I first met Robert Spangle, a photographer who goes by the IG handle Thousand Yard Style, at the dandyism lollapalooza known as Pitti Uomo, around a decade ago. That period was peak #menswear: Instagram was relatively new, and Pitti had transformed from a bone-dry trade fair to a well-lubricated orgy of peacockery, with the world’s tailoring aficionados desperately trying to sartorially outgun one another and capture the attention of street photographers such as Tommy Ton, Scott Schuman, and indeed, our man Spangle. (Fallout Boy, if you remember it. Yeah, it was a terrible band, but it had this song that went “This ain’t a scene, it’s a goddamn arms race”, which just about summed it up.)

You’d see Spangle at the Fortezza (the 14th Century Florentine structure where Pitti is held), way off in the distance as his thousand-metre moniker suggests, crouching like a sniper with a long lens, capturing stylish fits, the wearers unawares—giving his imagery , spontaneous vibe lacking in many of the other street style snappers’ posed pics.

A lot of Spangle’s fellow lensmen of that epoch have gone on to create coffee table books documenting stylish metropolitan people looking stylish in a metropolitan setting. Cool, fine. Spangle took a different course for his debut publication, however.

“I’ve been working in fashion for a long time, and one of my theories is that style is an innate part of humanity and what makes us human; that it’s really something inalienable from the human condition. It’s not something that’s dependent on you living in a fashion capital, or even being from a really well-developed country, not even a country that has any kind of social stability. And I thought, ok, if I’m going to have this theory, I’m going to have to prove it,” he explains of the thinking behind his book Afghan Style, which was published last year.

“I had been to Iraq before,” Spangle says with no small degree of understatement—he’d visited to shoot conflict reportage in 2017 and several years earlier, serving in a reconnaissance unit with the US Marines, sussing out the lay of the land in advance of the initial US ‘surges’ of 2010. “I thought Afghanistan would be perfect as a place to prove or disprove this theory, because it was an incredibly poor country, and incredibly isolated—the conflict, the economic isolation and the harsh geography keep most people out. Certainly, this would be a place where, from a Western perspective, you’d expect to find absolutely zero fashion, zero style or any interest in the above.”

Spangle accepted an assignment for a magazine named Esquire (you may be familiar with the masthead, reader) and headed to Afghanistan for a four-to six-week visit. “Once I got there, I realised my theory was right, but my assumptions were wrong—Afghanistan is one of the best environments I’ve ever been in for photographing style, because the level of cultural style, and the value placed on cultural style, is just massive there. It’s everywhere, it’s in all directions.” When he returned from the journey, Spangle says, “I did the hardest photo edit of my entire life. I think I had, like, 120 images that I really couldn’t part with.” It was more than his assignment for Esquire called for. “So then I started thinking about a book.”

Spangle’s publishing plans were nearly scuppered when the Taliban re-took control of Afghanistan in late 2021. He felt the proposed book would lack relevance unless he revisited the country to see how the regime change had affected Afghans’ way of life—and to be able to get a more comprehensive picture of the landscape. Without a return, Spangle says, “I don’t think it would have been a complete document, because the security situation was so bad when I was first there that it was impossible to travel in the country.” He likens that initial visit to going to America and only scoping out New York: “You would get great style, and you would get people from all over the country, but you would not have a complete picture, would you?”

So Spangle went back and visited Afghanistan’s more out-of-the-way regions. What became apparent was, “Afghan men, across the board, are the most proud and self-possessed men I’ve ever met in my entire life,” Spangle says. “It’s kind of mind-blowing, because in the developed world, we always paint impoverished people as, like, grovelling. Yet, in fact, in Afghanistan, every single person you met wanted to look you in the eye and stand on even ground with you—whether they were unemployed, or if they were someone who was better off, like a warlord, they all looked you in the eye, treated you and spoke to you as a man, had total self-confidence.”

Something Spangle loved was, unlike the denizens of Pitti, these guys weren’t dressing for the camera, they weren’t busting rehearsed poses. Yet they looked outstanding. Literally. “How self-possessed these guys were, that blew my mind. And it also made them really easy subjects. I don’t think I’ve had an easier time photographing any group of people on Earth, including places like Pitti Uomo, where people want to be photographed, and I’m sure are practising in the mirror for it,” Spangle says. Afghan gentlemen, meanwhile, “They’re not putting on some kind of show for you. They’re not giving a practised smile—they’re just looking at you as if it’s only natural that you flew 5,000-and-something miles to come and photograph them.”

Just as it’s often the ‘éminences grises’ who stand out at Pitti Uomo—the likes of Lino Ieluzzi, Yukio Akamine, David Evans and Ignatious Joseph—Spangle says the more seasoned Afghan guys possess remarkable style. “There’s a lot of emphasis on maturity in Afghan culture,” he explains. “So young boys, boys, men, mature men: those are really, really big social demarcations in Afghanistan, and that definitely affects the way they dress. You’ve got guys who are like, probably 60-year-old horse hands, who I photographed a few seconds after they dusted off the places that they were sleeping on the ground the night before, using a tarp for a sleeping bag. And they look like a senior stylist at RRL or something, wearing a crazy tweed overcoat and a really cool vest. And for a guy who’s, like, working with horses and sleeping on the ground, they’re just immaculately presented.”

What can we here in Singapore learn from the way Afghan men dress and carry themselves? Clearly, confidence and self-possession are key. Make eye contact. Be a stand-up guy. Don’t be defined by your job or income. Plus, the Afghan sartorial stance—based around the timeless perahan tunban (an ensemble of long popover tunic shirt and loose trousers)—has proven, over the course of centuries, to be highly efficient in a hot, sunny environment. And Spangle says we shouldn’t shy from what some might describe as ‘cultural appropriation’. “I think cultural appropriation is basically what fashion is,” he says. “Fashion is doing what humans do, which is borrowing what we think is cool”—whether you’re gathering your sartorial inspiration from the dandies of Pitti or the horsemen of Helmand.

All photos courtesy of Robert Spangle.