1970 — 1979
Everything smelled like the inside of a car. Warm vinyl, petrol on your hands, the particular staleness of a jacket that has slept in a back seat more nights than it has hung in a wardrobe.
I was going somewhere constantly and arriving almost never, and I dressed for it without meaning to — things that could be slept in, rained on, and put back on in the morning without much ceremony.
Condition & details +Close −
Worn in and honest. Softening at the shoulders, one faint mark at the hem left as found.
- Single-stitch construction throughout
- Soft, well-washed cotton jersey
- Measurements on request
- Cold wash, dry flat
You learn what a garment is actually for when you own three of them and live out of a bag. Two of them you stop reaching for. The third comes with you, and by the end it does not look like anything you bought.
I was going somewhere constantly and arriving almost never.
Somewhere in the middle of it I stopped buying clothes to look like someone and started buying them to survive the week. That sounds like a loss. It was not.
The road gave things back to me faded in places I had not chosen, and those were always the places I liked best.
I kept the jacket and lost nearly everything else. That seems about right.
What the 1970s bring back
These are not copies of the piece above. A decade leaves things behind in a person, and some of them are shapes. These came out of that.
Back Seat · T-shirt$73 Service Station · Hoodie$173