Chris Lindland has built his company on a foundation of lies. Prevarications. Total fabrications.
Far out stories have become the centerpiece of the quirky San Francisco fashion brand.
Lindland has created an internet fashion empire—one populated by a menagerie of characters whose virtues and exploits are embodied in the Cordarounds brand. Since the founding of the company, brand devotees and bemused neophytes alike have visited Cordarounds.com after receiving viral e-mails alerting them to new installments in the adventures of these charismatic characters.
Among the most intriguing characters Lindland has unleashed is the enigmatic, charismatic and undeniably deadly Lazenby. In one memorable tale, Lazenby fights Santa Claus to the death, curls the toes of Mrs. Claus in a night of lustful rapture and then spirits himself away to step in for the recently departed Kris Kringle and deliver presents to all the good boys and girls—at least the ones who had requested Cordarounds for Christmas.
Then we have Lindland’s coterie of Southern Gentlemen, who themselves are partial to Cordarounds more tropical corporate cousins, the horizontal seersucker Summerounds. Beauregard Delacroix, a riverboat gambler who found his Poker strategies stifled by his overheating “unmentionables” until he discovered the cooling effects of Summerounds. Austindale Crockett, gentleman monster hunter. O. Rutherford Pickling III, gadfly, historian and Civil War reactor. Worthington P. Chesterfield, porch sitter, bourbon sipper and snuff snuffler extraordinaire. Sylvester Boggs-Cockrell, gentleman astronaut, aeronautical engineer and moonshine distiller. They all proudly endorse the cool comfort, understated style and virility boost you get with each pair of Lindland’s pants.
Don’t quite get it? Read the originals. The wacky world Lindland has created has proven so compelling that he has to fight off press coverage lest his clippings collapse his ramshackle dwelling. Chalk up one for the Gentleman Storyteller and Corduroy Monopolist!
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I recently had the great privilege of participating in Lindland’s “Single and Certifiably Straight Fashion Show.” Scores of screaming San Franciscanettes virtually mobbed us models as we strutted, sauntered and otherwise gallivanted down the runway wrapped in Lindland’s latest creations. The night was virtually dripping with surrealism, capped off by the scene of scads of Yuppie male models peeling off their Cordarounds in the middle of a bunch of Russian Mafiosos and their Gorky Park Goomas doing vodka shots in our backstage dressing room. Priceless.