Recently We Are The Market has waxed sartorial on men’s accessories. Teddy made a strong case for the centuries-old ultimate men’s accessory: the gun. Muted yet powerful, refined yet rugged, the gun is, to quote our West Coast wordsmith, “heritage as fuck.” Later, I gave a brief history lesson about the Straw Hat Riot of 1922. A three day riot broke out in New York City because men were still wearing straw hats in mid-September, prompting mischievous and most likely drunken youths to snatch the boaters and stomp them flat. Brawling and straw hat bonfires erupted all over the city. And they think men are enthusiastic about fashion in 2011…

I have recently discovered another way for guys to perfectly accessorize any outfit in any season. It is one of those rare underappreciated items that can simultaneously contrast and complement whatever get-up or look you happen to be going for. Though the discovery came about through painful means, the lining to this cloud covers all spectrums of purples yellows and blues.

Gracing just one side of your face, any gadabout sporting a black eye emanates more than just a hint of adventure, recklessness, and danger (all the qualities cologne wants you to believe it provides). It is the tiny piece of your appearance that defines who you are to all spectators. Think about it: a man should be judged by his actions, right? What is dressing besides a means to convey what kind of person you are? And while your material outfit is stellar I’m sure, with an ornamental black eye people know for sure there was some sort of wild action behind your current appearance.

The audience doesn’t have to know that you sustained the injury while trying to flick your pocket square to the perfect fluff, or while doing another type of fluffing during a joyless part-time gig undertaken only to supplement your fashion job’s meager income.

Maybe you were hunting roebuck in the emerald hills of Scotland and you misjudged the recoil of your Marlin rifle. Perhaps you were careening around the perilous seaside cliffs of Croatia in the back of a Maybach with Rick Ross and as he was passing the blunt roadside bandits attempted to commandeer the whip, making the 62S swerve and causing a tatted Rozay titty to slap you in the eye — I don’t know, but neither does anyone else, so any backstory is possible. The point is, something exciting happened and your domepiece was at the center of the action.

Unlike other attire a black eye is 100% an individual accessory that is completely your own. Each day brings a unique color scheme to the foray. One day it’ll be as deep and blocky as a Unionmade Indigo peacoat, the next day it could be as whacky and vibrant as an Etro pocket square, except the limited run number on your eye is 1. With clothing, you will never outwit the super-nerds who, as an example of their nerdom, know the factory that any particular garment of note was created. They might even be able to tell you if the designer was feeling extra whimsical the day this piece was produced, which explains the quirky relationship between the warp and the weft. Unlike a recently blogged about collection, a black eye’s origins remain completely shrouded in mystery. With the entire lower end of the color spectrum tarnishing your face, no one knows how you got it, where you got it, when you got it, or what it cost you (hopefully not your dignity/virginity).

Speaking of nerds, a black eye fulfills the casual carelessness that our contemporary devil may-cares attempt to convey when not scrutinizing every streetshot of Waka Flacca and other signores smoking and texting they boys in Boglioli about coppin’ ravioli. Let’s be honest. More often than not that unbuttoned button or unbuckled strap is going to come off as contrived. A black eye does not bear any such intentionality; it’s not like you woke up that morning and oh so sprezzaturally punched yourself in the eye.

And of course we have to talk about the popular concept of “go-to-hell” clothing. Ryan Gosling’s satin scorpion bomber sure was pretty (he pretty, too), but to me it looked its best when it had bits of a guy’s face sprinkled all over the front. Similarly, forget going sockless or wearing a bold print; showing up at a stuffy event with a smear of fuchsia on your visage is the ultimate go-to-hell piece. A black eye adds a unique touch of crassness to a dressier look, and immediately provides that intangible element of “unfuckwitable.” You are instantly a lad of ill repute. Again, it doesn’t matter if this is deserved or not. All that matters is that lads of ill repute are sexy.

Brando had the smashed shnoz, Bogart had the paralyzed lip, you can have the temporarily fucked up eye. A black eye is that scuff on an otherwise polished surface that marks comfort, character, and individuality. It’s the accessory that trumps your overall look and vaults you beyond the plain accessory world of heirloom lapel pins and crazy socks to a cloudy splattered realm of bleeding violets and seeping ochres. So next time something is flying straight at your photoreceptors, be it a goon’s fist or a Rick Ross tit, ya best protect ya neck but maybe, I don’t know, leave one eye out there.