturday) – I escalated the issue directly to the General Manager. Let me be clear: nothing moved until I did this. No progress, no traction, no corrective action. Within two days of contacting the GM, everything shifted. Updates came. Timelines were clarified. Work actually began. The contrast was stark. November 19–25 – I was given the new projected completion window. Ironically, this longer timeframe — nearly three times the length of the original recraft — said exactly what I had suspected: the first “completed” job was rushed. True craftsmanship requires time.

They finally arrived — and I opened the box like a kid on Christmas morning who specifically asked for swagger. After much anticipation, this evening I received both new fragrances from the house of Elyon Dubai (Curly’s Fragrances), and even though I only planned a quick test, I ended up doing a full sniff-session like a sommelier with a grudge against subtlety. BLUF: I am thrilled with the blind buy — these two just earned a seat at the table next to my Tom Ford, Creed, and Xerjoff. Infinity smells like a luxury night drive in a leather interior — smooth woods, a soft touch of sweet fruit, and just enough rose to whisper, “Yes, this costs money.” It’s the fragrance equivalent of pulling up in a blacked-out car with ambient lighting, even if you’re really just going to Walgreens. Himeros (my favorite) is Infinity’s darker, mysterious cousin — the one with a motorcycle, excellent hair, and zero interest in returning phone calls. It’s smoky, leathery, sweet in the most dangerous way, and powerful enough that one spray feels like you’ve just entered a villain’s penthouse. Definitely not my usual “office-safe” choice, but tomorrow night it’s coming with me to the Cowboy Dance Hall. A cowboy with Middle Eastern flair? Boots, leather, oud energy? The fragrance is already doing more line-dancing than I am.