These lists are fashion content at its worst: regurgitated “guidance” with roots that should be more at home sometime around 1950.
Inspired by the brilliant Meh List published every week in The Sunday Magazine of The New York Times, I thought I’d start crafting my own, in a similar spirit to the Dear Diary posts.
With enough baggage entrenched in our lives already, the things we carry can quickly become another burden, and one of the few that’s rather easy to let go of. Yet many of us continue to cling to certain collections, so why is that? What do these arbitrary arrangements do for us, exactly?
A trip to Brooklyn results in a little sartorial nausea, courtesy of the trying-so-hard-to-be-hip transplants crawling out of every nook and cranny. On the other hand, my native-to-NYC friend doesn’t seem to be trying much at all, and blows them out of the water.
What do Jack Kerouac, sunshine, shades, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s have in common? Not much, until Warby Parker brought them all together and won over my little heart.