Batter your clothes

Why your favourite clothes deserve to be worn.

“I’ve got my nice shirt on.”

I’m sorry, but I’d argue I quite like all my shirts.

I get the whole idea of Sunday best. You’d work all week and go to maybe church, or whatever public forum, at the end of it and wear your best. I get it, I do.

But do I do it? No.

I wear my best whenever I like. In fact, maybe all week. Maybe never. Maybe whenever I feel like it.

Wear it, abuse it, it’ll look better for it.

Everything looks better worn in. Trust me.

Those stories of students sanding down collars and frayed shirt cuffs, it was all to mimic being into the look longer than your fellow classmate.

I don’t think it’s just Ivy where your clothes looking worn in looks better. I think it applies to most of your wardrobe.

Now, there’s a difference, of course, if you’ve got a shirt covered in stains that you’ve done the plumbing in. That thing probably needs replacing.

But something that’s been loved, worn, lived in…

That’s the best.

There’s the argument of saving clothes from being ruined by not wearing them. I used to be like that, trust me.

Spaghetti with a side of your favourite Oxford cloth button down? A bitter taste indeed.

It was the same with suede for me too. Now, this was only ever really with footwear. I’ve never owned a suede jacket.

I’d look up the weather forecast (okay, I still do) and have contingency plans in place should the heavens open.

But suede is far more robust than it often gets credit for.

I remember buying a pair of Sanders Playboys. At the time it was (and still is) a lot of money, and I agonised over wearing them so much that they almost became a museum piece.

Then I actually started wearing them.

The anxiety disappeared.

I enjoyed them far more on my feet than I ever did sat in their box.

And even if it does pick up a few specks, that’s part of its story. You’re showing off how long you’ve had them, not that they look box fresh from the back of the stock room.

Maybe that’s why some of my favourite things to wear aren’t the newest things I own.

Here are my old Supergas. I got them from Oi Polloi when they were still going in Manchester. They’re old, battered, dirty and ugly… but they’re beautiful. And that’s exactly why.

I love how much fun can be had styling these. There’s so much more that can be done with them than you’d think. It’s almost a bit punk. Stick them on with something that shouldn’t really work, maybe a blazer and chinos, and these beat-up rascals just do.

I’ve had a bit of a thing for Nike Cortez at the moment. I don’t own a pair, but they’re certainly somewhere on the wish list.

George Costanza wore them, and you know how much I appreciate his style. And of course Forrest Gump did too.

The thing is, neither of them looked like they were trying to preserve them. George wore them because they were his trainers. Forrest… well, he literally went running in his. They looked better for it.

I get it, you have to start somewhere, and there’s nothing wrong at all with buying second-hand clothing. I mean, a lot of the work has already been done for you.

A grail piece for me for a long time was one of the Running Back Dartmouth sweatshirts. I missed out on these when they were brand new, but Lee from Heritage and Ivy sourced me one in green.

It was second-hand then, so it already had its own character. The more I’ve worn it, the more I’ve added to it. It looks better the older it gets.

The fading around the collar looks really nice. The cuffs are softer than when I first got it, and I like knowing that some of those creases are mine, not just somebody else’s.

I actually think falling down the wormhole of Japanese denim is partly to blame for how I feel about this. I’m not mad about it though, I’m glad.

My Sugar Cane 1947s are a completely different colour to when I bought them. There are proper fades in there now, and I just love them.

But why am I saying all this? I don’t really know.

I guess it’s because I’ve recently been doing a major clear out of my wardrobe.

Sure, I’m making way for new stuff, but at the same time I’m making way to appreciate what’s already there.

The pieces that have been with me the longest are often the ones I reach for the most. They’ve earned their place.

To end on a slightly cheesy statement, but one I think has some real value: the true worth of a garment isn’t what it’s worth when you buy it. It’s what it becomes once it’s part of your life.