Since starting to work at Epaulet, one of the best perks has always been the commute. Being able to walk to work means that on any given weekend, while you’re wearing your laidback weekend best and heading out to brunch, I’m typically strolling towards the Lower East Side dressed in a pair of Walt trousers and a blazer.
Despite how much I appreciate the luxury of being able to walk to work, it’s still around a twenty-five block trek. While that’s no sweat in the fall or spring, it’s becoming a bit uncomfortable in this epic heat. For the first couple of blocks I’m typically feeling pretty good and proudly thinking to myself, “Ha, look at all these short-sleeved mugs. I look suave as heck and feel completely at ease in this jacket.” Around block ten or so, though, something goes horribly, horribly wrong. It starts with the tickle of that first bead of sweat, which seems to come from somewhere invisible and sinister, and only gets worse from there. For the next ten blocks my shirt acts less and less like a functional cover-up and more and more like a sponge. This is when I assure myself that no one else notices the tropical storm walking down the sidewalk. “Just keep smiling and act natural”, I tell myself.
Then comes the next unfortunate development, usually occurring when I have about seven and a half minutes until I arrive at the shop. The trickle has become the full-on self-baste. At this point, I start to feel like a drunk trying to act sober in front of a cop. It’s futile, however, and I am officially that guy—the one idiot dumb enough to wear a positively Victorian amount of layers on the hottest day of the year. Maybe I’m paranoid, but even dogs start to run in the opposite direction. Side note, you ever notice how there are so many more dogs in the city during summer? Is there some kind of puppy farm upstate that rents out miniscule terriers and shibas to twenty-somethings during the summer? Additional side note: if that doesn’t already exist, I need to start that.
But I digress, the point is that you don’t wanna end up looking like the guy who thought he could outsmart nature. Trust me; you’ll be paying the price with saline. So here’s some advice. Leave your fall jackets in the closet. I don’t care how awesome that vintage Harris Tweed blazer you found on eBay is, it’s hot. Second, sometimes oxfords are just too dense. Thirdly, while some things may be your best friends in the winter, like, say, flannel, opt for something that lets some air through it, you’ll need the ventilation. As for shoes, leave the cordovan at home on the hottest days. It may be the world’s finest shoe leather, but that won’t mean much when they’re glorified spittoons. Sweating isn’t the end of the world; just find some a/c, powder up those sweat spots, and head back out there. What’s that old adage, “everyone sweats, even girls”? …Or is that farts?