Though I can’t describe my own style with Tim Blanks-like fluency, I generally consider myself relatively self-aware and articulate when it comes to my wardrobe. But this past year, the thrust of my look changed thoroughly enough and slowly enough that by the time summer rolled around, I was surprised to find that most of my warm weather clothes didn’t feel much like me.
Since I’m too broke for a real closet overhaul (thanks, unpaid NYC fashion internship), I’ve come to rely on a few pieces that effectively bridge the gap between what felt right to me a year or two ago and what feels right to me now. They’re still not as representative as I’d like them to be of my current feelings and thoughts about fashion, my body, and what I want to communicate about both, but they’re doing the best job they can.
And for that they deserve some lovin’. These guys have uncomplainingly folded into my battered suitcase for two weddings, been crushed by rush-hour subway crowds, survived innumerable slices of drippy Artichoke Pizza, accompanied me on my inaugural laundromat run, bravely faced discerning Williamsburg eyes, salivated with me over the designer clothes I handle at work, covered my hymn-humming body in a James Renwick cathedral, protected my side from the constant bump of my camera bag, contributed to my first impression on new friends in the city, and vibrated with my skin at outdoor concerts in the park. (And the summer’s not over yet).
Stay strong, summer staples.