In the upcoming “Very Ralph” documentary on HBO there are a number of shots of a young Ralph Lauren in 1968 smoking a pipe. I wonder if he generally enjoyed it (he was a cigarette smoker), or if it was just the ideal accessory, as it were. I don’t care what his motivations were, he looked great, as always. I’ve always like pipes—as a child they seemed a sign of adulthood, and now they seem a sign of even more ancient adults. But it wasn’t always that way, young Orson Welles smoked a pipe. Bing Crosby did his whole adult life. Pipe smokers appeared in Cezanne and Manet paintings. And among British explorers.

I can’t quite swing it—that goes without saying—it’s just a step too far. Actually it’s about five steps too far. Though I never thought I would wear velvet slippers either and and now I have a row of those. Sometimes what seems outrageous becomes more logical as you get older. But pipes still seem to be in a category of their own. Maybe I’ll experiment in complete isolation in the woods—smoking is best in private, anyway. I’m biding my time and when my beard is completely gray (not much longer!) then I’ll have earned the right to cross the threshold and embrace the last affectation.

From top to bottom: Edouard Manet “The Pipe Smoker” / Bing Crosby / Orson Welles / Jacques Tati / Keens Steakhouse / John Frederick Peto “Still Life with Pipe” / Evelyn Waugh by Henry Lamb / Somerset Maugham / Jack Lemmon