September was the last month of BC—Before Child. This is what went down.

HAD ON DECK

Aaron Levine Quarter-Zip

A swipe in May with high hopes and dreams of wearing it all fall. It’s earned its spot on the thing on your staircase that George Bailey always ripped off. It’s cozy, big in all the right places without getting sloppy, and the shell logo is cool, not billboard.

I’m at the point where I’m probably in it too much and will dry-clean it because some things are too precious for the communal washer/dryer.

Asbury Park

Living in a beach town when you hate the beach is a choice, but Asbury did its thing this month. When the summer crowd dies down and the weather is still nice, it gives you the perfect backdrop to romp, eat and drink before the bone-chilling months.

It’s important to do your steps.

Magnanni Boots

I just took these off my feet to figure out what they are: Magnanni boots with great round laces that I can’t keep tied. I’ve had them for probably five or six years. They were the first thing I think I ever hit “notify me” on and then actually purchased—in Sapporo Sushi on Richmond Ave, to be exact.

You never forget your first.

SWIPED FOR

New Birks

I didn’t technically buy these, but in a month where swiping was low, my wife gifted them to me. It takes a lot for her to admit I need something new to wear, but my last pair was so disgraceful. My experienced foot felt foreign in the virgin soft footbed.

Sea.Hear.Now Tickets

I did a Facebook Marketplace for this—no swiping. A crisp $100 bill given to a lady while her husband stood on the porch and she explained why her friend couldn’t come (couldn’t get a sitter). After winning tickets to Day 1, I figured I might as well do both days, so my brother-in-law’s girlfriend—shoutout Keri, hope this makes up for me not texting you on your birthday—braved the depths of the Asbury Park Facebook groups to help me complete the weekend.

Pre-tightened would’ve been no good. I have BBWs: big beautiful wrists.

PUT AWAY

Pizza

It’s getting so dark. I can’t always be expected to cook in those conditions. Sometimes you have to just get a pie and call it a day.

Tums for your daily double. The agita is not a joke. The white pie is not a viable long-term option.

American Spirit Dark Greens

It’s bogie weather, and these are the most recent mutation of my oral fixation. Spirits because I need to feel like I’m doing a little something in the right direction, menthol to keep me in touch with my Staten Island roots.

Fuck your vape.

SCREENS & SCRIBBLES

Ted Lasso

Sometimes you just want fun for the whole family. Nothing too complicated—you get a nice laugh and you move on. I’m pretty much a TV dictator in my house; I need the big screen after a day of smaller screens. We both like this one. Also kinda chill to be watching something week by week instead of gorging.

U.S. Open

Being super invested in the four tennis majors and not watching at any other point of the year is important to me. I mean, is anything better than watching tennis from noon to 3 a.m.?

Angel Down

Angel Down is currently sitting with my glasses on it.

I will get there.

EAR STUFF

Fontaines D.C.

I’m doing a new band. This is them. I saw them at Sea.Hear.Now, and it takes a lot for me to listen to someone new. They did the thing.

Side note: my Adidas Wales Bonners basically got ruined from wearing them on a soaked beach. This is why I don’t listen to new music. Drop a white shoe rec before I buy Margiela GATs.

Articles of Interest — GEAR

I’m gonna say this makes up for the not reading. I did PREP last year. Now it was time to take on GEAR. I’m really honing my craft here, listening to all that good GORP and Banana Republic lore.

ALREADY OVER

Dry Skin

Whenever the seasons change, I’m cooked. I can oil myself up like a chicken cutlet and I’m still just a flaky bastard. It’s embarrassing. Lotion and a lint roller for the dad bag.

COVETING

Alex Mill Perfect Weekend Tote

I was gonna buy this, but the brown was sold out. I wrestled with the other colors, but if this is going to be the bag I bring my child to the park with, I want it to be the one I want. A man can only compromise on so much. As I patiently wait for it to come back in stock, I will continue to covet.

-SP

We exist to agonize.

My wife is expecting. I guess we’re expecting is the proper way to say it, but let’s be real, I’m not carrying any water here. I haven’t done much but agonize.

There are the normal agonies of the first-time parent: money, housing, pediatricians, fingers and toes, so on and so forth. But that wasn’t good enough for me. I needed a new agony. Something that made my brooding stand out among the wave of expecting fathers.

I needed skin to skin.

According to people on the internet, plopping the baby on your chest after it’s born makes it way more chill, and I’m really banking on having a chill baby. So I’ve gotta be ready to pop the hood and hang once she makes her grand appearance.

My body was not ready.

And though I’ve tried to get myself ready for the DILF calendar over the gestational term, it’s been rough. The last few months spiraled from keeping it tight to taste-testing the new seasonal Oreo flavors. And honestly, what kind of animal goes to the gym during the last few months of their girl’s pregnancy?

People can be really sick.

Since the dream of looking like prime Hasselhoff when the baby arrives is long gone—I’m more at the Wendy’s-on-the-floor portion of his life—I needed another solution if my child was going to have the chillest entry into this world.

Along with postpartum soup recipes, my feed has also been bubbling over with the what to pack videos. Mom bag. Dad bag. Another agony: the Alex Mill bag I want is backordered in the right color. Things are never easy for guys like me.

And there, underneath the extra-long phone chargers, granola bars and a toothbrush, was a zip-up hoodie.

The answer to my skin-to-skin agony.

What a relief. The zip-up hoodie is so back.

Of course, I already have one at the ready: my grey Bare Knuckles one. But this would not do.

I’m meeting my daughter for the first time.

Yes, the hoodie is great, but was it meeting-your-first-born worthy? I didn’t think so.

Finally, an agony fit for Fare Filone:

What zip-up hoodie will I buy?

The answer was obvious.

I would get the blue MM6 Margiela x Supreme collab.

What better way to welcome my newborn into the world than in the arms of two iconic brands coming together?

Now, I’ll be damned if I refresh the Supreme site for a drop. I’m a grown-ass man.

I’d buy it resale. Time is money.

When I floated the idea to a fashion friend, I made the joke, “No one’s dusty-ass son is going to impress my daughter in Essentials if her dad’s in Margiela Supreme.”

When making stupid purchases, it’s important to say something even stupider to justify them.

Cross multiplication.

I added it to the cart.

I didn’t buy it.

Time passed.

I added it to the cart again. I didn’t buy it. I even wrote down the essay idea: Why I Bought an $800 Hoodie to Wear in a Hospital, or some deranged version of that.

I still didn’t buy it.

This must have been what the Grinch felt when he heard “Fahoo fores, dahoo dores.”

I couldn’t buy the hoodie.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve been shopping, but this felt deplorable. What kind of monster buys an $800 hoodie while living in a one-bedroom apartment with a child on the way?

For the record, it’s a nice one-bedroom. Two full baths. Walkable area. Ideal for the young couple with a newborn.

I’m not a monster.

Then Supreme collabed with A.PRESSE.

Now this was something I would wear time and time again. Cost per wear would justify the means.

And then something strange happened.

I forgot about it.

In fact, I didn’t remember it until writing this, and gagged when I looked at the price of the green one.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is personal growth.

So there you have it: the $800 hoodie article that never was, and the hoodie that never will be.

I’ll pack my Bare Knuckles hoodie. When the time comes, I’ll pop the hood, meet my daughter, and try not to fuck it up.

And a new agony is born: what hat am I going to wear to cover my balding spot on the “hot dad walk”?

-SP

We’re gonna dress people. A lot of the time it won’t be the most obvious person, just someone I think would be fun to dress.

If you think of anyone, let me know. In the meantime, you’ll be getting these every few weeks for a while.

Luke Littler is a 19-year-old English darts phenom and a fucking superstar. He became the youngest PDC world champion ever at 17, and for good measure, he went back-to-back.

I’m gonna be real with you, it’s electric. Luke the Nuke is at the top of his game on the oche. His wardrobe hasn’t caught up. BoohooMAN is currently sitting in his Instagram bio.

We can do better.

We’ll lean into his British roots and rising status without losing the blokeyness that 19-year-olds from Warrington are renowned for.

I’m not going to fuck with what he wears while he darts—you don’t tell Picasso how to stroke. We’ll be focusing on what he wears away from the oche.

This is what I would wear if I was a 19-year-old darts sensation with some cash.

C.P. Company Heavy Chrome-R Goggle Jacket

C.P. Company Heavy Chrome-R Goggle Jacket

The Heavy Chrome-R Goggle Jacket from C.P. Company is his big hitter. A cool jacket from a top-tier terracewear brand with lots of pockets for darts.

More often than not, this is the top layer for those damp walks to the pub.

The rest of the uniform

SAGE NATION Lock Tee

SAGE NATION Long Sleeve Lock Tee

SAGE NATION Lock Tee if we’re feeling fancy, but for white tees and all his basics we’re going to Uniqlo. I’m sure my man is sweating and spilling all over undershirts. Far too many to be precious with them.

Studio Nicholson Caro Trouser in olive

Studio Nicholson Caro Belted Pant

For when we want to do something elevated but still keep the language of the jacket. Technical, but upscale.

Clarks Wallabee Boot in black suede

Clarks Wallabee Boot

Let’s take him out of a sneaker without going full grown-ass man in a loafer or derby.

Stone Island loose-fit crewneck

Stone Island Loose-Fit Pure Wool Crewneck

For a day when we don’t need as much layering, I pulled him this loose-fitting Stone Island sweater. We’re leaning toward darker colors to play into his new life as the bad boy of professional darts.

Put him in expensive brands and let him enjoy it.

Uniqlo Wide Sweatpants

Uniqlo Wide Sweatpants

For the days when we’re really not doing much, give him some room and let him be 19.

New Balance 992 in black and grey

New Balance Made in USA 992 Core

For days when we’re on the move, we’ll go with black and grey 992s. Some cushion for those long days tossing.

Now fix the suit

And since we need some help with the formalwear, we’re gonna stay British and send him to Drake’s.

Drake’s Navy Pinstripe Double-Breasted Tailored Jacket

Drake’s Green, Yellow and Purple Silk Grenadine Tie

Something younger, more fun, and still sharp enough to meet the Prince without looking like the ring bearer at Westminster Abbey.

-SP

Sit down, this is an intervention.

You look ridiculous.

I know the Knicks won the title. As a vaccinated Nets fan, I was close enough to Knicks fever without catching it.

Now, we have to get something out of the way. I’m not a hater. I rooted for the Knicks. There are people that saw me rooting for the Knicks. Not jumping up and down, but I would cheer, toss out a high five. Send encouraging texts to my distressed loved ones.

The bandwagon merch is a given, and I’ve already shared my thoughts on the collabafication of everything. But whatever, it’s fun to root for a winning team. You can root without being a billboard.

I have, however, witnessed the most blatant display of double merching of my lifetime.

The ’80s and ’90s may have had the best jerseys, but the 2000s and early 2010s were the best time to wear them.

The black Iverson, baby blue Melo, just to name a few. My personal favorite being my stitched Vince Carter Nets. The long sleeve under the Marbury went triple platinum in every New York City public school. (Again, Nets fan. I was left out of this.)

I was an active participant in the throwback jersey arms race that was a college day drink in the early 2010s and the Chinese bootleg boom, where I bought a Mark Sanchez jersey in front of a pork store in the Pathmark parking lot for $50 his rookie season.

I will never forget you, Sanchize.

Forever procuring knowledge before wearing a band tee thanks to the childhood “name five songs” kid asking you about obscure Green Day songs when your mom saw the shirt at Target and you loved American Idiot. That person is now a moderator on r/incel and you’re reading a Substack, so who knows who really came out on top.

Merch comes in waves. Before “Knicks in 5,” we had the Marty Supreme jacket. The difference being that shit was cooked before it touched the masses, with the exception of Susan Boyle. (DREAM A DREAM GIRL.)

That leads me back to the Knickerboxers. This shit is tangible. It’s not Tom Brady being lame in something before we can even buy it. It is everywhere.

With everyone and literally their mother buying it, we’ve arrived at a cardinal sin: the dreaded double merch.

Now, who among us has rung the bell of shame? I HAVE DOUBLE MERCHED. Recently, I didn’t notice until I caught my reflection in the restaurant window that I was wearing my Nets shirt and Arsenal hat.

A transatlantic sin.

It was sloppy. I was sloppy. But the intentional double merch being trotted around is a different story.

Pre-Knicks hoisting the Larry O, the most common place to double merch was at a baseball game. The classic hat-and-jersey combo. Add a glove and you could be confused for a ball boy on his post-divorce Make-A-Wish. Sad, but confined to a stadium most days.

Y’all were outside in this shit all summer and it’s over. Don’t bring that weak shit into fall.

A grown-ass man in the championship hat and the shirt. Stop going to the bar looking like you’re trying to get on the Jumbotron.

I understand the excitement. I have loved shitty teams all my life, but it’s time to get yourself together.

May I recommend an alternative? Put that shit on ice.

Merch, like cheese, is always better when it is aged, obscure, and a little funky. You don’t have to retire the fandom, just the championship hat. Get a GR one for the new season and pull it out in a few years. It’ll hit so much harder.

This goes for you too, guy who went to the US Open.

-SP

Bobby Hill really does the thing.

When trying a new style, the hardest part is committing to the bit when the ridicule starts rolling in. This is where corny motherfuckers say, “be a goldfish.”

Fuck that. Be Bobby Hill.

Husky Bobby — Season 2, Episode 6

Bobby’s love for clothing starts in an unlikely place: H. Dumpty’s, a store for plus-sized boys. The idea of being in a fat-kid store is disheartening—having spent some time in the Penney’s husky section myself—but the shame of the location gets quickly erased by the pride of having something you feel good in.

Bobby starts experimenting with styles, from rocker to youth minister, once he has pants that can actually button. His enthusiasm and styling land him an ad spot for H. Dumpty’s and an agent who gets him into Little Junior Plus, among other perks like free underwear. “I’m still wearing it, Dad.”

This doesn’t end with Bobby on the cover of Vogue, but instead with him being smuggled out of the mall while the other chubby kids get pelted with doughnuts. Where the average husky boy might have retreated, Bobby continued to cook up fits.

A Beer Can Named Desire — Season 4, Episode 6

Twenty-six years before the Met Gala put dandyism on the carpet, Bobby Hill was doing it Sunday night on Fox.

Most young boys would be excited to see their dad have a chance to win a million dollars. Bobby was much more interested in rich New Orleans culture and the difference between velvet and velveteen.

Before his first dinner with rich people, Bobby had already turned into “the kid on the paint can.”

By the time he’s worried that “this flower is wilting,” the transformation was complete. He had gone full dandy.

Now, you may think this is just Bobby being Bobby, but everyone likes to play a part. Hank didn’t become a wilting flower around the Dauterives, but when he arrived at the Superdome, he was more than willing to wear all of Don Meredith’s Cowboys gear for his big moment.

Eventually, Hank has enough of Bobby’s wilting-flower cosplay and tosses his clothes off the hotel balcony—even though I’m pretty sure he kept the jersey.

Rodeo Days — Season 4, Episode 12

What little kid didn’t want to be a cowboy? I can only imagine how much stronger that urge is when you’re growing up in Arlen, Texas, and not Staten Island, New York.

When the rodeo comes to town, Hank immediately takes Bobby to get his outfit to roll and ride in the junior rodeo. After Bobby figures out how chaps work, he’s ready for his new life as a cowboy.

He immediately wants the accessories. I’ve never been much of a belt-buckle guy myself, but I can see the appeal—especially when it’s earned.

He also realizes there’s another way to earn your buckle and figures, “Even if I don’t win, I can be a buckle bunny.” Accessories over everything.

Well, being a cowboy isn’t for everyone. Bobby finds himself stealing makeup and striped boxers to complete the look, leaving him with an ass pad instead of a belt buckle.

Our boy wonder takes to being a rodeo clown, and though it brings endless shame to Hank, in Joseph’s time of greatest need, Bobby is able to pull together the ultimate makeshift rodeo-clown fit to save his friend—and earn himself a buckle without a lasso or a mattress.

The best accessories are earned.

Dances With Dogs — Season 7, Episode 5

We all like to do our little outfits for occasions. Why would Bobby be any different, especially when engaging in competitive dog dancing?

What starts with matching bandanas with the family dog turns into a full father-son dog-dancing rivalry, with Bobby eventually confirming, “No limit to the number of sequins an entrant can have on his costume.”

Your outfit cannot be an afterthought if you’re a winner. Apparently that includes a sweatbanded-up training outfit.

This episode had everyone dressed to impress, but Bobby, of course, stole the show, flying through a routine with the neighbor’s dog in an outfit suitable for Siegfried & Roy.

The Boy Can’t Help It — Season 13, Episode 19

Before you learn to dress for yourself, you dress for others.

When the older girls take Bobby on as their pet, he feels the need to step up his game. No one told him he had to ascend, but when you’re going on a date with three older girls to the fancy mall, no ordinary outfit will do.

Bobby decides to ditch the T-shirt and shorts and play for keeps. He goes for a Miami Vice cool-guy look: mint blazer, orange polo, popped collar. This is Animation Domination mogging. Bart and Chris Griffin could never.

He even rolls up his sleeves like Rad, one of Luanne’s old boyfriends—a styling trick Bobby picked up back in Season 3.

Bobby, really feeling his oats, suggests they all wear matching cummerbunds to the school dance.

Though things didn’t work out for our loverboy, the boy can dress.

Your turn. Who’s the flyest character ever drawn—and what fit proves it?

-SP

I could use a strong hand right now.

I have not been adequately degrading myself and sacrificing to the gods of the Reel and the patron saints of fit pics.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you probably noticed I didn’t post my Weekly Fits on Saturday.

After fielding countless concerned texts and calls—people wondering, “Is this the end of Fare Filone as we know it?” “Will this Instagram become another graveyard of shame?” “Did this 31-year-old man really make a TikTok just to quit?”—I’m here to report:

I haven’t heard no bell.

Now that we’ve done the bravado and grandeur, let’s get back to tongue-in-cheek transparency.

I just didn’t fucking do it.

Weekly Fits were never a part of the plan. The plan was to write about pants and let the adoration and accolades fill me to the brim.

That plan took two things for granted: how few people know what Substack is, and how many people will actually sit down and read.

When I was talking about this with a former blogger, he told me, “It’s tough to keep writing things down with minimal acknowledgment. I don’t even think a pimp could get me to do it anymore.”

I probably wouldn’t read some kid I went to high school with writing about his niche interest either.

Here’s your lesson from the Fare Filone content class: people may not want to read me writing about pants, but they’ll sure as shit look at me wearing them. They’ll probably want an ID too.

And just like that, “How the Sausage Got Dressed” was born.

Now the psychosis of it all. Let’s put my ass on trial and break down what I remember wearing out of the house—because the fits were hard AF, even if there’s no evidence.

Monday: I mean, don’t even actual influencers get Labor Day off? Taking fit pics is labor, even if it is a labor of love.

This was an honest mistake. I just forgot it was Monday.

I wore blown-out Bostons, yellow beach-GORP shorts from Old Navy, a Turkey and the Wolf tee with an OG Simpsons-looking graphic, and a crusty white Wythe hat my wife really wants me to throw out.

Tuesday: Back to the grid.

My normal daytime photographer was away, and I couldn’t handle the embarrassment of having to explain to another grown man how I like my picture taken. RayRay, you are a gem.

With my daily ritual disrupted, I ignored my self-imposed full-time job.

I wore the Manresa Roebuck shirt, my C.P. Company cargos, and the white adidas I always wear.

Wednesday: I had to wake up way too early to put any real thought into getting dressed, but this was going to be the day I got back on track.

I had Tuesday’s fit put aside so I could toss it back on for the picture. Monday would be excluded under the Holiday Exception, I’d get Wednesday’s shot, and we’d be right where we were supposed to be.

Then there was the idea of making my eight-month-pregnant wife take my fit pics, which made me feel negligent and demented.

I wore a brown Aaron Levine quarter-zip, blue Uniqlo barrel-leg pants, and blue adidas Gazelles.

Thursday: This is where it starts to become a blur. I don’t remember the fit, so an oxford was probably involved. I do know I didn’t wear jeans or loafers all week.

At one point that day, I decided I was going to do a funny photoshoot making fun of the fact that I hadn’t taken any pictures all week.

I didn’t do that either.

Friday: This was 9/11.

You have to be a fucking animal to make content on 9/11.

It felt skeevy to take and post a fit pic that day, and even worse to use it as the day I made up for an entire week of ineptitude.

So I didn’t.

Though I had ambitions of doing a flat-lay video of everything I wore that week, those faded as the outfits blurred together and I started drinking.

2–0 to the Arsenal.

There you have it: the lost week of dressing the sausage, in blurred detail.

I had something else planned for today, but this felt like an important thing to acknowledge within the Fare Filone non-cinematic universe.

I’m happy to report that Fare Filone is not going anywhere. We’re back to our regularly scheduled programming this week.

The bell has not rung, and there are 100 mugs in a shipping container in China with the Fare Filone logo on them. If they arrive after I stop posting, they will bring me a level of shame I cannot comprehend.

See you Thursday.

-SP

You’re in the club. I’m checking the Doppler, cooking up fall fits. We are not the same.

I already did the fashion-guys-love-fall thing on Tuesday. Consider that the peer-reviewed version.

So here’s what I’m doing about it: hiding from the heat in plain sight and pulling on layers to break the fever.

Manresa Roebuck Shirt

This one still has that new-purchase shine on it. With only one wear to its credit, it’s time for orientation.

Light enough to not cook me, but it also looks like I could build a fire in it. I’m not a fire guy.

It’s not oversized like my Giant-Fit Oxford. This is serious shirting. The double pockets give me some flavor.

Like most long-sleeve shirts, it’ll become cuffed throughout the day. I’ll then uncuff it, become self-conscious about how wrinkled it is, and cuff it again.

Stüssy Big Ol’ Jeans

It’s time for the washes to get dark.

Long-time listeners, first-time callers will know my summer denim was the orSlow Super Dads. Though these made it out the house a few times before the dog days broke me, it never really felt right.

There’s something inherently silly about wearing deep indigo jeans to get ice cream on a sunny summer day.

To drink a beer and down some apps? Not only do you look good, but you’ve got an extra napkin.

The Big Ol’ fit gives you enough room to keep your underwear dry without looking like an autumn breeze could turn you into a Macy’s float.

Our Legacy Camions

“If you’re gonna own one boot, it should be the OL Camion.”

“The best boot for fall has to come from this small brand in Stockholm.”

Shut up already.

I’ve had these for a long time. They’re perfectly adequate expensive boots. I wore them to take fit pics at Versailles and almost left my feet at the guillotine.

These top the list of my most uncomfortable footwear that I still wear all the time.

But yeah, they look good. And fall and boots just go together. False fall is more mental than elemental.

Aaron Levine Thermal

Fuck it, we’re having an E from Entourage fall. Short sleeve under the long sleeve. Tell Sloan I said what up.

The thermal is a certified pumpkin-picking banger. I remember going to Modell’s as a kid and my mom getting me the itchy-ass Smith’s ones while I stood there wishing I had Under Armour instead.

I was an idiot.

This Aaron Levine one has a little more dignity than the Smith’s version, but just as much heart. You can pull a reverso on the layering, with the banger on the bottom. Maybe I’ll toss an Element tee up top and complete the look.

Bare Knuckles Zip-Up Hoodie

Are we still doing zip-up hoodies? I’m still doing zip-up hoodies.

Going for three out of five American-made items on this list. I’m basically a star on the flag. But let’s not get sidetracked.

I’ve been hyper-fixated on zip-up hoodies lately.

As someone who doesn’t like the way a pullover feels on their neck, this is my favorite comfy layer to throw on. It’s kept in my coat closet for when I’m not feeling brave enough to meet the DoorDash driver shirtless.

When it gets chilly, this gets called up to the bigs.

It’s heavy without being sweaty, and the cropped silhouette keeps you comfy without feeling like the old guy in the gray hoodie working the punching bag and breathing way too loud.

Pure class.

Soup

After a summer of mistreating myself with sweet treats, I need to nourish. Nothing will do that for you like a little broth and tortellini.

I’m not ready to shift fully into pastina yet, but some pasta fagioli to get yourself right is always encouraged.

One day I will own a house in upstate New York and eat soup year-round. That is soup country.

-SP

What are you pulling on to break the fever, and what’s in your pot?

Ask anyone who really does this, and they’ll tell you summer is the worst season to put that shit on.

If you don’t really do this, you’ll ask why.

Why, Sam, is summer the worst time of year to get dressed?

I’ll tell you why: because if you want to get off anything more than the regular-degular shit, your ass is gonna sweat. And not in a figurative way.

In a lot of ways, I’m lucky. I work in an air-conditioned office with a basically nonexistent commute. So I rate pretty low among people at risk for pit stains and swamp ass.

But I am nothing if not empathetic to the brave people trying to get fits off in these harsh conditions.

My plight: an embarrassingly low step count, as I sit inside eating sunscreen and fearing Helios.

Still, even cowardice has its limits. You can only do shirt-and-shorts so many times before you stop giving a shit entirely.

I hit my breaking point this past week.

In my attempt to dress the sausage each day, I looked at my closet completely uninspired.

I had dresser’s block.

Pair that with the bloat I was carrying from the previous week’s festivities, and it was almost too much for a mere mortal to take.

I reached for my old friend: elastic.

And I powered through.

Preparing to enter false fall.

At the slightest breeze, I’ll take an overcast day or early morning as permission to add a layer I’ll be carrying by lunch.

I tried to do this once last week, tossing a jacket over a tee and saying, “How could there be a heat warning? It’s only going to be 84.”

Arrogance can ruin an outfit if you’re not careful.

You must approach false fall with a certain amount of caution and respect, or you’ll end up looking like you’re going apple picking at the beach.

Pants are your first move, child. I’m a pants-year-round guy, but even I’ve been making concessions lately, sneaking shorts into the office as the heat has dragged on.

But post-Labor Day, it’s time to dress like a big boy again.

We’re not talking wool trousers here, but at least get reacquainted with your denim. If you’ve been really neglectful, make sure everything still fits how you like.

Summer has proven to be the hardest time of year to keep it tight.

My shoes basically stay the same until the leaves get crunchy. I’m due to part with my blown-out Birks and move into boots.

Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Fall is not the time for crispy white sneakers.

But neither is any other season.

Long-sleeve button-downs should be touching skin all year. I know I may be on the outside here. Look back and you’ll see plenty of camp-collar short sleeves in my arsenal, but somewhere in the transition from quality to quantity, most now feel like the FYP told you how to dress better.

Your up-top changes are going to come from richer and deeper colors, heavier fabrics, and a different fit. Sorry to everyone who got by on linen the past three months.

Flannel is Fall 101, but don’t make it that obvious. False fall calls for more restraint anyway. Chambray provides the slightest zag without the weight of flannel or the sameness of your lackadaisical oversized oxford.

Maybe I grow some cock and put on a Canadian tuxedo. Who knows.

Let me not step on my own toes: your oxford is great year-round. I live, laugh, love in my OCBD. Always. But transitioning into something a little more trim and studious is a welcome exchange from our breeze-catching summer whites.

It’s easy to fall in love with false fall, but it’s a trap.

There’s an aesthetically unaesthetic amount of sweat, and then there’s “you took this too far.”

If no one can see your sweat, you’ve found the balance.

A little beading on the head says you ate something spicy. Hell, you can get away with some pit. We are all human, after all.

If you are visibly damp, you have failed false fall.

Now, I know all of this may seem insane to the muggles, who are thinking: Why not just be comfortable? Embrace the weather. Savor these fleeting days before the sun sets at five and the breeze chills bones.

Well, factually speaking, fall is the best time of year to get dressed. Warm days and chilly nights give your outfits a chance to decant through layering.

So why not bring it on a little early, even if it is a mirage?

-SP

Well, guys, I hate to inform you, but August got completely away from me.

When I pulled the page off my Book of the Day and exposed 9/1 and Little Red Riding Hood, it hit me that August was actually over. Not in a fun, “it was all a blur” way, but in a what the fuck happened? way. I’m genuinely not really sure what I did all month.

What I can tell you is that I didn’t do a very good job keeping it tight, but that’s a battle for another day.

Anyway, here’s what I can piece together from the forgotten month.

Had on Deck

If you want to know what I was wearing all month, look back at last Thursday. Here’s a few more to fill the void.

Nike ACG Snowgrass Cargo Shorts

I bought these for tennis originally because, of course I did. This was a few years back when I was playing more. Since then, they’ve converted into more of a chill-ass utility short. They give me some actual function in the pockets without having to worry about everything falling out like the mesh ones I had on deck last month.

ACG makes some cool shit, especially bottoms. I’m sure you’ll be seeing plenty of the Holepunch Core Shirt soon. No comment.

Vintage Nets Tee

What began as a cheap vintage shirt to wear to the gym has become a love affair. It’s been taken out of the gym bag and put into the rotation.

This isn’t a zag to the overload of dudes wearing Knicks shit down to their bloomers all summer. I’m a lifelong Nets fan, and the fit of this shirt is too good—boxy, but in a way that makes me look broad, not blobby. Though it’ll eventually have to go back to being a gym shirt when the graphic starts peeling to an unsavory degree from all the washing, we’ll ride this bitch until the wheels fall off—and maybe a little bit longer.

Swiped For

18 East Cropped Outworker Shacket

18 East always gets me. The clothes are just fun. As peak layering and lightweight outerwear season approaches, who could resist a crop with a few pockets?

After this one touched down, it was taken for a spin and passed with flying colors. I’d expect to see this on Had on Deck sooner rather than later.

Fare Filone Mugs

I mean, what’s a brand with no merch? Could this be a little bit of a cart-ahead-of-the-horse scenario? Yes. But who wouldn’t want a heavy butter-yellow diner mug from their favorite Substack about pants?

Put Away

Ice Cream Summer Rages On

Less of a trend and more of a lifestyle, Ice Cream Summer is still going full force with no signs of slowing down. As we head into the last few weeks of prime soft-serve season, I’ll continue to put it away until we transition into hot cocoa season.

Dumplings

I know they’re not in season, and I only actually ate dumplings once this month. I did gyoza a few times too, if we want to call them all the same. I’m going to call them all the same. But don’t dumplings sound good right now?

As I get more and more sick of this heat, I crank the AC, eat like it’s 40 degrees outside, think about where I’m going to put my Christmas tree, and wonder how many games the Jets are going to lose.

Pilsners

Usually I’m a Guinness guy, or if the taps look like skivotz, I’ll do a Modelo. Nice.

But in the spirit of community, I’ve been doing local pilsners. They cut through the summer mugginess. They all kind of taste the same, but that’s brewery beer for you.

In life, it’s important you do the right thing. You feel like less of a dirtbag buying an expensive four-pack than a cheap six-pack.

If one stood out, I’d say Icarus Brewing’s Furio. It’s an Italian pilsner, they’ve got Furio on the can, and I get a kick out of him flying too close to the sun.

Screens & Scribbles

I Was a Bad Boy, Didn’t Read

We listen and we don’t judge, or whatever the girlies say. I didn’t read at all. Didn’t even attempt it. We’ll get back into it.

I like to read with the gentle grunts of tennis in the background best anyway.

Kiki’s Delivery Service

This one just felt right. I’m gearing up to be inside a lot this fall, and I had never seen it. I kept getting a bunch of “this is cozy propaganda” stuff on my algorithm, so I figured I’d take it for a spin.

My only regret is not watching it with dumplings.

Tires

A much-needed reprieve from the stress of everyday life. This is one of those shows that feels like you watch the entire season in about 20 minutes. Credit to Tommy for putting his finger on that one.

Sometimes it’s just good to be silly.

Ear Stuff

Chance the Rapper — 10 Years of Coloring Book

Ten years ago, with a head full of hair, I got way too stoned at Forest Hills Stadium and the rest is history.

A decade later, with far less hair, we revisited Coloring Book. It still hit.

The Tim Dillon Show

I listen to podcasts in bunches or not at all. I was over Good Hang this month, so I put on a tinfoil hat.

Doing silly in a different way. You just have to embrace the absurdity, laugh, and move on with your day.

“Sue Me” — Audrey Hobert

Well, I finally did TikTok, and this has just been an earworm. I haven’t attempted the dance.

Already Over

Being a Big Softie

Well, I guess the impending dadding I’ll be doing is what’s making me so soft. Watching my wife at her shower doing the pregnancy glow, unwrapping all those little clothes, can really break the big guy down. (Yes, of course it’s the clothes that got me.)

I’m not even a dog guy. I would be perfectly fine without a dog.

But with a pre-booked stay with the pet sitter and a weekend away, I was way more nervous than I wanted to let on. Including one, “I’m picking him up in the morning. I can’t take this.”

And while we’re handing out reasons I was mushad in August, I officiated my best friend’s wedding. I shed a few tears there too.

These August highlights will be remembered long beyond the shorts I was wearing—or the fact that I wrestled with my shirt collar and lost all day.

Being a big softie. Already over it.

Coveting

Fall Outerwear

I just love outerwear, man. I sweated my way through a coach jacket today.

But that’s not even the one giving me the biggest itch. I snagged this ssstein jacket on deep sale last year, and I’m ready to share it with the world at the slightest breeze.

• • •

Well, that’s what I remember from the forgotten month. In September, we’ll do a better job remembering—and hopefully a lot more layering.

-SP

We yearn for anthill-sized apexes, silly jobs and things we can explain over drinks to people who aren’t listening. (Cough cough, Fare Filone.)

We sort ourselves into cliques and wage war in the cafeteria: tennis versus pickleball, PC Master Race versus console gamers. The moment I start my Garmin, I feel the urge to push people off their bikes.

This past weekend, my best friend got married at a fishing lodge. Fishing is a passion of his we’ve never shared. I’m more of an indoorsman, but in life it is important to do the right thing, so I did fishing.

Outside of the love I carry for my oldest friend, my loins burned to get into some gear and flick up.

Close to two months removed from reading The Sun Also Rises, the temptation to get into some waders and play Hemingway was too good to pass up.

I didn’t fully commit to the part. The Mets fitted was the closest thing I had to appropriate headwear.

The Apple Also Rises.

After his mom (hi Paula) took the obligatory little-boy pictures of us—him holding a pole, me with a net and a stick—my own pole felt like too much danger on a high-stakes day. In life, sometimes you’re Gaston and sometimes you’re LeFou.

Through years of overindulgence, I’ve decided there are four different ways to approach gear.

The vibes guy. They don’t own gear. This isn’t their thing. They do a good goof, don’t take themselves too seriously. Nobody would’ve watched Entourage without Turtle. Perfectly fine and, frankly, underrated.

Mr. Affirm. This guy blows. He always has the latest and greatest and still can’t figure it out. Every iron covered. He looks like a Peter Millar mannequin and still can’t get out of the tee box.

It’s not that fucking serious. Every blunder comes with a new excuse for why it’s not his day. He’ll probably rage quit, blame the beloved vibes guy, and the next time you see him he’ll have another getup with the tags still on it, ready to win the day.

This is the worst guy you can be.

It’s important to note that a lot of people start here. Full recovery is possible.

The Everyman. They have gear. It’s serviceable, and so are they. This is where most people fall. They have fits of romance, but it never really crosses the line into costume. (The pants came with the room, so no harm, no foul.) This is perfectly fine.

They could be an upwardly mobile vibes guy or a recovering Mr. Affirm.

Then we have the holy grail: The Natural. The person who has no gear and is somehow the best. Roy Hobbs carving his own bat from a tree split by lightning. The guy running a sub-three-hour marathon in old trainers with no smartwatch.

This is either something you’re born with, or you’re just a chill-ass old dude who’s been doing it so long it looks natural.

To just wake up and be good at something.

What a feeling.

Being allergic to fish, I’ve never had much utility in the hobby. That, combined with being more of a yapper than a relaxer, meant it was never really my thing.

But combine anything with one of my true passions—pants—and I can find joy in it.

I entered the Beaverkill River a vibes guy, though the way I strutted around in my waders suggests my sickness was already kicking in.

Frank, forever my counterpart, actually does outside. Not long ago, I watched him slide across a frozen lake in Vans on a different excursion while I held onto a burly Adirondack man for safety.

He had earned the pole. I had earned the net.

It turns out the waders were the only gear that had any real use that day, seeing as we didn’t manage to catch a single fish.

Gear is a gateway into worlds that can be intimidating without it. And what the hell is the point of doing something unless you’re going to play a little dress-up?

It’s lame to show up to the courts in all white like prime Fed, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t buy a pair of shoes to aid your overzealous grunting and forehands into the net. Isn’t that what we do it for?

Or, in my case, get some extra time with my guy on his big day, even if I did end up with wet socks.

-SP

Well, I had to do some science here, guys.

This is the shit I wore the most over the past month. What made it look effortless on the days I wanted to do nothing but put on my old uniform and call it a day.

I’m avoiding regurgitation here, so if you’re thinking, Hey, you wore those other things more, it’s because I already flapped my fingers about them.

adidas Japan Shoes

Unless it’s a boot, I really don’t fuck with bulky footwear. As a society, we need to move on from shoes that make you look like Megatron. These have sat barely touched in the shoe thing by my door for way too long. Something this small is easy to miss.

Lowkey, they’re just ballet flats with laces. I was shocked they made them in a 14. I feel cool wearing them—freaking a dainty shoe on a big man.

My only hang-up is that they’re pants sneakers. Due to poor planning, I once had to do a quick run in them with shorts and felt like Bill Laimbeer auditioning for Swan Lake.

Banana Republic Supima Tee

Just because it’s pretty doesn’t mean it’s sexy. Now, I could tell you about the shirt-on-nip feel, but I’m no perv.

I didn’t foresee this becoming my go-to white tee, and this isn’t part of the “Banana Republic is so back” glazing discourse. It’s just a soft-ass white T-shirt that doesn’t look like shit after you wear it all day. They also make it in a tall size, which helps when it comes time to tuck.

It’s probably too expensive to be my go-to white undershirt, but I am a sick man and my white tees are on constant audit. Isn’t it worth a few extra bucks to make it look like you’ve never put any thought into it?

C.P. Company Cargo Trousers

I don’t have a good reason why Stone Island makes me feel like a baby and C.P. Company makes me feel like a big boy, but these pants are broken.

C.P. is the world leader in pants with too much storage. I have a lighter green pair that I actually like more, but my dry-cleaning lady told me the pocket was too much work to fix.

I’ll show her.

Dark green is just far enough off the beaten path to make muggles think you’re onto something without you really saying anything. They’re wide enough to stand out without making you look like a breeze might take you away.

Yes, I have green pants with elastic in the waist, but who wants to deal with that when you’re trying to LARP sprezzatura for five fit pics a week?

Plus, I’m a known hypocrite.

Our Legacy Every Shirt

Here I go justifying again.

I could tell you I have to shop at Our Legacy because I’m a bigger guy and the Scandi brands make clothes for my build—but that sounds like a load of shit, no?

OL’s an elite playing dress-up brand. I usually don’t buy it full price, but I used this as an excuse to buy a way-too-expensive small-talk tee from Cueva a while back.

This shirt bangs. It feels incredible, the craftsmanship, blah blah blah. My favorite fit from the past month was this shirt with the C.P. cargos. Because I do transparency, it photographs insanely well. It carries the water on days getting flicked would usually be a chore.

Did it hurt going down? Yes, but so do shots. As long as you get better, does it really matter?

Honorable Mention: Uniqlo Brown Barrel Pants

Just buy a pair already.

Mets 59FIFTY

My newest fighter. I just get into a good rhythm with a hat and run it into the ground.

Hats look best when they have a nice stinky patina and look like you’ve had them since the day you were born.

I haven’t enjoyed a Mets game since June, but there’s something nostalgic about wearing the hat of your first love—even when they’re 12 games under .500.

And if they can’t make me happy on the field, they can at least bail me out when my hair is camera-shy.

-SP

To ensure nourishment from the sweet, sweet content teat, I have tested my stomach by taking weekday fit pics.

Taking pictures of myself is a constant battle, and looking at them a war.

Let’s see if there was a fucking point.

This should come as no surprise to anyone, but I have more clothes than anyone truly needs.

If you go back to the start, you’ll see that I have chastised myself plenty for my lazy uniform. A J.Crew Giant-Fit Oxford and a pair of Uniqlo barrel-leg pants had become an anchor.

So, to get above water, I decided to get dressed.

My biggest fear, other than the obvious—I’m going to look fat in pictures—was somehow that I didn’t have enough clothes. Overconsumption and application are different beasts.

A personal hero of mine once said something like, the only thing worse than an outfit repeater is an outfit rememberer. But isn’t the whole point of this thing kind of that people would remember my outfits?

Though I shopped—I always shop—I didn’t want it to look like this guy went out and bought a bunch of shit to aura farm, because in life it’s important that you dance with the girl you brought to the dance.

Day 1 was like the first day of school. Laying out my mfpen shirt and Ralph pants, trying to look good without looking like Mommy ironed it.

Day 2, I wore a quarter-zip that it was too hot to wear.

Day 3, doubt set in after I couldn’t find my sunnies to flick up with my morning coffee.

Day 4, things actually felt natural. I was going out for a birthday after work, so I put that shit on. Not because I had made some demented promise to myself, but because I had somewhere to be. It was also the first time I swallowed my pride, stopped wrestling with my tripod, and had someone take a picture of me.

This is the point in the movie where they’d do a nice montage to dad rock and you’d see me getting off crazy fits like it’s nobody’s business.

Though I’m sure I made it look that easy, it wasn’t all guitar solos and yearning. I got some much-needed posing advice—thank you, Jenna—and started bringing my “photographer,” aka Ray, on my errands.

I’m not the type of person who needs to make the bed every day for a little victory, but putting on a good fit is a different story. It became my making the bed.

I turned getting dressed into a formula that made me feel good, not a uniform that did nothing but coddle me.

After a month of this, I can firmly report back that…I am a hypocrite.

I rant and rave about elastic and forgiving pants, but when the cards are on the table, most days end in negotiation and a belt to call it compromise.

I guess if I learned anything from this, it’s that people love fits on the grid—even if you wear the same three pairs of pants.

And who am I to deny the people?

As I white-knuckle A/W lookbooks and the end-of-summer chaos sets in, I spend like it is the end of days. But my appetite for destruction has bounds. These are not hunker down, sell a few things, or bring lunch from home purchases. These would blow my shit up.

1. The Row Babilor Leather Coat

Why I want it — I mean, look at the fucking thing. It’s sick. This is the leather that started my “I should own leather” arc. The Row has eluded me. There was the silk shirt that sold while it was in my cart, and I’m constantly hoping someone, somewhere will say the loafers run big enough for me to buy a 13.

It’s been on my Mr. Porter wishlist for years, always seeming to have one left in stock. I’ve never even looked at the measurements. It’s such a delusion. Just praying the XL fits.

What I’ll get instead — I’ll wear my Our Legacy Welding Jacket. I’ve talked about this thing before. You know I wanted it bad. It finally went on deep enough sale to justify it. This will get its shots up this fall. I also wouldn’t be too mad if I came across a nice little vintage leather blazer.

2. 2011 Saab 9-3 Convertible

Why I want it — This is just dumb. I have a car. I have absolutely no need for another one. The idea of car trouble would leave me sleepless. My auto repair skills would be flattered to be called dismal.

There would be something so chill about driving this old convertible around the Shore. Fare Filone vanity plate, because, you know, marketing. The baby blue would hit so hard on my ride to the office, blowing out the speakers with girly pop. Maybe smoke a cig and jump in like a Duke boy. It would be all fun and games until my hat blew off—or, even worse, my scalp got sunburned.

What I’ll get instead — Nothing. Easiest to buy, hardest to maintain. Insurance, maintenance, and the cold, long winter that would keep this thing Rapunzeled in a garage I don’t have.

3. Bottega Veneta Large Cabat — Fondant

Why I want it — I’ve recently become obsessed with getting a dad bag, because of course I am. I mean, is this not the perfect vessel for diapers, wipes and snacks? It may also get me committed.

I love the Bottega woven look, but is it low-key dead? I mean, everyone is braiding their leather now. This feels like the expensive thing you buy and then feel like the conductor of the jerkoff parade when everyone else is walking around with the dupe. Nonetheless, I want this in the most primitive sense of the word.

What I’ll get instead — The Alex Mill Perfect Weekend Tote. This is already an indulgent purchase I don’t really need, but it’s important to treat yourself right. I could use a bag I already have, or the one my wife will have that will surely be better laid out for the job at hand. But doesn’t this just feel like more fun?

Don’t worry, SLP—SAM is a little too on the nose. I’m not that self-centered.

4. Arsenal vs. Coventry City at the Emirates

Why I want it — It’s not even that long of a flight. Like, yes, when you’re reading this, the match is only a day away, but this is doable.

Out of everything on this list, this is the least expensive but the most time-sensitive. Since my first trip to the Emirates a few years ago, I’ve been scheming my way back. Planning trips, checking flights, never pulling the trigger. My biggest fear when traveling for sport is that they’ll lose. Yes, I understand that makes me sound like a child, but who wants to go through customs with a hangover and an L?

But we’re the champions of England, and Coventry is Coventry.

What I’ll get instead — The current cost of an economy flight to London is approximately 135 pints of Guinness at D’Arcy’s Tavern, so I guess the more logical thing to do would be to cut out a little early tomorrow and get a good seat at the bar.

I hate flying economy anyway.

5. Rolex Day-Date 40

Why I want it —

This is greed in a biblical form.

Solid gold watches are heavy and sweaty. Impractical enough that all prior ones have been sold. This will be different.

The irony of wearing something meant to commemorate a lifetime of hard work with so much more life to live is not lost on me. And this may be my Staten Island showing, but I need this desperately.

What I’ll get instead — A house.

-SP

Finish a Mad Men rewatch and it’s easy to come away saying, “I’m going to dress like Don Draper.”

His looks, in and out of the office, have been the jumping-off point for plenty of well-deserved sartorial glazing. But much like in the show itself, the women get overlooked.

I’ve said this here before: it is easy to look great in a suit.

It is even easier when you look like Jon Hamm.

What the ladies of Mad Men offer is more useful than “wear a suit, look good.” They teach you how to dress for your life, your body, and your ambition.

So let’s turn our attention to the other half of the screen and bite into the good stuff: shape, trends, and how to never look out of place.

Trudy Campbell

Menswear is painfully fixated on versatility—the last one you’ll ever need. Wear it to the boardroom, the bar, the golf course, and then Chili’s with the wife and kids. This is not liberation. We keep burning our waistbands and replacing them with elastic, then calling it a carefree life. All that remains is polyester crap trying to fill every need and never making the grade.

The modern Trudy Campbell would have no interest in “the last pants you’ll ever need.” She would find the idea offensive.

She knows exactly what kind of life she wants, and dresses like she already has it. Understanding every room means knowing one pair of pants cannot answer every call. She doesn’t treat occasions like an inconvenience. She treats them as an excuse to elevate.

She doesn’t need ball gowns and pearls to be the cleverest person in the room. Never enough to make anyone else feel bad, but always a step above. Her garden-party look is the perfect example: a watercolor dress matched precisely to her bag, looking better than everyone there without upstaging the host.

She understands the difference between being comfortable and looking like you gave up. Even her nightgowns understood the assignment, if Pete never did.

Her well has endless water.

Joan Holloway

One thing we can all agree on about Joan is that she knows her measurements. Her clothes do more than merely flatter her, though. They give her authority. She leans into sharp, defined lines and colors that refuse to wash out her red hair. They put it to work.

I could cop out and give red all the credit. But look closer: the waist is exact, the skirts are narrow, the neckline is open but not soft, and the pen hanging at her chest lets you know she knows. Her tailoring commands the room. In a world that expects her to make herself small and unseen, Joan enters knowing she is inevitable.

At the Jaguar dealership, Don puts up a $6,000 check and the salesman lets them take the car out. Joan did the underwriting. A woman like that wasn’t getting into a car with a man whose checks bounced.

What we learn from Joan is not to wear tighter clothes. It’s that clothes should be precise. It doesn’t matter how expensive the clothes are if they’re in a civil war with your body.

I could turn this into a “dress for the body you have” after-school special. But this is prestige cable. Find your shapes and buy them. That does not mean buying the same pants in every color. Learn why they are so good—the rise, the width, the length, where they sit—and hunt for those qualities.

Pull your favorite clothes from the closet, measure them, and use them as anchors against size charts.

An appropriately unsexy ending to a section about Mad Men’s greatest sex symbol.

Peggy Olson

We are all Peggy Olson at some point: bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and without the money or confidence to dress for our ambition.

Peggy changes the most. She arrives at Sterling Cooper dowdy, dressed for the job she has. As her ambition grows, the clothes catch up.

She is the anti-Joan, holding their breath and trying not to take up too much air. Rounded collars, frumpy skirts, muted colors—clothes praying to make it through the day without anyone noticing.

As Peggy becomes more confident, her clothes get bolder. There is no makeover montage where the cool girls take her ponytail down and suddenly she ends up in the ad. The change comes through little moments when we are asked to see her in a new light—the black dress with a pink bow that makes Ted rethink every choice he’s ever made. It all culminates in her Black Swan entrance: walking into McCann Erickson with sunglasses, a lit cigarette, and a vulgar Japanese painting tucked under her arm.

It is easier to dress to the expectations of others than to your own taste.

In my early 20s, I dressed in whatever fraternity-banquet clothes, Christmas Vineyard Vines, and TJ Maxx Ralph Lauren I already owned. The crown jewel was a gray Patagonia vest. This was a decade ago. It wasn’t as cursed yet.

Like Peggy, I was dressing to expectations. Once I started making money, that meant dressing “well” for my peers and the people who now worked for me. Usually by wearing something obviously expensive. The low point was a rose-gold Ferragamo logo belt. 2018 was a crazy time.

As I became more comfortable in my seat at the table, the fits followed. Sometimes misguided, but mine. Small revisions, but big changes—even if only to myself.

Betty Draper

Betty knows how to make eyes pop out of heads—look no further than the black outfit in Paris—but that is not where she shines. Her real talent is putting herself together for errands, afternoons around the house, and all the forgettable parts of the day most people treat as a sartorial write-off.

Betty Draper takes casual seriously.

The trophy still had to be polished. Even with no guests. Was that a healthy way to live? No. Did it produce an eye-popping road-trip fit? Of course.

The road-trip fit is simple: a sleeveless floral shirt, fitted shorts, and sunglasses. Nothing fancy. Nothing accidental.

Even off duty, in what you can only assume is a car with inferior air conditioning, Betty still looks ready to be seen.

Stop treating casual like an afterthought. Comfort is all well and good until you catch your reflection and realize comfort was the only decision you made. Don’t wear a neckerchief to meet the DoorDash driver, but give the ordinary some consideration. The clothes can unwind without collapsing.

Not every day needs an occasion, but every day deserves an outfit.

Megan Draper

RIP Megan Draper. You would have loved being an influencer. We would have loved watching you make Don do TikTok dances.

Megan had no interest in being anything but the moment. She was never wrong; she was just early. Her clothes moved, shimmered, and showed enough skin to occasionally caused Don a constitutional crisis.

Her outfits showed who she was in that instant. Hollywood starlet in the blue dress she wears to pick up Don, then starving-artist LARPing at her house in the Hills—the ultimate cool-girl move, deciding the city had nothing to offer her.

I’d love to talk hair and makeup, but I’m not qualified, and this is not the place to start pretending.

Not everything has to last forever, especially clothing. We all love to justify expensive purchases with a little cost-per-wear voodoo, but sometimes it’s more fun to be a prisoner of the moment. Everyone loves “quiet luxury,” a phrase that has regurgitated enough dupes to make me regurgitate. We worry so much about looking timeless that we forget to have any fun.

That does not mean chasing every trend until your card disintegrates. When something looks fun, take it for a spin—even if it is only for a night. You may think you are dressing timelessly now, but your taste will evolve, and eventually you will laugh at yourself anyway.

Dress for the moment. There is always tomorrow for your forever clothes.

The easiest lesson to take from Mad Men is to buy a charcoal suit and be handsome. To be fair, it works.

The ladies ask more of us. They ask us to know our measurements, read the room, dress for the person we are becoming, and give an ordinary Saturday a little respect. They also remind us to occasionally stop wondering whether something will still look good in ten years and wear the damn thing now.

So do your Don Draper cosplay. But once the suit hits the cleaners, keep watching.

The real lessons in the best-dressed show of all time were waiting on the other side of the screen.

-SP

Most collab excitement comes prematurely.

The ones below sealed the deal.

Some became regular clothes, others got worn nearly into the ground or treated with kid gloves. The only thing they really have in common is that I don’t regret buying them.

These are the ones that stuck around long enough to earn a trip to the cleaners.

adidas x Wales Bonner Sneakers

I’m not going to go on and on about these. Look at my fit checks and you’ll see they’ve been used and abused. I also already rambled about them in “Getting Off Half a Fit.”

I had flirted with the Wales Bonner x adidas collaborations for years, but this was the pair that finally made me commit. I needed a whitish sneaker that wasn’t on every “20 Best White Sneakers to Win the Summer” list.

They feel more luxe than your average white bowling shoe, and the brown tab up front adds just enough Krusty the Clown for me to call it fashion.

I didn’t need them to reinvent the wheel. I just needed them to make me feel a little special.

The reason they get the feature here instead of the 3sixteen x Sauconys is simple: I reach for these more.

Emily Dawn Long x Maximum Henry Belt

I don’t buy belts often. In fact, if there’s anything I should probably own more of, it’s belts.

I just don’t like buying belts online. I usually need to get my mitts on them first. This was the exception.

Both Emily Dawn Long and Maximum Henry came onto my radar around the same time, and since a Wanda hat is not something I feel would suit my face, the belt felt practical while still being different.

Maximum Henry supplied the elevated basic; Emily Dawn Long made it feel just strange and intimate enough to justify spending more than I ever had on a belt.

The hand-stitching deluded me into thinking this was all perfectly reasonable.

This is not my everyday black belt. But when I do wear it, I feel like I’m adding a sexy little spark to the outfit—even if it’s just for me.

I’m declaring it here: the hand-stitched belt is the man’s sheer underwear.

Unless, of course, the man’s underwear is already sheer.

New Balance x Aimé Leon Dore Popover Fleece

New Balance x Aimé Leon Dore is a very successful marriage. They’ve been getting back together for years—even if they still don’t make the shoes in a 14.

This turned out to be more savior than foe. Otherwise, I’d have a closet full of New Balance 550s right now.

The most tenured piece on the list. It’s from Fall/Winter 2019, back when the Aimé Leon Dore lookbook was the center of the menswear universe and all of it still felt new to me.

I bought it for the look. It got lived in for the comfort.

The buttons have been replaced, and at this point, it shouldn’t be worn anywhere more ambitious than an errand. That has not stopped it from being one of the most complimented things I own.

I went looking for it online while writing this and found almost none for sale—especially compared with the endless stream of other ALD x New Balance pieces being relisted. The linked one is green; mine is navy and considerably worse for wear.

Our Legacy x Emporio Armani Pantelleria Shirt

I want to be a vintage Armani guy. Badly.

I haven’t had much luck. Mostly because of half-assed eBay searches and never carving out the time to hunt in person.

So when Our Legacy—a brand that may be becoming overly represented in my closet—had another rendezvous with Emporio Armani, I set an alarm to make sure I got my medicine.

I could almost pretend I followed all my rules here. I didn’t own another popover shirt, and the boxy silhouette excited me, along with a pattern that felt fun without being overly indulgent.

Vintage-Armani cosplay without the negotiations.

Something I wear when I’m supposed to behave, but the boxy silhouette and pattern let me feel a little bad without getting in trouble.

It’s nice to wear something not everyone else knows exists without it screaming IYKYK.

I did break my one-item-per-collab rule and bought the logo tee too. It fits great, but I wear it as an undershirt, which means the logo—the whole reason to buy it—is almost always covered.

They’ll always get you with the entry-level slop.

Added bonus: My wife likes this shirt.

She did not like the alarm going off at an ungodly hour so I could buy it.

Palace x Polo Ralph Lauren Polo Bear Sweater

This one is a vibes guy.

It’s the only item on this list I bought resale, years before prices got bloated. I haven’t worn it more than a handful of times, and it’s currently in storage.

But it makes me happy.

Polo is Polo. I don’t need to explain why the Polo Bear is iconic. Palace is a brand I’ve admired from afar, and this collaboration let me own something from their world without making me look like it was Halloween.

A cool skate company making an Ivyed-to-the-gills Polo Bear do a heel flip is enough to earn endless devotion.

Is the hype part of the appeal? Duh.

But I don’t hold onto it because I’m building an archive. I hold onto it because sometimes you just want your clothes to be fun.

Phone a Friend

In the spirit of collaboration, I figured I should actually collaborate. So I brought in a few friends with real taste. You’re welcome.

:

In terms of close to my heart, it will always be the Uniqlo x Engineered Garments collaboration. These brands were heavily influential in my taste in fashion and it had it all. PB&J, a slice and a Coke, Uniqlo and EG, it was a match made in heaven.

Later I then discovered Paraboot x Arpenteur; elevated in taste and my passion for footwear. Elegance and durability, my first loafer that made me a fan forever. Ça me plaît beaucoup!

As far as collabs that didn’t stick—I am sorry to displease my friends and family, but Supreme anything has never landed for me. Too much hype and not compelling enough for me. The collabs are diverse, that I will say, but I am certainly not the audience they were targeting (cue the Black Friday stampede videos). With that, I will go to say any hype collaboration will likely get a NO from me dawg, Randy Jackson voice.

:

This is a complicated ask for the first appearance of SLO! I love my friends, but I don’t love collaborations. I like when chefs cook in THEIR kitchen, I don’t want a pop up.

A collab that I have to tip my hat to is from a few years back. It was 2020 and there was not much else to do but online shop. From way downtown, it was the Gramicci x Deus Ex Machina collab. Gramicci laid the foundation, Deus lent their feel. The pants fit me to a tee, breaking perfectly on my checked Vans. But most importantly, it was my intro to Gramicci, who I have not stopped buying pants from since.

I’m not a big watch guy. I like finding vintage junk and checking my phone if someone asks the time. But a shoutout to the Noah x Timex collabs over the years, those watches are beautiful. The thought put into the design from strap to shape to face is evident. Timex often collabs and they are often fun.

Boo YZY x Gap (lol)! Boo Sperry collabs! Boo Japan Edition L.L.Bean, it was lazy! Boo Tiffany Dunks, and lots of other sneaker collaborations. Down with the cronut! Television crossovers are rarely good, you let me down New Girl x Brooklyn 99.

And love to V’s mention of EG x Uniqlo, we collaborated on that collab. Thanks FF, this was ffun.

To land the plane: the good shit leaves you wanting more.

A pair of pants sends you back to Gramicci. A loafer turns into a lifelong obsession with what’s on your feet.

A good collaboration, like your favorite childhood athlete, earns your devotion before logic intervenes.

Even if it’s an Ivyed-to-the-gills bear doing a heel flip.

–SP

It just had to be Bugaboo.

After months of deliberation, hours of YouTube, and stopping people to ask about their stroller, we landed on Bugaboo about two weeks before Kith announced its 2026 collab.

Fashion guy wanted the Kith stroller.

Very much the opposite.

Now I was going to be corralled with the Kith dads, when really I was there because you can keep the bassinet up top if you have a second kid.

I know what you’re thinking: You’re the only person who’s ever going to think about that.

I know—you’re right.

But I’m the problem, and I’m the one pushing it.

I’ve fallen victim to collab slop before, and I will again.

Exclusivity and borrowed taste are a trap.

Only after the package touches down and the illusion fades does the item earn its spot in the hall of misguided purchases.

As a self-proclaimed big, dirty capitalist, I have no problem with the idea of smushing two brands together to fill the consumer trough. In fact, it excites me.

But collabs have become ammunition in a lame-guy arms race over who can own the most exclusive one.

It’s easy to get caught up in the moment when buying one.

The first question I need to ask myself is simple: Do I actually need this, or am I loading my arsenal for a war with no winner?

Last year, when Levi’s and Barbour collaborated, I bought the jeans.

Why?

Because I wanted to be contrarian.

Everyone will have the jacket, I thought. But me? I’ll have the pants.

Though they are great pants, I should have gotten the jacket—or just sat that one out.

Now I look at the jacket with envy and the pants as pants.

My shining example is the Kith x TaylorMade driver I bought with money I should have spent on lessons.

That one is embarrassing on a molecular level, but sorting it out will probably take a doctor, and we don’t have the time—or the credentials.

To be romantic about it, I could tell you collaborations should be about intention and storytelling, and all of that is true.

Most of the time, it comes down to this: me like, me buy.

But will I still wear it once it falls off everyone’s mood board?

As someone who enjoys the deeply romantic melodrama of what I wear, I fell hard for the Saucony x 3sixteen Peregrine 15.

Saucony gave me a silhouette I love but have no business owning. 3sixteen brought the indigo—and an excuse to buy a shoe that will never see a summit.

I remember buying them from the passenger seat of a rental car in Denver.

My wife was kind enough to drive while I refreshed the page, making sure I grabbed my size 14.

These delivered. I wear them often.

For the first few wears, I left a trail of indigo everywhere I went. My socks are still paying for it.

A good collaboration can add dimension to my closet, but owning a piece from one can also become an ignoble measure of how tasteful I think I am.

After much trial and error, I now pretend to act with some restraint and humility.

Rule of thumb, I only buy one item from each collab. Buying one keeps the whole thing special and stops me from overloading my closet with more of the same.

When I break that rule, I’m always left kicking myself by the time the tags come off.

But none of this means I’m going to stop.

I’ll keep buying collabs, most of which I’ll eventually replace with quieter things designed for daily use.

The curse is that I’ll remain self-aware through all of it.

That’s what makes getting dressed fun: the push and pull between ordinary and what the fuck is that. I usually land somewhere in the middle.

-SP

Put the word out—we back up.

July was wet, hot, and seriously had me questioning my commitment to pants. Somehow, we still got dressed.

Here’s everything I was fuckin’ with in July.

Had on Deck

Nike Standard Issue 5” Practice Mesh Basketball Shorts

In life, it’s important to feel the breeze. Between what had to be record heat and becoming the dad who stepped up for this dog, I needed something easy to toss on but still handsome.

These are not my favorite mesh shorts. They’re easy to find, look good enough to own in multiples, and don’t feel too precious to pick up dog shit in.

They’re a little different from everyone else’s gym shorts without screaming, Look at me, I do clothes.

orSlow Super Dads

These have taken over the top spot in my jeans rotation, unseating a pair from Gap whose seat has seen better days.

I try my best to wear pants whenever I’m doing anything of note because, well, dons don’t wear shorts. The legs give you enough breathing room that you don’t feel like you’re sweating through them, plus a zipper fly because I don’t have the patience for button flies—summer moves fast.

As a bonus, they make my ass look great.

3sixteen Square-Toe Side-Zip Boots in Mushroom Suede

Square-toe suede boots in the summer—the performative male’s version of wearing Timbs to the beach? They just might be, but I don’t care. They look good.

I hold these boots near and dear, checking the forecast before I let them leave the house. But when the weather gives you an opening, you have to strike.

The forecast said clear. I’m zipping up.

Swiped For

Sage Nation Chisholm Shirt

It’s important to stay dialed. The sales are on right now, boys and girls, and they’re hitting.

In a month full of R&D, this one earned top marks. The shirt catches enough breeze without making you look like a parasail, and the color combo makes you look like you really know what you’re doing.

Closet Organization Setup

To live somewhere walkable is to eventually run out of space. That happened to me long ago. I lived in denial longer.

With a baby coming, I finally had to stop pretending the mess would sort itself out. Bins, cedar blocks, labels, and desiccant packs were acquired. Then, to commemorate my maturity, I grabbed a few Stüssy x THOR bins. It’s like a reward.

It is always fashionable to go high-low—even in the storage unit.

Mets Fitted

Remember how I said I wasn’t wearing Timbs to the beach? Well, I will be wearing a fitted.

I haven’t worn one since high school, but after a summer of being disgusted by the Mets, I decided to give them some of my hard-earned money anyway.

Sometimes you don’t want something niche. You want something everyone can have—that you just do better.

Put Away

One McGriddle a Week

God bless me, it’s summer.

Totally influenced by The Bear, I ordered a sausage-and-cheese McGriddle—NO EGG—then tossed a hash brown inside to make it exact. Damn, did I forget how good these are.

You take one bite and think, I could eat this every day. From what I understand, you should not.

So, once a week—usually Friday morning, at a time far too early for the large Diet Coke I inevitably order—I take one down.

Keeping It Tight

In direct opposition to one McGriddle a week, I’ve really been trying to keep it tight. Well, because you gotta keep it tight.

For me, that means working the ones and twos on the food scale, eating a lot of grilled chicken, and swapping some of my ice cream—don’t worry, Ice Cream Summer is still going strong—for way too many no-sugar-added popsicles.

Vegetables remain uninvolved. As I’ve already stated, lettuce is a scam.

Screens & Scribbles

Death of a Salesman

Good things happen when you don’t turn everything into a musical.

Now, I love Grease as much as the next guy—a lot—but I’ve been pushing a more plays, fewer musicals agenda for a long time. Death of a Salesman is my favorite play, and this production cooked and I cried.

I’m tempted to see it again, but I don’t know if I have the emotional—or swipe—capacity.

Mad Men

I’m not going to go on and on about this. I’ve been rewatching Mad Men on and off for a few months, but this month I tuned in heavy. The screens overtook the scribbles, which led to a less-than-impressive reading month for me.

If you haven’t watched it, watch it. If you’ve already watched it, watch it again.

Dungeon Crawler Carl: The Eye of the Bedlam Bride

I’ve been chipping away at the series, and I’m probably 25 percent through this one. I promise I’ll be better next month.

The only other book I finished was Waist Deep. Mid at best.

Ear Stuff

Good Hang — John Cena

Good Hang was recommended to me by my friend Joe, and I’ve been listening sporadically over the past month. But I will never pass up the opportunity to hear from the GOAT.

John Cena makes you want to say the pledge and call your mom.

Jersey Shore Bangers

Ain’t nothing like summer down the shore. So electric.

I may be past my napkin-throwing, clock-beating prime, but that doesn’t mean I can’t relive the glory from the driver’s seat. Nostalgia is stronger than Grails anyway.

Toss on “Calling,” follow it with Tamia’s “Stranger in My House”—the Thunderpuss Club Mix, of course—and suddenly I’m back.

Maybe I’ll even cut the mozzarella.

Red Rising Series — Quick Update

We made it to the final book in the first trilogy, and I’m strategically dosing myself because I’m not quite ready for it to end.

Already Over

Funky Feet

Whether you spend $150 on sandals or buy dollar-store flip-flops, getting your dogs done is a prerequisite.

You don’t just owe it to yourself—you owe it to the people around you.

Coveting

Butter Yellow

As I said, we all do trends. Though I’m keeping my toes between myself and God this summer, I am all in on being a butter-yellow baby.

After weeks of scouring the internet for the perfect butter-yellow piece—which I was sure would be a lightweight summer knit—I landed on this tee from MAN-TLE. It kills two birds with one stone: I’ve been flirting with the brand too, but wanted to ease in before diving into the outerwear.

Hopefully this month’s covet makes the grade. Last month’s already flunked out.

• • •

What made your July Mount Rushmore—and what would you rather forget?

-SP

It’s not always about you, or me for that matter. But even when your number’s not called, people should know you do this shit for real.

The good boy fit is an underappreciated skill. It’s the little shit that makes you different from the brunch boys aimlessly checking the weather while “Unwritten” plays in the background.

When you spend enough time pulling on gaudily priced Japanese references, it’s easy to forget the work starts before the clothes go on.

That means grooming. Maintenance. The deeply unromantic stuff. If you know you have something coming up, get a fucking haircut. Tweeze the eyebrows. Trim the beard. Hell, maybe even floss. I’m not asking you to do some 5 a.m. life optimization routine. I’m telling you a straight-leg pant and a belt that doesn’t phallically dangle can’t do all the work. No point pushing big body if you’re going to fill it with 87.

When the good boy clothes go on, the cameras come out, and the environment will not be hat friendly. Brunch. A shower. A christening. Dinner with people who don’t care how niche your hat is because they’ve already decided it’s inappropriate for family-style Italian dining.

The balance is somewhere between “mommy dressed me” and the guy nobody realizes is in head-to-toe Our Legacy. Nothing destroys the good boy facade faster than looking like you just rolled out of bed with cowlicks shifting like sand dunes.

This one is probably going to get a few people in trouble, and though there are exceptions, let’s rip off the Band-Aid: DO NOT LET SOMEONE ELSE DRESS YOU.

If you’re lost, ask for directions. Don’t let someone else drive.

One, because it’s most likely some regurgitated look from an FYP swag-gap video that’s going to make you look like a little boy.

Two, because nothing will make you feel less confident than coming out of the shower with your outfit laid out for you like it’s picture day and your mom is about to run spit through your hair.

This is where the elbow grease comes in.

The good boy fit is won in the lab.

If you know you have an event coming up, shop for it. Try on the outfit beforehand. There is nothing worse than waking up the day of just to find out the pants don’t fit, your shirt is missing buttons, or your one good belt is not where you left it.

If you’re starting from scratch, the first thing you have to figure out is whether there’s a theme. But we’ll save dressing for a party theme for another day.

As a proponent of leading by example, I’ll break down what remains the biggest good boy fit of my life: my wife’s bridal shower.

An event where I am so obviously arm candy that a bricked fit could have her running from the altar.

I made the business decision early: I was going to wear a houndstooth blazer.

It was book-themed, and a houndstooth blazer is literary as fuck. I left my readers and elbow patches at home, as I was going more for dreamy male lead than hot for teacher.

Now that I had that settled, I had to build the rest of the outfit.

After wrestling with what color oxford to wear—the plight of the man who dresses—I decided to go with the Wythe white OCBD.

This was pre–J.Crew Giant-Fit Oxford fixation, but this pick holds up today because of the higher collar. The white felt like it would make me look the most Mr. Darcy, even though I could not exactly walk in with it half-unbuttoned. I was hoping it would still get across just how bewitched I am.

I took a risk on the pants. Well, a menswear risk.

I wore a blazer with jeans, still flirting with the English professor who sits on his desk and waxes poetic. It worked.

I went with a light-wash J.Crew straight-leg jean, though my original plan was to wear Cowboy Cuts. But the flare did not match the ease and behavior. Cowboys do not behave.

To tie it all together, I bought a slightly slutty thin black belt, wore my daily driver watch, and shoehorned into black horsebit loafers.

To make sure I was truly on my good boy shit, I got a haircut the morning of and even tossed a little Toppik in my hair to make sure I would be able to revisit the pictures without feeling like the walls were closing in.

The most important accessory that day had nothing to do with what I was wearing.

The fit would not have mattered if the flowers flopped. A blazer can get you close. A generational oxford will help. A slightly slutty belt can get you going. But if you show up to your wife’s bridal shower looking pleased with yourself and holding a handful of weeds, you did not nail the good boy fit. You just dressed for yourself, and at that point you might as well be George Wickham.

The good boy fit is not proof that you can put that shit on. It is proof that you understand putting it on means different things.

As I said, this was not about me.

-SP

Do as I say, not as I do.

I own more than one of everything I’m about to list.

But there’s always one that calls louder than the rest.

It’s usually not the flashiest, the best label, or the most impressive receipt.

It’s the most lived-in, and the one that feels most like me. Usually, it’s also the reason the clutter started: another cuff, another wash, another label, all trying to recreate the magic.

The Suit

Most of us only put on a suit out of necessity now.

Office dress codes disappeared, and company-man quarter-zips replaced fine tailoring. A suit became less of a daily requirement and more cake-eater cosplay.

The fucked up part is, you’ll probably never look better than when you’re in a suit.

They’ll take everything if you let them.

Anyway. You really only need one.

I’ll always recommend navy if you’re only going to have one, even though my go-to right now is a green Sid Mashburn suit I had made a few years back.

Never trust an expert.

When you’re looking for that one suit, lean into luxury. That does not mean buying the most expensive suit you can swipe for. There is more luxury in fit than in a fat price tag and a flashy name.

That could mean Indochino, or going to a brand you’ve been making eyes at and having them make something special just for you.

Word to the wise: you’re going to look great in anything made for you unless a butcher made it.

You still only need one.

Spend your money on strong shirting, sexual ties, and devilish footwear. One suit can turn you into many different men.

The Watch

I love watches. This is not that.

I’ve collected, sold, and traded my way through enough of them to know one thing: I am not a watch guy.

I wear a Datejust every day.

You know why?

It’s never out of place.

The days I spent planning my outfit around the Hulk Sub, the fit usually flopped.

I don’t want to talk about movements or ADs. I want my watch to fall in line.

I’m not telling you to blow a bag on a watch. Find something that works, then wear the fuck out of it.

Let it look worn, not worshiped or, worse, neglected.

The guy with the most to say about his watch rarely has much to say at all.

That said, I can’t wait to buy my next one.

The Double-Knee Pants

This might be a me thing.

I understand these have real utility, and a lot of people genuinely need more than one pair. But for me, they are stolen valor.

So much so that my go-to double-knees aren’t even Carhartt. They’re Ralph Country.

I wear them because they’re fucking cool, and because I wish I could do a little real-world building instead of just the literary kind.

I own multiple pairs because I am sick. In a rare turn of events, my favorite pair was not the first one I bought. I’ve returned three pairs since finding the Ralphs. Each one got further from the magic.

I am, in my truest form, closer to a cake-eater than a carpenter.

Even if you buy them for function, not fashion, I’d still recommend only having one pair. Wear them every day for months, beat them to shit, let them live, then sell them to people like me for five times what you paid.

Some people are really sick.

Swim Trunks?

Hear me out.

Most are still rocking eighth-grade-style boardshorts, or they put absolutely no thought into their swim trunks at all.

Let’s put a little thought into it.

If you put in the work to look good in trunks, why spit on it with a blown-out pair of Billabongs?

One good pair is better than a bunch of throwaway trunks that make you look like an extra on The O.C. or hug you in all the wrong places.

When I’m really looking to get wet, I go for the Montauk Trunk by Todd Snyder.

Nice enough to wear around the resort or beach town without looking like you couldn’t care less or getting lost in a sea of Baggies.

That is the job.

A good pair of swim trunks gets you aquatic, full, burnt, and almost overdressed by sunset.

You’re not going to know you have that one good thing until you take it out into the world with some walking-around money.

Once you do, it’s not always about upgrading it, replacing it, or trying to find the same magic in a different version. There’s no point in reinventing the wheel when it already gets you fitted.

What’s the one item you keep failing to reinvent?

-SP

All of this has a purpose. It is my job to find it.

My hands are engulfed in textures and patterns, the temperature in the room building as if each neglected piece of clothing adds a degree.

It is important to remember that I have been doing this for a long time. Styles change. I slide into a pair of mustard-ish cropped Nike golf pants that were, at one time or another, my favorite.

I can still make anything work. I am not the type of person who buys trends. I have a real wardrobe, not just a pile of trends and targeted ads.

It is incredible how wasteful people are, I think, as I sort through piles of clothes with the tags and extra buttons still attached.

There is nothing wrong with any of this. Almost all of it is still good. None of it was a waste.

I mean, you are a sick fucking person.

I throw camp-collar shirts into the air like some sort of demonic Gatsby. Who in their right mind buys this many camp-collar shirts?

I feel sweat beading on my forehead. Every time I turn my head, she turns the AC to eco mode. Does she not understand how fat I have gotten? No man my size can be cooled by eco mode.

This is a hopeless endeavor.

I mean, what kind of grown man owns this much clothing?

I stand at the summit of a mountain of knitwear that should have been used for a down payment but is instead a reminder of my failure and fluctuations.

You are a sheep, adding to cart anything your soft hands can reach.

You sit behind a desk all day. Why do you own so much workwear?

“Yo, what are you selling on these days? I feel like Grailed is dead.”

EVERYTHING MUST GO!

Okay, so everything being sold goes on the left. Donations on the right. Things being kept go on the bed.

The bed disappears before I make it to outerwear.

If you love it and it does not fit, put it in the storage pile. Most of these pants are just a few good sweats away.

You have had a lot of this stuff for years. You would have spent the money on something else anyway. The money is not gone. It is just wrinkled.

Why do you have so many collabs? You are too old for collabs. One man’s shame is another man’s grail.

They’re still good. You just do not look good in hoodies.

Once I get all of this sold, it will pay for the storage unit and then some.

You are clearing room for new things. More you things.

You are going to be a dad. You do not need ALD.

You need a forever wardrobe.

How did it get this bad? When did it get this bad?

Six hours in, and the hardwood is still a distant memory. When am I even going to have time to post all of this crap? No one is going to want this.

I walk over and drop the AC another two degrees as I unearth a pile of District Vision that should have gone into the S&P.

Man, you really let yourself go.

When was the last time you even thought about going for a run? You should charge your Garmin. There is no way you are going to find the charger right now.

Could you even run a mile if you tried?

I pull on the outrageously priced Satisfy x Our Legacy collab I bought for some future running accomplishment and think about the blind ambition I had when I bought it—the arrogance of a man barely running sub-ten-minute miles to own such a thing.

The last race I ran was the NYC Half. I went from the finish line to the hospital.

My dad died that day.

Man, I miss my dad.

What kind of dad will I be? The kind who uses purchases to avoid problems, burying the evidence of faraway realities in the depths of my closet until it overflows?

I stand there dressed like a parade-float run-club member in the ashes of all the men I thought I would become.

I can afford to donate these.

A pile of long-forgotten shirts becomes barely worn clothes for donation. Some things are better given than sold, especially the ones I sweat in.

Still far from done, the opulence parts just enough to expose the slightest ray of hardwood.

All of these clothes will have a purpose, even if it is not with me.

I love clothes too much to have a forever wardrobe. No doubt I will delude myself into thinking the next pair of pants will fix me.

The pursuit of hangered perfection will never end.

Nothing I bury in the closet is going to start fitting, no matter how much I liked the way it looked on someone else or who I planned to be in twelve weeks.

The man I am becoming needs the room more than all the men I thought I would be.

I load up the donations and post past lives for sale. There is no shame in passing along the hope.

I keep the Satisfy collab.

I should probably start running again.

-SP