You probably hate what I’m wearing. I wear Halloween shirts year-round and mismatched holiday socks on a regular basis because I firmly believe matching socks is a waste of my time. But that’s only part of the picture.
You probably hate what I’m wearing because it’s not sleek and put-together. It’s raw and real and makes people uncomfortable. It makes me look like I’m the kind of person who doesn’t respect my parents.
I’d like to introduce you to my denim vest.
Is it childish? Check.
Seasonally inappropriate? Check.
Makes me look like a high school delinquent? Check, check, check.
People don’t really wear denim vests anymore except at metal or punk shows or if they’re at Coachella. This isn’t the kind of accessory you see advertised anywhere. I’m not sure it ever was. Leather? Sure. But denim? Not so much.
A denim vest starter pack consists of various obscure patches and pins, teenage angst, “down with the man!” facial piercings, and shotgunned beers in the living room and/or shower. Aka, my “misunderstood” college years minus the beers and plus a few more piercings.
Maybe I hang on to my vest because it has something to do with reliving my “carefree” college days—up all night, wandering darkened small-town streets and scuffling along on my longboard, pretending like I was a real hooligan. (I wasn’t. I’m still not.) Or maybe I just like wearing it and couldn’t care less about the nostalgia. Who knows.
When I wear it, I feel like I can take on anything, like no one wants to mess with me. I also feel like I’m 15. I probably look 15 when I wear it, because I’ve always looked younger than I am. Throw in a beanie and my resting bitch face, and I could probably sit unnoticed in the back row of your Algebra I class. Spoiler: I’m 25, and I probably look like I’m trying too hard. Who do I think I am, anyway?
I’m ridiculously attached to this thing, though I hardly get a chance to wear it anymore—professionalism and punk rock don’t really go hand in hand. It’s covered in patches I spent many weekends making from nothing but fabric and paint. It’s a physical manifestation of a side of myself that I don’t show many people (hooray for INFJ tendencies).
Whatever the reason is behind my love affair with this vest, I hope I never completely figure it out. It’s a work of art (shitty art, maybe), but it’s ever-evolving—I’m continually adding new patches to it, and I’m always finding different things to pair it with.
Currently I’m into rocking it with a dress—black, red, or white and either striped, plain, or polka dot. Add some leggings and a pair of flats or creepers, and I’m good to go. So maybe it also has something to do with my psychobilly/pinup fascination. Go ahead and call me a creep (I don’t mind).
You probably hate what I’m wearing. But that’s okay; I probably hate what you’re wearing too. 💋