Style Icon – Dan Malloy
When I called Dan Malloy a blast of evergreen scented wind, with hints of surf wax and Liberia,
almost blew me off my customised Dion Neutra interview chair. It’s shaped like a boomerang and I only use it when talking to iconic professional surfers.
The Malloy Clan are well known for their powerful, masculine, earth-friendly steezez, with notes of four leaf clover and free-range stag. Eldest brother, Chris, looks like a rough ‘n’ ready Steve McQueen. Middle brother Keith is becoming a bear (35% and increasing). Dan, the youngest, is also the prettiest. He’s got piercing hazel eyes and tousled hazel hair and, if the internet is to be believed, amply endowed. Girls can’t help but shout suggestive obscenities when he waltzes by.
He was minutes back from surfing perfect winter Mexico when he answered his phone.
C: How was Mexico?
D: It was, fine. It was Mexico.
C: Did you make love to any giant Mexican transvestite prostitutes?
D: Nah, not this time. (There seemed to be a bit of hesitation in his voice.)
C: Whatever, either you did or didn’t. It’s cool. So, I wanted to congratulate you on being a style icon.
C: What does it mean to you to be a “style icon?”
D: Uh, I don’t know. I really don’t think about it. I just like what I like.
C: Well, who is your icon?
D: My dad. Hard working redneck from Ojai.
Dan and bros grew up in the small farming town in the mountains above Ventura called Ojai. Paterfamilias, Mike, is a tough surfing cowboy. He jockeyed with greats in Malibu/Topanga’s sixties surfing explosion, then moved to where the flavor is. He raises cows and calves, drinks whisky neat (probably), bare-knuckle boxes on Saturday nights (maybe) and juggles red-hot coals around the campfire (definitely). He represents classic American masculinity. Dust, denim and the word “damn.” Tears are for pussies, my little emo friend. Dan’s style evolved from this timeless blue-collar mélange. Clothing is a functional, workable necessity. It protects you from the elements. Trends, apparently, are also for pussies.
C: Are you in some skinny jeans right now?
D: Ha ha. No way.
C: What about next year? Are you a bit late jumping on haute looks?
D: No, I sorta steer clear from fads. I’ll tell you this, though, my jeans aren’t hanging off my ass. I like pants that fit.
C: Like Lee?
Obviously it’s not Lee. Our boy is sponsored by alpine company cum eco-surf giant Patagonia. What’s more, he’s involved in the research, design and modelling of their clothes.
C: You have to say you love Patagonia, don’t you. You can’t say they suck balls.
D: No, no, no. I do love them. I used to be full-on surf industry guy (he and his brothers used to be sponsored by Hurley) and I had to take a big pay cut to come ride for Patagonia, since they give so much money for environmental stuff. For me it has to be love.
C: So then you’re a patchouli-soaked green hippie?
D: No way, I don’t look at myself as a full-on environmentalist. I just believe that we can do our part. When I was younger, especially, I just wanted to get sponsored and get t-shirts and stickers and all that. Now, the older I get, I just see more what individuals can do and I see how much stuff I waste. I’m getting better at being more responsible.
The clothes that Patagonia makes are really well built so they last a long time. Good quality. And of course they’re made from organic cotton and all that junk.
With as much time as Dan spends on the road, his prêt-a-porter better last a fucking long time. West Africa, Ireland, South America, Wyoming. The boy is a regular whirling dervish. Though, he dreams of waking up and staying the same place.
C: What? you get tired of travel?
D: I would love to be able to stay at home for a month, then hit the road for a month. Month on month off, but that’s not really how it’s working right now.
(he used to model for Ralph Lauren and has appeared in Vogue). Minimalist, workable, reliable. No wonder the Malloy style has become all the rage with the kiddies.
C: Are you upset when you see kids biting your steez?
D: Uh, I don’t see kids really biting the Malloy style.
That’s horseshit. Just the other day I saw some youngster with a peach fuzz beard, corduroy slacks and a hemp stocking hat checking the early morning surf. He also had a fish under his arm with an Al Gore sticker on the nose. The masses have made “Malloy” a symbol for hip, well-intentioned beauty. Fat, beer-guzzling turds are walking in on their girls drooling over Malloy photo spreads in record number. It’s
reached crises proportion in some surf hamlets, forcing men to buy hybrids and wear organic flannel just to compete with magazine pictures of Dan, Keith and Chris. Everyone knows if the brothers show up in person every last woman will disappear.
C: How long does it take for you to get beautiful in the morning?
D: No time. I just wake up and walk to town to get breakie.
It’s always that way with style icons. They don’t pay attention to their vestments or too cool rustique. They just wash ‘n’ go. I don’t even think Dan washes. The smell of earth is his cologne. At this point Dan had to run off. He was late for a flight to Jackson Hole, Wyoming and a film
festival. Another style icon would probably pick him up from the airport. A man with similar machismo and earth-friendly clothing.
C: Say “hi” to Harrison “Indiana Jones” Ford for me (he lives in Jackson Hole).