Sometimes, I think that I'm my own person.
Then, I go home, and quickly realize that I'm basically just a slightly shorter, less bearded and more talkative version my father.
With a giant, unmanageable crush on Chris Lowell.
It's strange how the simple act of returning to your roots can ignite all of these strange urges that you'd forgotten existed, right?
Like wearing plaid
or vintage leather purses.
And I'm sure there are other, non fashion related examples of how going back home incites strange, unexpected, visceral reactions,
but this blog has traditionally been less about craving mom's mac & cheez and more about - you know -
torn jeans n' stuff.
(Though my post-move-to-New-York 20lbs might have something to say about that).
Anyhoot. I'm just curious -- Did anyone dress differently when they went home?
I, for one, wore my father's Woolrich shirt, bought a plaid XL coat from Gap,
wore white down moon boots, multiple pairs of Smartwool socks, vintage Irish sweaters, more turtlenecks, more leggings, less anything-without-stretch-in-it
You know... #wisconsin.
and you guys?
photos by Matt Engelhart