You may know the feeling.
It's finally here. You thought this day would never come, but here it is right in front of you. You can actually reach out and touch it. You gently lift and cradle it like a newborn preemie, scared you might break it. It's beautiful. The lines. The fabric. The construction. You've been planning for days/weeks/months/years, reading reviews, collecting pictures, watching videos. But nothing could have prepared you for what it would be like holding it the first time.
It's perfect.
So you carefully hang it in your closet, off to the side perhaps so there's no risk of anything touching it.
And there it sits.
Oh, it might rain today? You couldn't risk water touching it. For all we know it might melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, or die a horrible death like those stupid aliens in that M. Night Shyamalan movie who didn't realize the entire planet is water. On the other hand, the sun might come out later, and you wouldn't want to sweat in it (no sane person would). There's also a chance you might have to eat today, and what if that food was Italian, and
what if that Italian had meat sauce?! Honestly, you should be given a pat on the back just for not having it shrink wrapped or hermetically sealed. It's a crazy/sunny/rainy/meat-saucy world out there. Anything could happen.
Of course I'm being hyperbolic, but it's funny how the things we cherish sometimes don't get used like they should. It's an easy problem to empathize with, especially for items that don't always age well - some of those crispy clean types of aesthetics, new sneakers, white leather, white pants...white...anything, I suppose. But there's times where I have to make a conscious effort to wear some of my favorite things - to get over that feeling that they're "too nice" to risk messing up, getting dirty, or just not wanting to deal with the hassle of laundering and ironing
*ahem* linen.
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| Filson Restoration (picture from Complex) |
Let's not forget it helps if the things you own look better with some age. One of the things I try and take into consideration when I'm making a big purchase is what will it look like in a year, two years, ten (considering that is your mindset, not buying the latest trend to donate or throw away next season). That's one reason I don't own any white minimalist sneakers. But the internet is full of enviable pictures of nicely faded indigo, leather patinas with ocean-like depths, and waxed canvas that looks like it's been around the world and back, ready to go again. It's part of the reason we enjoy so much classic Americana and, to some degree, fetishize materials and old-world craftsmanship.
But even when we buy these things that promise to age like a fine wine, good whiskey, or Christie Brinkley, sometimes we're still hesitant to let our clothes just live their lives without training wheels. We like the allure of the lived-in feel, the aesthetic of vintage clothing, but we're afraid to take them on the journey ourselves.
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| My Red Wing Beckmans in the Smoky Mountains |
Maybe we baby our things a little too much as well. Many of us, perhaps most of us, don't lead the types of lives that easily result in getting the lived-in, roughed up and gorgeous patina that can develop on things that are built to take a beating. It used to be that if I had a weekend where my Red Wings took a few scuffs or a bit of a drizzle, I'd just clean and polish them back to their original condition the next day. For some reason, it just clicked in my head a few weeks ago as I was finishing up a polish that I actually liked them better beforehand. So I immediately gave my brick wall a little kick trying to undo some of my TLC. I'm embarrassed typing that (and I'm just as embarrassed now reading it again).
I think about this every once in a while, but it really struck home when I was looking at some evolution pictures of a
well-worn horsehide rider posted by German musician
Zeki Min, who's worn it almost daily, rain or shine - biking, slogging through mud, wrestling a donkey, you know, wherever the day or night may take you (pictured below). It's developing the type of organic character and weathered appeal that brands like RRL try to replicate (at great cost). I wondered if I could man up enough to do the same with
my own new leather jacket, and as soon as the weather permits wearing a jacket without developing heat stroke I'm going to give it my best try.
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| Zeki Min's Diamond Dave modified horsehide J-21 - new and 9 months of wear |
I wrote this post with the idea that this must happen to other guys as well - it could be a pair of boots, a jacket, a watch, a new sports car perhaps. At least I'm hoping it's not just me. If so, I just told a bunch of people I kicked a wall like an idiot for nothing. It's fine.
ONLY GOD CAN JUDGE ME.
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| THOU SHALT NOT PAMPER THINE CLOTHES |
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