This summer, an itinerant photographer from Birmingham, AL, found himself in Chicago. His name was Rob Culpepper, and like good photographers do, he started documenting whatever struck his curiosity in the cityscape. His talent and and thoughtful eye were immediately apparent, and we quickly folded him into our ragtag band of Logan Square rabble-rousers. It goes without saying that we were sad to see him head South at summer’s end like a migrating bird. But before he left, he set up a series of meaningful portrait sessions with those of us who stayed behind.
For now, we’ll let these pictures speak for themselves. But Seth will chime in with more on Rob and his story next week.
One of my finds over in Europe this past year was this “Little People” shirt by Folk at their Brick Lane store in London. You know the drill: When you travel and love the city, the people and the beat of the drum, you want to bring back something that reminds you of your time in that place. (Cue collective “awww.”) I really dig Folk‘s aesthetic in that they make simple clothing with playfully quirky details, like two little tribal people holding hands in random placement.
On Jeff: “Little People” overshirt by Folk; short-sleeve chambray button-down chambray by Apolis; cargo trousers by Levi’s; watch by Timex; chunky wingtips by Walk-Over Shoes.
Photography by Rob Culpepper.
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 Denim; striped 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.
I was never one to gravitate toward hoodies growing up, mainly because they were never long, trim or interesting enough.
I liked the idea of having a track jacket but never could commit to it because my ideas of track jackets were attached to the ones everyone wore in high school with logos plastered on them. I’ve been down that road before and had vowed to not retrace my steps.
However, A.P.C., the notorious cult label of simple Parisian basics, caught my eye this past winter.
You loved your denim jacket in elementary school.
Perhaps even in that grungy ’90s phase you went through (because you had an older brother who lived in the basement constantly blasting Nirvana and claiming to be misunderstood for wearing a ball-chain necklace and JNCOs.)
Ok, maybe your older brother wasn’t the sartorially suave guy you thought he was in hindsight.
Regardless, he wore a denim jacket. As did all of your other favorite (read: terribly awesome) ’90s stars as well as the badasses from years ago. It’s a classic and worth your wardrobe investment.
Rekindle with your beloved hand-me-down again—or throw down the dough for a classic that lasts. Denim jackets are making the rounds again these days on street style blogs and fall runway presentations. Of course, this is nothing new for you denim jacket veterans who’ve had a tried-and-true jacket to show for it (looking at you, Brad).
BUT: If you’re new to the world of denim jackets, opt for a blue then go for a black or grey next. Don’t start with a nearly-cropped bleached denim jacket like I did.