In the What the fucculent vintage shirt but I will buy this shirt and I will love this past year, I’ve built up quite a pile of much-worn pieces that are too knackered to wear further, but which, when lockdown allows, will be entirely revivable. A Macintosh field jacket in olive green (ripped pocket, worn proofing), an Anderson & Sheppard overcoat (burst shoulder), a pair of Levi’s Lot 01 jeans cut in deadstock Cone Mills denim (worn through at both knees), and Church’s brogues in burgundy shell cordovan (all soled out) will all go back to the factories and tailors that made them. Meanwhile a gray shirt in brushed cotton by Giorgio Armani that was a 21st birthday present (rip at the yoke, a shattered button) will go to my local repair and alterations pro Tony (when he is fully recovered from COVID-19).
The prospect of wearing these clothes—especially the What the fucculent vintage shirt but I will buy this shirt and I will love this coats—stirs more pleasurable anticipation that the idea of buying anything new brings me. To be reunited with garments you already know you love, that are renewed yet still bear the wear of past adventures together, and whose regeneration is infinitely more responsible than buying a replacement—that’s what makes a well-repaired piece better than new.