Covering your body in armor,
depression, and shell jackets.
American photographer and L.L. Bean Duck Boot wearer Bill Cunningham once said, “Fashion is the armor to survive the reality of everyday life.” Sophia Amoruso, businesswoman who founded the now-bankrupt clothing brand Nasty Gal, interpolated that quote in her 2014 book #Girlboss (maybe without credit, idk): “Clothing is ultimately the suit of armor in which we battle the world.”
Non-verbal communication by way of clothing is the way I, and everyone, choose to relate and convey on a daily basis. I simply can’t walk my dog without putting on an outfit I feel okay about. Call it dopamine dressing, call it vanity. I wear loafers to the grocery store. I like to stick out. I need fabrics to remind me of who I am and what I want to be, doubly so on days I forget. Been plenty lately.
I appreciate the intricacies of what textures and fabrics can do for one’s body, outside of the obvious aesthetics. I once talked to a fashion psychologist who told me that on remote work days when she feels lazy and unproductive, she wears hard-wearing and scratchy cotton at her computer desk in order to wake her body up. It’s a reminder that she needs to focus, and by switching out of pajamas and loose T-shirts, she’s able to trick her body into believing she’s not at home. Textures are a useful reminder that what you wear is always there, right now, in present. It’s easy to forget the ubiquitous.
The fabrics I’ve been wearing lately lean functional, utilitarian, built like armor. The GORPy, post-normcore, crunchy granola shit that somehow still isn’t played out yet that shields my body from the elements in case of … light rain on the way to walking into the office, or an air conditioner blowing directly on my back. I’ve been wearing a lot of shell jackets. They sound like deflated kiddy pools in motion. Or maybe empty backpacks when you move them and hear their zippers clanging.
In my closet hang four functional, very expensive shells, all mostly worn in the city.
an Arc’teryx Atom LT Hoody in Black ($259)
an Arc’teryx Beta Jacket in Cloud ($400)
a Goldwin GORE-TEX Fly Air Pullover in Black ($730)
a Goldwin PERTEX Shield Air Jacket in Ink Navy ($400)
I say this not as a brag. Years of writing about clothes, and you just end up with random samples of things you typically wouldn’t purchase yourself.
At the time I acquired some of these pieces, I lived in Florida, a state where wearing a polyester jacket with a 3-layer membrane meant perspiring through the day and dealing with foggy glasses between climate-controlled areas. Every piece above is meant for the outdoors, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last three decades of living, it’s that I love being outside. Just not in Florida.
I’ve been wrestling with the idea of even owning these pieces. For one, people in Discord keep making fun of me for the abundance of shells I have over puffers and down jackets, which I so desperately need before the winter season.
For another, I barely go outside. I walk my dog three times a day and I like thinking about hikes more than taking them. It hasn’t been easy lately. Buying outdoor clothing doesn’t push you outdoors. Buying a Peloton doesn’t mean you’re active. Running a newsletter doesn’t make you a talented or motivated writer.
For Joshua P. Matthews, a shell is a device branded Arc’teryx. His book, HARD-SHELL, is a 144 visual narrative of his toolbox (closet) and personal collection of the tools he’s acquired and usd over 14 years of cycling in New York City. His book contains two pages of text, one from Matthews himself, the other by writer Sydney Allen-Ash. The rest of the book is comprised of high-definition shots of Arc’teryx jackets, shirts and pants, and GORE-TEX ephemera.
The book is Matthews’ personal collection of Arc’teryx clothing on full display, though, through photo evidence, I doubt any of his jackets still sound like deflated kiddy pools. His shit gets used and you can tell. Pants carry scuffs and grime, jackets have bruises. His armor has character, but none of it is ugly.
“Purity of heart
Is to will one thing
Today I will
Take a walk,” Krill, “Purity of Heart”
On one of the only pages of text in HARD-SHELL, Matthews writes, “On a grey day, I still play.” Rain, snow, sleet — it doesn't matter for Matthews, he’s got the equipment to battle it all. In the form of fabrics.
I wish I had that willpower, armor, whatever. Something to combat the environment. At least lately.
Every time I see someone out in expensive hiking gear, I can’t help but think of Arc’teryx’s trendiness and appropriation by city folk and suburban kids who buy $600 shell jackets only to participate in the TikTok trend of hopping into a shower and gawking in amazement over water-beading off of its exterior. $600 for a 10% chance of rain. And I have a free ticket to ride because of my job and the access I’ve been granted.
Of course, I participate in buying things and co-opting subcultures, like Dickies to skateboarders, Ray-Bans to civilians.
(Everyone wants to wear Carhartt till it's time to do Carhartt shit.)
But like all clothing, sometimes it can be admired without purchase. And if it’s bought, it should be used until it’s disintegrated.
It’s why I admire Matthews’ photo book so much. It’s pushed me outside in a way I’ve been reluctant to do these last few weeks. I’ve been hiking and taking walks more than usual. Alone. But they’re not lonely. It’s better than being inside, guilting yourself about not writing a newsletter or responding to texts, or laboring over apologies for simple miscommunications and nothings.
Erm.
Yes, I’m drab this week. But sometimes it’s a good thing to wallow in it.