Monthly Archives: July 2012

midweSTYLE: Whiteout

Few pieces in a man’s arsenal are more divisive than white denim. 
There are two sides of the fence—and few people are actually on the fence itself. Dudes either love white denim, or they hate it. I fall on the former side, obviously. That said, I’ve had conversations with guys who tend to stay away from the white for fear of a painful amount of upkeep. But, perhaps there’s a mental shift that needs to be had. Listen…
You guys remember when you got your new kicks at the beginning of the school year, right? As boys, we all feared that if those snow-white Converse All-Stars got a speck of playground dust on or around their perfectly pure uppers, that cute girl who sat at the desk next to you would not shoot you a second glance and all of third grade would be an ultimate failure. But, if you remember correctly, you ended up wearing those pristine kicks to a muddy kickball game a few weeks later and still managed to get playground-married to Elizabeth during recess. 
Point being: White stuff was never really meant to stay white.

I tend to treat white denim as a kind of blank canvas that’s supposed to be painted. The more specks they get, the better. In fact, I want them to be pretty disgusting when it’s all said and done. Am I going to try to remove stains? No. Am I even going to try to prevent them in the first place? Probably not. The dingier they get, the more character they’ve got. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going rub myself down with sod or intentionally dump a cup of coffee on them. But life happens.
Yes, if they start to smell bad, I’ll wash them, relax.
Yes, you can wear them after Labor Day. The guy who said you couldn’t was a Communist, and he didn’t even own anything white.

Also, Indys in the summertime is okay, too. Maybe I should be wearing Vans or Tretorns, but I can’t take these things off. 

On Cameron: “The Paulie” chambray shirt by Baldwin Denim; tri-blend tank top by American Apparel; double O-ring belt by Narragansett Leathers; “The Henley” in white by Baldwin Denim; Indy boots by Alden; “Preston” eyeglasses by Warby Parker; submariner watch by Military Watch Co.

Photography by Jarred Donalson

midweSTYLE: Desert Boots Resoled

So, after a little over two years, I wore a hole straight through the crepe sole of my Clarks desert boots. After a round of violent weeping and gnashing of teeth, I was prepared to hold a burial service, or another memorial of similar gravitas. These felt like the boots I became a man in, or something.
While the term “essential” is egregiously overused, desert boots are one of a handful of items that actually deserve the title. They go with damn near everything, and I found myself wearing them almost every day for a year or so—a default for my feet. Thus, when they were finally unwearable, I was just short of devastated.
Then came the decision. Do I pitch them? Buy a new pair? Do I spring for a resole? WHAT DO I DO NOW?
What it really came down to was whether I should re-support Clarks, who was probably going to just fine if I didn’t, or whether I should put money toward a local cobbler to hook me up with a new sole.
In that light, the answer made itself abundantly clear.
Tucked away in the shadows of the Francis Quadrangle’s infamous columns, on 8th Street in Columbia, Missouri, sits a little shop called Dawson’s Shoe Repair. I had walked by countless times, never giving the unassuming brick storefront a second thought—that is, until I wore a hole in the sole of one of my most beloved possessions.
Inside, I was greeted by a friendly man named Bob who took my Clarks, offered me a slew of resoling options, and promised to do his best with the monster ripple soles I had chosen. Bob, who has worked at Dawson’s since he completed his service in the Air Force in 1971, made quick work of my order and after a few days, I had fallen back in love with my old, worn-out desert boots. When it was all said and done, the price tag came to $75 to have my well-loved boots resurrected with a patina and sole that I don’t think you’ll find anywhere else. Compare that to the $100 I might have spent on a pair of new boots, and I’d say I came out with the better end of the deal.
The only task left is to find a fitting nickname. Suggestions welcome.

On Cameron: “The Henley” in California wash by Baldwin Denimstriped shirt by Steven Alan; submariner watch by Military Watch Co.; whiskey tortoise “Preston” eyeglasses by Warby Parker; desert boots by Clarks, resole by Bob Wood at Dawson’s Shoe Repair.