The Death of Golf Fashion

As the leaves change colors and bristle against one another in the wind, let us find comfort in change.

Fall doesn't ask permission. It just happens.

You know the feeling. Life strips away what seemed permanent. Your job vanishes. A relationship ends. Your health shifts. That certainty you built everything on, gone.

The trees aren't dying though. Look at them.

That bareness scares us because we think we need all that coverage. But maybe clarity only comes when the decorations fall away. Maybe we discover our actual strength when there's nothing left to hide behind.

Transition forces us to stop performing. The caterpillar doesn't grip harder when it's time to change. It lets everything dissolve.

What's falling away from you right now isn't the end. It's the middle. Winter comes before spring, but fall does the real work. It starts the honest, uncomfortable work of stripping down to what matters.

Good morning and welcome back.

The steady degradation of golf clothing into streetwear must be stopped. If you’re new here, I’d suggest reading Why Dressing Well Matters and The Problem with Big Letter Hats before reading further.

As I perused Instagram the other day, (any golf content on there is mindless drivel, but alas, I am an addict) my eyeballs stopped in their tracks when I saw this on Skratch Golf’s feed. It only had 87 likes (789k followers, hmmm), but I was more perturbed by the message on the hat. Buying this hat makes you the farthest thing from a “golf sicko”.

My issue is that actual golf sickos (I know only 1 or 2, rare breed) would never publicly brand themselves as such, and likely would not even acknowledge their addiction to the game.

Want to know what a true sicko looks like? He (or she) is the person that tells you “just one more swing” about 23 times before leaving the range. This person is a member of 4 or 5 clubs that they will never advertise, and becomes physically and mentally unstable if they don’t touch a golf club for 24 hours.

Their life is a series of activities organized around their next round of golf.

They don’t really ever celebrate a good shot, they accept it as what should always happen. On the other side? They will moan and grumble and talk to themselves for the rest of the round about the one mishit 3 wood from the second hole. Not a character flaw, its a built in side effect of the sickness. It’s the status quo.

You worry constantly about their physical health, because if it fails and they can’t play golf? They don’t have much else for which to live.

It’s a lifelong affliction, not something to be mocked on a dad hat. I won’t stand for it!

If you see any of the 12 people that purchased this hat, just know they are not a golf sicko, and are actually the exact antithesis of everything that true sickos embody.

At Wee Burn Country Club in Darien, Connecticut, the Duck Confit Agnolotti represents the artistry of modern private club dining.

The dish begins with slow-cooked duck legs, transformed into a tender confit and folded into handmade agnolotti with ricotta, herbs, and citrus zest. It’s served with roasted pumpkin, smoked chestnuts, and a sage brown butter sauce that evokes the essence of New England autumn.

In a setting known for its understated elegance, the dish has become a quiet symbol of the club’s willingness to innovate within the boundaries of fine dining.

17 at Fox Chapel. The coolest green (and best Biarritz) I’ve ever played.

Bringing back this segment. Enjoy

Hidden behind grandiose gates in the Surrey heathland, Queenwood Golf Club is one of the most secretive golf sanctuaries in the world. Conceived in the late 1990s by American developer Frederick D. Green and investor Walter Forbes, it was designed by David McLay Kidd to evoke the golden age of Surrey golf. The course opened in 2001, but that’s almost all the public is meant to know.

Membership is capped around 350, and is strictly by invitation. Even acknowledging one’s affiliation is frowned upon. The roster reportedly includes film stars like Michael Douglas, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Hugh Grant, alongside tour legends such as Ernie Els, but no official list exists. Mobile phones are banned and few outsiders have ever set foot on the property.

Queenwood’s mystique is matched by its price: joining reportedly costs well into six figures, with annual dues to match. Even the club’s occasional shareholder disputes make headlines precisely because Queenwood was built to exist where the world never intrudes.

I have been thinking about my favorite courses I’ve played one time and would want to play again - Sankaty is at the top of that list. Here is a little rundown on the Caddy camp that remains on premise to this day. A cool touch to an old-school club.

Sankaty Head Golf Club hosts Camp Sankaty, the last residential caddy camp in the United States.

Founded in 1930, the program has operated on club property ever since and remains a living link to early American caddy culture.

Each summer about sixty boys ages fourteen to seventeen live in simple huts, caddy most days, and follow a structured routine that includes chores, recreation, and quiet hours.

The camp’s design is intentional. It supplies the club with trained caddies and gives teenagers paid work and clear expectations in a close community. Selection is competitive, and the cohort draws from across the country.

The program typically houses around sixty campers and staff, and the daily schedule is orderly. Discipline and reliability are central themes.

The impact extends beyond the island. Many Sankaty caddies later earn the Evans Scholarship, a full college tuition and housing award for high achieving caddies with financial need.

Camp Sankaty endures because members support it and because its mission still works. Learn responsibility, serve golfers, and grow up together.

My intention with BowtiedGolf is to grow it as the elite clubs do — through referrals.

If you’ve improved your look, laughed a little bit, or learned something because of this newsletter… why keep it to yourself?