If only these jeans could talk.

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The Story's in the Seams - Part Four

My friend Nick inhabits this pair of Levi's 514s. I choose that word deliberately; he's had these jeans for four years, and judging from the wear, he's had these on almost every single day since then. Keep in mind that these jeans were fairly dark when he first got them. But after years of wearing and washing, the formerly rigid denim has taken on a quality of incredible softness not unlike that of a well-worn shirt.

His wallet has eroded away part of his back pocket, while his habit of pushing down on those pockets with his hands in them has ripped open wide sections of the rear seams. The trademark Levi's stitching is almost completely gone at this point.

If these jeans could speak, I'm sure that its stories would be endless. They could tell of Nick's triumphs, shenanigans, and overall personality - of a good chunk of time spent in this particular pair of denim. These jeans are so particular to Nick; if anyone else was to wear them, they'd probably be met with questions as to why they were wearing Nick's pants.

Knowing the owner of these jeans, I can say that the collection of multicolored patches is a reflection of his character - lively, spontaneous, and with random impulses shown through the lack of any discernible pattern of the patches. I feel like I can see as much of Nick in these jeans as I could through a photograph or video of the guy.

And to be completely honest, these jeans were one of the first things I thought of when I undertook this project.

Warm and fuzzy

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The Story's in the Seams - Part Three

I love when people put details into their work, whether it be in their writing, food, clothing, or whatever they create. To me it shows an extra layer of depth - visible proof that thought and effort was put into the work.

EVER does just that with their apparel, placing a pair of earplugs on the hang tag to put in and tune the world out when the need arises, and an old Kodachrome slide into the pocket of each of their jackets. The slides are from all over; just by looking through the stacks of them, I've been whisked away to China, Japan, Italy, and other distant locales.

Their apparel is also incredibly durable. I've dragged their jackets through Ecuador and Indonesia, as well as the day-to-day of my life without much sign of color loss, fraying, shrinkage, or any of the signs of lower quality jackets. They truly make clothes that I can live in.

Oh, and the jacket's lined with sherpa, a very warm and fuzzy material, hence the title.

My grandfather's jacket.

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The Story's in the Seams - Part Two

I never knew my grandfather. He passed away long before I was born, and all I have to remember him by are faded photographs and stories that I've heard from the rest of my family. He's the one who got my family to the United States, and all that I have, I am thankful to him for first and foremost. From what I've been told, we would've gotten along great.

Now, my grandfather was an incredibly frugal man. This was to be expected from someone who lost all of his possessions when he escaped North Korea atop a steam train and immigrated to Argentina, where he and his family worked a farm and market. He endured incredible hardship, gained and lost more times than I could ever imagine, but somehow managed to provide for his family, even sending my mom to USC.

My grandfather didn't leave behind much when he passed away, but by some strange instance of chance, I ended up with this handsome suede jacket of his. It is incredibly comfortable, and I marvel at the amount of life that has gone into it. The lining around the collar is worn through and discolored by the sun, and paint on the zipper is long gone, and the entire piece is broken-in beyond belief.

You see, even when he had money, the last thing he spent it on was clothes. He wore only the most inexpensive of items - threadbare shirts and jackets that would fall apart regularly. But he always had his eye on this one jacket, and one day, after months and months of longing, he finally bought it. It was the least he could do for himself after his years of perseverance and hard work. He's wearing this jacket in most of the pictures that I've seen of him - this jacket was probably his most prized possession.

The jacket he left behind.

The Story's in the Seams.

One of the things I love most in life is a good story - sad, happy, triumphant, inspiring, profound, depressing, or whatever else it may be. I simply cannot get enough of the tales and anecdotes people have to share. Now, these experiences can come in many forms, but it can usually be assumed that you will have clothes on when undergoing the events that comprise your story.

This is an underlying reason for my interest in clothing - not for mere physical appearance, but because the clothes on a person's back can act as a window into their lives. This is also why I am a fan of people with strong senses of style, as it makes the window wider and more apparent. With this in mind, I now give you the first entry in my new project, entitled The Story's in the Seams. Hopefully with time, I can also include clothing from friends and family that also share something interesting.

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My sister Andrea has always played a major part in my life. She is one of my greatest role models for a wide variety of reasons, but here, I will highlight just one. Andrea is constantly pushing me to better myself, and one of those ways is in my appearance. She'll randomly give me some article of clothing, such as these lovely Levi's 514 corduroy pants, with no other reason than her wanting to. Many a time I have not known what to do with the clothes, as I was not comfortable with them at the time. For instance, I thought these pants to be too tight when I first received them. But without fail, my style eventually develops in such a way that the clothing I formerly did not understand ends up being one of my favorites. Mind you, this goes completely beyond clothes - her advice tends to do the same thing, too. But without fail my sister always knows what'll be good for me a few months or years down the line. And for this I am infinitely grateful.

Thanks, Andrea.