On the new Showtime series "Weeds," actor Justin Kirk, best known for his role as Prior Walter in "Angels in America," plays Andy, the ne'er-do-well brother-in-law of Mary-Louise Parker's suburban soccer mom. When the scheming Andy discovers that his sister-in-law is dealing pot to make ends meet after her husband's death, he takes what he believes is the only honorable path: cutting himself in on the action. On the following pages, emboldened in outfits inspired by the cowboy-punk-English gentleman look, we imagine Kirk ratcheting up his caddishness several notches, dispensing bon mots for the benefit of other aspiring scalawags.
Because the finer things in life are prohibitively expensive, you'll need a hand from time to time in subsidizing your use of them. Develop a taste for the best. Insist on tobacco bought directly from your man in Istanbul, daily massages from a former Danish supermodel, and an old, mellow Armagnac, preferably a vintage from about the time Custer got whipped at Little Bighorn.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Sunday September 25, 2005 Home Edition Los Angeles Times Magazine Part I Page 10 Lat Magazine Desk 0 inches; 27 words Type of Material: Correction
The photo shoot with actor Justin Kirk in the Men's Fall Fashion Issue ("School for Scoundrels," Sept. 4) should have credited Luca Ognibene for the set design.
Being a sportsman is a vital part of scoundrel tradition. Develop a thorough knowledge of activities as diverse as coursing, curling, Australian rules football and tournament bass fishing. Know your statistics. This will help when you bet heavily on long odds, an honored tradition for the sporting gentleman. That, and borrowing money from acquaintances to place such wagers. That you have no intention of repaying. Especially if you win.
Two words: languid despair. They combine the melancholy of a poet with the listlessness of a bum. And they're catnip to the type of rich widow who hires the best orthopedic surgeon to fix a mangy sparrow's broken wing. When the widow asks the cause of your despair, just sigh. Soulfully. For at least three seconds. On no account should you reply, "I'm just really bummed out." In which case--game over.
There will be times when the bootless and unwashed will vent their jealousy toward you, mocking you for living off lonely women, cheating behind their backs and for being a generally smarmy Lothario. In this case there is only one thing to do: Deliberately and with disdain, roll up the windows of your widow's Rolls-Royce.
Never be obsequious to the hosts upon whom you're freeloading or they may doubt your aristocratic credentials. Give them reason to be grateful that you are scrounging off them. To wit: "Normally I divide my winters between Gstaad and Punta del Este, but it will be a welcome respite from the rigors of international travel to spend the next three months in your guest house in West Covina."
It is de rigueur for aristocrats, real or imagined, to patronize establishments of low repute and questionable hygiene not out of a misguided sense of fraternity, but to escape the insufferable demands placed on you by whichever patron from whom you are currently sponging. Be sure to visit such establishments in mufti; acting the swell is sure to get you knocked upon your blue-blooded keister.
Styled by Renee Ben-Shmuel; grooming: Alexis Benveniste/celestineagency.com. Vintage bar from Arkside Prop House, (818) 252-1940.