We’re excited to announce that we’re hosting a little shindig for Jack Spade’s Barbour capsule collection at the Oak Street store in Chicago this Thursday.
It’s no secret that we’re big fans of both companies. We’ve featured them on The Midwestyle
before (below, you’ll see the Barbour Jeff was lucky enough to score at a shop in London, and we posted a roundup of Jack Spade totes
we were hungry for last year.)
On Jeff: Waxed “Bedale” jacket by Barbour, bought in London. Photo by Grant Heinlein.
The Jack Spade + Barbour collection.
The Jack Spade team visited Barbour’s headquarters on the English coast of the North Sea and thumbed through the archives to inspire this new collaboration, which includes two incredible jackets, a tote, a duffle, a briefcase, and a pocket messenger.
Word has it that the Hopper design is inspired by a British Marine Captain who sent in his beat-up Bedale jacket to have it reinforced with cordura nylon to put up with his hardy wearing. And being the anglophile that I am, I’m geeking out over these updated designs from the one of the select companies that outfits the Royal Family.
Jack Spade shares my obsession with goods that are just as sharp as they are usable. If a jacket is tricked out but doesn’t keep you warm and dry, what’s the point? On the other side of the coin, there’s no reason that function shouldn’t have beautiful form. This collection took forethought and creative thinking, and now that it’s finally here, it makes all the sense in the world. (In this gear, I can imagine hunting pheasants in dewy Missouri fields just as well as trudging across soggy British moors.)
So! Come by and have a drink with us. It’ll be an informal affair—and opportunity to connect over damn fine products from two damn fine companies.
6–8 p.m. // Thursday, Sept. 13
See you there!
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.
Hey, you. Yeah, you.
We’re betting you’ve heard the name by now. But if you haven’t, Indochino is an online company that makes custom suits based on your personal measurements. The result is a garment that fits like a glove. The process works pretty smoothly, but purists have scoffed about the fact that you don’t go in for measurements or fittings. We get that—if you measure incorrectly, alterations (or worse) can be a pain in the ass.
It turns out that Indochino gets this, too. So, they’re coming to town to take all the guesswork out of the equation. If you’ve held off because of unfamiliarity with how to measure, or just plain apprehension, this is your chance to get a closer look.
Here’s how this will work: The Indochino team is setting up shop in Union Station’s Great Hall from August 14 to 20. There, they’ll take your measurements and walk you through a suite of customizations from lapels to lining to monograms.
The Vital Info:
When: Tuesday, August 14 to Monday, August 20. (8 a.m. to 8 p.m.)
But now, we’d like to hear what your experience is like—and you’ve got the chance to show us.
- You’ve obviously gotta be able to get yourself to Chicago sometime between August 14 and 20.
- Tell us why you need this suit and how you’re going to put it to good use. Do this by tweeting your answer to us @themidwestyle with the hashtags #SuitUpCHI and #MWSgiveaway (so we can get a bird’s-eye view of the entries.) It’s important that we can get a hold of you so we can set you up with an appointment.
- One entry per person. We’ll pick a random winner and get you outfitted.
- Contest ends on Sunday (August 12) at 11:59 p.m.
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.
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.
« Older posts