In 1994, when New York rent was affordable and any mention of drip was solely to do with a plumbing issue, Harrison Ford was pictured doing some grocery shopping in Manhattan. It's likely that the actor, then several years on from the apex of the Indiana Jones franchise, did not consent to such a photo being taken by the marauding paparazzi, who were then, collectively, just on the brink of a professional nadir on the eve of the mid-Nineties. But it is a good photograph, not least because it seems to succinctly capture the prickly, distanced charm for which Ford became known. It's also cold hard proof that the Star Wars legend was an Aimé Leon Dore guy long before Aimé Leon Dore had ever popped its first rugby shirt collar.
The freshly turned octogenarian, who celebrates his 80th birthday today (many happy returns, friend!) should first and foremost be honoured for a long, winding CV. That's why he's famous, and still cracking the whip for a fifth instalment of cinema's inaugural tomb raider. But the archives reveal another Ford. He embodies not just the Nineties, but the new gen menswear that's come to set menswear's dial on "Late-20s New York-based collector of vinyl, sneakers and vintage denim".
Intentionally or otherwise, stateside marques like Aimé Leon Dore, Noah and Awake NY have channelled Ford's back catalogue. In the aforementioned snap, there's a waterproofed jacket with a contrast suede collar. It's practical, green and sensible; the stuff of unionised teamster offices, but also workwear in its purest sense that's become grail-like because of this authenticity. A jacket like that wouldn't last long in a second-hand shop (sorry, thrift store, whatever). A few years later, Ford marched out – again, in Manhattan – wearing a quilted farm jacket atop double contrasting denim. It was a premonition. Almost 24 years later, Noah collaborated with South Shields country stalwart Barbour for a collection that reimagined that very jacket. And if you needed any more evidence of Ford's Cassandra-like foresight of menswear, he was seen way back in '82 wearing menswear's friendliest colour in navy, short gym shorts, and a pair of boat shoes. It's as much Paul Newman as it is new prep.
On the red carpet, Ford took to boxy suits and collegiate ties. They're great now, and they were great then. Without the big and Nineties mob boss suit, there'd be no neo-Paris tailoring from Dior, or satirical abstraction from Demna's Balenciaga. But despite these pros, Ford dressed a lot like every other famous man at the ribbon cutting of a new blockbuster. It was the off-duty where the personal style hummed. That, understandably, might've changed as the actor hits 80. But walk around the Bowery, and you'll still see Ford. You'll probably see him several times over.
Because, ultimately, Ford is the sort of American these very American brands exalt and extract from. The actor was born on the strongly worded, heavily concreted streets of Chicago. He wears baseball caps, and big gold rings, and supports the unions, and injects a sense of cool into clothes that were purpose-built for a relatively hostile environment. Ford is famous because he's just like every other guy, but he just stars in films, and has better bone structure. Ford, in the New York of 1994, could be us, in the New York (or London, or Tokyo) of today. He's the forgotten founding father of this whole NYC streetwear revival thing.
