Workwear Love Affair
Immediately after having my suitcase stolen in Amsterdam, I was distraught. Our first day there, camping in 40-degree heat, and I'm left with no change of clothes for the week. Initially, though, my mind rather unhelpfully pondered, "that lost expense probably would've paid for a hotel".
My first thought was to call my dad. Not sure why. No idea what I was expecting him to do about the situation, but he resolved my issue instantly. Apathetically, he uttered, "why does it matter?", infallible farther logic. Having floundered to give him a respectable response, I knew he was right.
My perception of clothing hasn't been the same since.
Being stolen from is a reflective experience, especially once you realise you've just waltzed into a campsite and offered your favourite threads to anyone taking an interest. Once I'd overcome the emotional connection with my lost items, I contemplated my father's words.
Courtesy of dad's wisdom, I considered this a tremendous opportunity merely hours later — a chance to remodel my wardrobe in any image imaginable.
Deliberating what direction to gravitate towards, I considered clothing's primary purpose, function. For a while, my outfit choices were entirely weather dependent.
Each morning I'd open the curtains, blissfully unaware of my surroundings. Seconds of starring into wilderness defined my choices. It sounds far too obvious, but if you're even remotely interested in your appearance, abide by the weather.
Those off-white trousers or suede trainers you might have, they're fresh as hell until the moment they aren't. When something is pure, it only has to be tarnished once to remain that way.
Naturally, durability was at the forefront of my mind. My grind doesn't involve pipes or rails, though I searched for something equipped to withstand wear. Resilience couldn't come at the cost of sacrificing comfort, though. Creating an aesthetic is all about confidence, and when was the last time you felt genuinely confident while uncomfortable?
Those thoughts led me to ditch jeans forever. Between envious glances at freshly clad friends, I noticed those whose style I respected most rarely sported denim. It's undoubtedly a skate influence, but it turns out those boys knew best.
Opt for the Dickies 873 or 874 if you wish to experience supreme comfort from interwoven robust threads. I couldn't be less hesitant to heap them with praise. After four years in two pairs, I can confirm they're more resilient than a headless cockroach. My jeans always split down the centre seam within a year. Only now are the 873/4's following suit.
Around the same time, Carharrt arrived on my radar. There was no brand association just yet, only a black tee with the tiny gold embroidered logo. Having slipped it on, I was left bereft by the thickness of the cotton. Its weight — comparable to sliding on a chunky ring — was just enough to reinforce the item's quality.
After that, every item of Carharrt's catalogue I've sampled has raised the standard I expect from clothing.
Furthermore, their palette is exquisite. An autumnal plethora of rich brown, forest green and cabernet red, that'll leave your pockets empty but your soul warm, even if you aren't the outdoors type.
Axe-wielding cowboys fixing up Fords are who Carharrt ads would have you believe their target audience is. We know the truth. They're the definition of diversity. They even admitted as much themselves in 1992 when a New York City rep said: "They needed to keep warm and they needed to carry a lot of stuff," of the city’s crack dealers who'd been snapping up stock in droves.
Everyone's aware when you're outfit is pleading for their attention. Disregard your desire to be seen, and you'll probably receive recognition.