WHETHER DRIVEN BY AN URGENCY to bring their best to work every day or by the staggering popularity of Don Draper, men began to dress up in the wake of the Great Recession. Everywhere you looked, you saw slim suits and slim ties, elegant wing-tips with Baroque broguing, Chelsea boots made of leather that glinted in the sunshine. It was as if the goal was to look as though you might jet to Saint-Tropez at a moment’s notice.

This shift to mid-century sophistication excited publishers, as it gave them the chance to educate a new generation on matters such as the correct fit of jacket, the proper leg break to request from a tailor, and the original purpose of a ticket pocket. The fact that it was also a perfect fit for advertisers like Rolex and Louis Vuitton didn’t hurt, either.

Menswear, launched by the Fairchild division of Condé Nast in 2010, sought to nurture this more Continental mind-set. It profiled European designers, name-dropped abstract painters, and wasn’t afraid to reference Chekov in a cover line.

I served as the magazine’s copy editor for every issue. It didn’t quite gain its footing, however, and ultimately served as a precursor to M magazine.