Some things never really go out of style. They just get misplaced. But lately, certain relics—tallow, bay rum, horn combs—have crept back in. Not as nostalgia, but as correction. A quiet rebellion against ergonomic packaging and scentless surfaces.
Take bay rum, the splashy cologne of barbershops and well-traveled bachelors. For years, it smelled like a midlife crisis. Now it smells like you have a signature scent, and that scent isn’t the predictable one everyone else is wearing. (You know the one: expensive, glossy, and smells like a mirrored vanity.) C. O. Bigelow’s version belongs in a cabinet with glass shelving and soft lighting. It’s sharp, warm, and unapologetically classic.
Or tallow—animal fat—rebranded for the aesthetically literate, or millennially squeamish. The clean-beauty set has decided it’s no longer medieval, just misunderstood. My Neighbor’s Tallow Balm is a stripped-back, skin-first formula, with only a handful of ingredients, all of them functional. LAFCO uses it in bars of soap that don’t melt into mush after three uses. It’s cleansing, yes, but also a subtle flex: a bar of soap that says, “This bathroom was designed, not renovated.”
Horn combs don’t detangle; they banish static with quiet authority. They suggest a person who’s unbothered by humidity and has never rushed through an airport. A good horn comb doesn’t shout for attention; it quietly outclasses whatever’s next to it. They don’t just look good on a vanity; they single-handedly justify owning a vanity.
Don’t forget handkerchiefs, not for actual noses, but tied around a wrist or tossed just so in a pocket, like a sartorial wink. Some are classic, others are subversive embroidery wrapped in civility—fashion’s answer to a calling card. Their presence implies you have a dresser with lined drawers, a loyalty to linen, and an opinion on starch.
Pocket lighters. Not the plastic kind. The real ones, with weight and click. They aren’t only for candles; they’re for suggestion. That if the occasion calls for it, you might, just possibly, have a smoke. Not because you crave one, but because the moment demands it.
There will be candles, but not soy ones. Nor ones hand-poured by someone named River in a Brooklyn studio. We mean real tapers on silver holders, possibly tarnished. They drip. They lean. They look best lit for no reason at all.
Not quite loungewear. Not quite a statement. The daytime robe can be worn while taking a phone call at the window. Making espresso. Receiving a guest you’re only vaguely expecting. There’s a belt, but it isn’t tied. The hem brushes the floor. It demands nothing but posture.
What’s back in style isn’t just the object, it’s the ritual. A subtle romance with routine. A reclaiming of friction. We’re not headed back to chamber pots and woodstoves, but it’s worth noting: modern convenience hasn’t necessarily improved taste.
So go ahead, light the taper. Use the bar soap. Choose the comb that does nothing quickly. Because nothing says refinement quite like a habit you’ve deliberately refused to abandon.
Jennifer Noyes is the Editor and Chief Merchandiser at AIR MAIL’s AIR SUPPLY
