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