I was digging through bins of old clothes in my parent’s basement last Thanksgiving looking for a Northwestern sweatshirt I convinced myself I left behind years ago when I stumbled upon it – the jacket that changed everything. It was my grandfather’s old herringbone tweed sport coat. “Hey, can I borrow this?” I shouted up the stairs to my dad, who was watching football at maximum volume (his “appropriate levels” versus my mother’s “why I can’t hear anything for two days after the game”). He ambled down from his perch and laughed. “That old thing?
Thought you kids had thrown that out ages ago. You think you can still fit in that thing?” I shrugged into it, and holy shit if it didn’t still fit perfectly in the shoulders, with sleeves that met my wrists precisely. It was clearly made of some heavyweight material, not some of that cigarette-paper thin “tweed inspired” shit you see at Forever21 these days.
The inside was lined with what I’m pretty sure was actual silk, and those elbow patches weren’t just for show – they were there because that’s where the original fabric wore off. “You know,” Dad said as he eyed me appreciatively for the first time in decades, “he bought that when he landed his first ‘real job’ at the bank. Saw him pretty much every Friday for thirty years after that.
He used to always say that good tweed was like a good friendship – it only gets better with age, and it keeps you warm when you need it most.” “Heh, looks good on you, too.
Better than it ever did on him,” he added, which might be the single greatest fashion compliment my father has ever paid anyone. I texted a photo of myself wearing it to Marcus (my closest friend since college who has remained about 5 years ahead of me in his wardrobe choices every since) expecting him to ridicule me for my thrift-store-grandpa vibe. Instead I got: “DUDE.
That’s literally what Todd Snyder was doing last fashion season. Wear that next time you’re in NYC, I want to take you to this vendor I know. He’ll fucking lose his mind.” This is when I had what you can charitably call an “epiphany.” Maybe dad was right all along.
Not just about hoarding useless crap from decades past because “you never know when you’ll need it again” or “they don’t make things like they used to” (his shopping trigger phrases), but about how great a lot of quintessentially American menswear really is. Vintage or new, there’s just something about a stuff sack, a cable knit, or a great pleated linen shirt that seems to stand both the test of time and changing trends. Sure, these pieces may ebb and flow from “dad boring” to “literally every streetstyle blogger is wearing them,” but they never go away.
Not really. Consider the near rebirth of classic American pieces these past few years. From camo to chore jackets, we’ve seen an overwhelming resurgence in pieces your dad was probably telling you were “money” back when you were spending your summer earnings at Urban Outfitters.
Seems all these so-called trend forecasters completely ignored one defining constant of menswear… Things your dad loves will be things young dudes love again. Take, for example, the grandaddy of all dad-shirts, the penny loafer. My father has been rocking the same exact style of Bass Weejuns since his undergraduate years at Purdue, swapping out a new pair when the old ones wear down.
Mocked those shoes for years. Called them, “country club shoes,” and, “those shoes dads dressappropriately.com wear.” Fast forward a few years and Alessandro Michele crafts custom Gucci loafers with horsebits and has guys wearing them with jeans and floral print suits at Pitti Uomo. Now look in your local mall – hip-hop stars are photographing loveable logo jumpers over them and tech bros think they’re_optimizercial. “Told you so,” Dad grinned when I rocked a pair to Easter dinner last year. “Still takes you twenty years to learn some things.” Don’t believe me?
Walk into any closet over the age of 40 and you’ll see he’s been stocking up on American classics your whole life. The navy blazer I’ve now relegated to “office meetings that require me to suddenly look professional” closet? He’s got two in his closet he’s had since before I was born.
The Oxford cloth button-up shirts I can’t get enough of? Bought by the dozen when they go on sale at Brooks Brothers, just like he has been since…well, you get the point. Truth be told, most of his wardrobe hasn’t changed much since the early 90s, but what’s interesting is how these classic pieces are being worn by young guys.
Unlike how our dads wore them thirty years ago. The 25-year-old graphic designer at my office loves wearing his grandpa’s camelhair polo coat – but pairs it with a hoodie and nylon cargos with combat boots. My neighbour’s teenage son layers vintage band tee-shirts under his father’s old Pendleton wool shirts.
It sounds like it shouldn’t work, but somehow it does. Meanwhile, Jason – one of our newly hired style editors – was dressed head-to-toe in what I thought was an expensive bespoke wool suit from the Deep Vault…only to find out later it was all ripped straight from J.Crew’s Ratner’s archives. Pleated trousers, slightly boxy DB jacket, repp stripe tie.
I asked him where he found the insanity and he told me he bought the entire ensemble at J.Crew that morning. “There’s even a brand that JUST does this stuff now,” he said. “Right down to the shirting.” Same goes for premium denim brands showing direct copies of my dad’s 70s-leaning Abercrombie & Fitch jeans that he still buys at Kohls today. Last month I was at a denim trade show in Nashville and had the same exact conversation with three separate luxury denim brands. I laughed as they described the upcoming season’s biggest sellers… “What are those?” I asked, pointing to the high waist, straight-legged denim they were showing. “Straight from the dad closet.” Each answered proudly. “How nice!” I said through obvious teeth as they beamed. “Are they selvedge?” “Of course!
And all handmade in Japan.” One replied. “I love the details on these,” I said grabbing the hems. “Are they distressed?” “No self respecting dad would ever distress his jeans,” another laughed. I wanted to laugh with him, but instead kept nodding and asking how much. $285 later… My point is, not only are all of dad’s old staples coming back, but young guys are putting their own spin on them. They’re reviving dad-style faster than he could ever throw out his old clothes at Goodwill.
The belts with the simple leather strap and plain buckle? “Artisan leather goods.” Watches with simple mechanics and a leather band? “Heritage watchmaking.” Dad’s old Ray- Bans? “Damn Son, those are some classic Americana Eyewear.” Is this because we secretly all want to look like our fathers? I doubt it.
There’s too much involved in this full-circle journey for that to be the whole truth.
Or maybe we just really like mocking our dads’ closets online. But I do think part of it is that, in a world where so much feels disposable and technological, there’s something ultra-relatable about clothing that’s been around for decades – and shows no signs of going away. The sport coat that looks as new as the day you bought it after thirty years of WearCount.
The kicks you can resole instead of tossing into a landfill. The watch that only needs new batteries every few years. Sure, it’s comforting to know that when we put on Grandpa’s Oliver Spencer blazer or Dad’s old Navy bomber jacket, we’re participating in a tradition that stretches back years before we were wearing clothing at all.
But I also think there’s a subtle elegance to dressing like you don’t give a shit what’s trendy. You’re just going to wear what looks good, and do it so well that eventually everyone else will catch on. When I told my dad that guys were popping his collars right now he scoffed. “Don’t care about popping collars as long as I know where everything is in my closet.” Alright, Mr.
Porter. Challenge accepted.
