Bars and stripes forever

By JEFF WILSER
New York Daily News

When most guys in New York want to get lucky, they wear the "Stripey." You know Stripey. It's the goofy-looking shirt that has become as basic as a pair of socks.

Key characteristics: somewhat fitted, vertical lines, the top two buttons undone. Worn with jeans that are just the right level of tightness, not loose enough to scream "Gap!," not tight enough to scream "Gay!"

Two years ago the Stripeys were daring. Invigorating. A funky alternative to the stale look of black pants and Banana Republic.

But now it's everywhere. The Stripey has monopolized the clubbing wardrobe, assaulting the city with a fashion blitzkrieg, the likes of which we haven't seen since the Trucker Hat.

For better or worse, the State of the Stripey is confident. Strong. And with no alternatives in sight, it has flattened the landscape of style, blurring the line between fashion and frat.

And, oddly, the Stripey is still considered bold, even though it's as daring as a pair of Dockers.

"They look like clones," says Jill, 26, a hospital nurse by day and clubaholic by night. She is pressed against the velvet ropes of the uber-hip PM in the Meatpacking District, shivering in the cold night. Behind her is a line of guys, all in Stripeys.

"Look at these guys," she says. "How do you decide who [to choose]?"

In the frat bars of the upper East Side, fashion standards appear more lax. Take Tin Lizzie, one of the Greekiest bars in Manhattan. A post-collegiate crowd jams to "Pour Some Sugar on Me," and the place overflows with Stripeys. Out of 65 guys, 72% (plus or minus 5% gin-and-tonic rounding error) wear either the Stripey or its siblings: the zigzag or the small-printed floral.

Joanne, a 23-year-old with the kind of large, bright pupils that exist only in Disney films, stops dancing and looks around. "Stripes! Of course! It shows confidence," she says. "Guys who wear a funkier shirt seem to have it going on."

On the dance floor, the men all sort of look the same. How is that funky? Unfazed, she says, "It's definitely more interesting than the usual business shirt."

Each of the 11 women polled at Tin Lizzie said she still likes the Stripey. Seven thought an undershirt (black) should be worn with it. Ten of the 11 want to see it untucked.

Nora disagrees. If a guy has the bod to pull it off, he should tuck, she says. And if he can get away with it, he should rock the floral.

A loud, almost neon, gold and purple Stripey walks by. "See that?" she asks. "Now that's a cool shirt! He's not a great-looking guy, but I'd talk to him because of the shirt."

The wearer of the gold Stripey turns out to be Charlie, a gravelly voiced, 30-year-old stockbroker. "I give the Stripey trend 12 more months," he says. When he's not working, he says, he likes to wear shirts "that pimp."

It's no different at the trendy Hotel Gansevoort in the Meatpacking District, where a rooftop view, an indoor swimming pool and wannabe models can't hide the familiar Tin Lizzie look - 52 of the 76 guys sport the Stripey.

Denise, a 37-year-old attorney who's wearing silver eye shadow, admits that if she were to have a one-night stand with a guy she met in a bar, he would be wearing the Stripey. Her friends all nod their heads vigorously. As for the color of the Stripey, Denise and her friends prefer bold, bright tones like orange and pink.

At Bridge & Tunnel on Union Turnpike in Fresh Meadows, the Stripey of choice involves purple and pink. A quick survey suggests you'll find them in equal proportions at Edessa on Fifth Ave. in Park Slope, Slate on Bell Boulevard in Bayside and Chance on Smith St. in South Brooklyn.

It's 2:30 a.m. at Rumor, a 12th Street Manhattan club that's more diverse in terms of ethnicity, music and vibe, and stii the guys are wearing the Stripey. Some have it completely unbuttoned in the hot club, revealing screen printed T-shirts beneath. Others accessorize with gold chains, bling or a Yankees cap. The Stripey is versatile.

There are dissenters. Joanne, a 27-year-old publicist, frowns as she inspects my shirt, a pink and purple, fitted, untucked Stripey.

"No more stripes," she says. "Maybe it's time for spots."