The Cranky Wisdom of Peter Kaplan

ALMOST EVERY DAY for several decades, Peter Kaplan, the former editor of the New York Observer, has dressed in the same outfit before departing for work. There is, surely, a shade of Harold Ross in his round, tortoiseshell spectacles, a hint of the Depression-era newsman in his rolled-up sleeves, his tucked-in tie. But beyond those points of reference, Kaplan is just Kaplanesque. He wears pale blue oxford shirts each day because the color pleases him. He likes khaki trousers because tan is a great complement to blue. (“It happens at the beach,” he likes to say—“the ocean meets the shore.”) For years, Kaplan bought dress shoes made with steel supports, because he thought the extra weight helped tone his legs. But the shoes stopped being made a while ago, so now, instead, he wears Aldens (brown, because his mother told him black shoes look severe), except on weekends, when he dons a pair of Nikes (a suggestion from his girlfriend) and lets his blue shirt get somewhat untucked. It is not that Kaplan is naturally a stiff or stringent guy. (His office in New York looks like a paper factory after a hurricane.) It is just that he knows what he likes and thinks there’s no virtue in second-guessing what has worked for half a century and counting.