MEDWINDS 100% RECYCLED DRIFTWOOD SUNGLASSES
Tag Archives: male fashion
With respect to one’s persona, it might be said that each one of us is a particular shade of a very eclectic color wheel. Some can stand alone as a self-righteous, opaque royal blue; while others linger in the background, a neutral, ‘Sorry, I’m not good with crowds’ beige. Some reek of a brown, relaxed, levelheadedness and others practically drown you as a bubbly, ‘Omg! Like, no.’ fuchsia.
‘I’m definitely burgundy.’ ‘Really? I pegged you as more of a sea foam green.’ More often than not, the colors we think we are don’t always align with the choices of those close to us. Like me, in my head I’m most definitely a bright, lively orange. A hilariously funny, vibrant, soaked-to-the-bone with vigor shade of orange; underlined with a slight hue of red meant to represent my obvious passion for life and all its pleasantries.
But those who know me well would probably say I’m more likely to top my rigatoni with Ragu instead of trying the new Italian place; they’d recall my use of some variant of the same toothpaste since before there was internet, my excitement for the week as spending the day in the chair rather than the couch and my witty rebuttals as often coming 7 minutes to late.
Truth be told, I’m less of an adventurous, grab-the-day-by-it’s-motherf%&#ing-throat orange and more of a laid-back, dry-humored, ‘I can’t do Thursday, there’s a new episode of Homeland’ yellow; I’m a mellow yellow. And those who know and love me don’t feel as such because I’m an overzealous, energetic shade of orange, they feel that way because I’m a mellow yellow that thinks I am.
Attention to the masses: I was away but have now returned in, what I like to think, is my full sartorial glory. You might be wondering, ‘Hey Jamie, why were you gone for so long?’ Well friends, it’s because, as I alluded in previous posts, I moved cities and started a new job. Yeehaw, me.
Enough about that, though. Let’s talk about what we’re really here for: used clothing and awkward selfies. Growing up a smaller than normal human has led to me developing an affinity for all things tiny. So, when the weather got hawt and I was sweating near every orifice, I did what any self-respecting man would do: cut my jeans yolo short and bought an obnoxiously thin jacket.
Once you get past the angelic nature of my noggin, a result of what I’m now realizing is less than head positioning, do take notice to the shortness of my jacket.
Rest easy friends, I have returned.
Vintage track jacket. Levi’s cuttoffs. Old white t. Birks.