The New White-Collar Cool-Off
Central Park was just coming awake last Wednesday — the calls of the warblers, sparrows, vireos, tanagers and even a rare thrush draping the morning in a dappled canopy of birdsong — as Michael Anson sat down on a bench near the 85th street transverse. On most weekdays there’d be nothing remarkable about a retired man relaxing on a bench halfway through his brisk morning walk. But a closer look would have revealed that Mr. Anson was shirtless: wearing just a pair of pressed khaki pants, white New Balance walking shoes and tortoise shell sunglasses. His shirt, however, wasn’t far: it was slung over the back of the bench, a pale pink Brooks Brothers button-down draped in a manner which, to at least one passer-by, evoked Christo’s ethereal 2005 exhibit The Gates.
Mr. Anson is not, of course, the first man to relieve himself of his shirt on a hot New York morning. Stroll through Washington Heights, Brownsville and other boisterous neighborhoods any time day or night in July or August and you will see that the men of New York are not immune to the pleasure of allowing a summer’s breeze to play across one’s bare chest.
But Mr. Anson is part of a new trend, of retired investment bankers going shirtless in summer. This despite having the means to spend the hotter months encased in a moving chamber of private air-conditioning, from centrally-cooled CentraklPark West co-op to chilled taxi to the always-deliciously-frigid Jitney.
“I was walking, as I do most mornings,” Mr. Anson said as he sipped a bottle of Poland Spring procured from a vendor. “And, as you can see, it’s brutally hot. I decided to sit down for a minute or two, and my shirt was really feeling sticky, you know that feeling? And well, first, it’s early, so I won’t see many people. And two, I figured, OK, it’s not the most dignified thing in the world, but I’m in decent shape and I don’t think I’m breaking any laws.” He took a long pull on his Poland Spring as his gray chest hairs glistened. “And it’s nice, sitting here, in the shade of a tree, on a bench, resting a bit, with a nice breeze while my shirt dries out.”
Asked if his wife knew, Mr. Anson gave a queer smile, scratched his right ear, and replied, “Well I’ll be damned.”
