How (Not) to Wear a Hoodie
One thing I promise to never do to you is lie in this newsletter. OK, other than the time I said this would be coming out every other Sunday. I missed my deadline last weekend, as you probably noticed. I had every intention of writing this the prior Sunday, but my five-year-old son is on summer vacation, and it fell to me to entertain him all week.
Have you ever tried to entertain a child? It’s a full time job…in a lithium mine. There are no breaks, you have to pee into a bottle, and the work will eventually kill you. I love my child, but he cannot be reasoned with and he cannot be satisfied. He’s like a little mini-Trump: he desires everything and doesn’t even know why.
Which brings me to this week’s topic: hooded sweatshirts, aka hoodies. As you can see above, I own a hoodie. I would not lie about that to increase my sartorial clout. I’m not going to make you think that I wear a tuxedo to the grocery store. Technically, I don’t own the hoodie in that photo anymore. Halle, my ex-girlfriend, is now a practicing lesbian and it seemed like she’d get more value out of a WNBA hoodie than I would.
Look at me in that picture. I’m grinning like a student body president on Senior Day. It’s embarrassing! I’m smiling because I know I’m doing something elicit. I’m dressing down. A hoodie, shorts, Birkenstock Bostons. A baseball hat! I’ve hit for the cycle of not giving a shit.
I don’t wear hoodies unless I am doing something that requires some kind of exertion. A full 12-hour day with my kid most definitely qualifies. I’m going to be chasing him around the kitchen pretending to be Godzilla, hurling imaginary atomic fireballs in his general direction. I will have to pick him up, threatening my rapidly deteriorating back and knees. I better dress appropriately for the gig. Any kind of exercise would warrant a hoodie, especially if LA’s temperature drops to an absolutely frigid 60 degrees.
Otherwise, I am not wearing a hoodie. I hate them. They’re a marker of our society’s decline into belching, onanistic madness. The hoodie is the height of self-indulgence. Everyone always has to be comfortable all the time, or else one might have a raging temper tantrum (sounds like my five-year-old, to be honest).
Wearing a hoodie is like wearing a sock on the upper half of your body. Hoodies say to the world, “I would prefer to be in bed, or better yet, rolling around in a bathtub full of cotton balls.”
Yes, I also would like to be back in bed, but the world we live in simply won’t allow it. There is a time and a place for jersey-based garments. I’ve outlined them above. It’s athletic wear, and yet the least athletic people on the planet wear them for every occasion, simultaneously cheapening the item’s purpose and showing no deference to the people around them.
As I am wont to do, I went to Capri Club a couple weeks ago. Capri is my favorite bar in Los Angeles. It has a gin martini that will change your life. Usually, I go to Capri in a suit of some sort. It’s not a “classy” place, per se. Like most trendy bars and restaurants in LA these days, they nod to class with red leather booths and dark interior lighting, but people still come as they are. The dress code is non-existent, like just about everywhere in the country these days. People wear whatever they have on and don’t consider dressing for the occasion. Which is exactly what I did the last time I stopped by.
I was coming from a walk with my dog. I was in a hoodie, sweats, and a hat. I wasn’t expecting to go to Capri, but I got dragged over there with some friends. I felt wrong. My regular bartenders had to do a double-take when they saw me out of my “uniform.” Some places are not meant for athleisure. Some people aren’t either. I was uncomfortable the entire time, in my favorite bar. That’s a crime where I come from.
Hoodies have gotten more expensive, thanks to the rise of streetwear brands like Supreme; or companies that straddle the line, like Aime Leon Dore and Celine. But hoodies are not luxurious just because they cost more now. I believe in the purpose of things, that what we own should have utility. That all things have a time and a place.
Fashion is elastic. Style is amorphous. Purpose is and should be clear. You aren’t wearing a cummerbund with a t-shirt. It’s for something. Give some purpose to your day. Save your hoodies for the gym.
Upgraydde of the Week:
As we wrap up our bi-weekly adventure, I’m going to advise you all to trade up, trade in, or otherwise improve the way you dress. That’s why this parting glance is called the “Upgraydde of the Week".” Of course, “Upgraydde” has two d’s, for a double dose of his pimping.
I hear you on sweatshirts. They’re comfortable! They don’t constrict or complicate your movements. It’s not stuffy, which is now inexplicably a dirty world in America. But have you considered a seersucker suit? Something that breathes and moves, with an elastic waistband in the trousers? If you haven’t, do yourself a favor and get involved with the Seersucker Blazer and matching pants from SMOCK, the in-house brand for LA menswear boutique Mohawk General Store. You can ditch the hoodie and wear this cozy number to all your tedious errands. And you might even turn a few heads in the process.