Since moving to China, I haven’t frequented two large retailers more than MUJI and UNIQLO.   Both these shops provide two qualities from which I never prospered in the USA: Asian sizing and classic aesthetics.  MUJI’s offerings of the minimalist  aesthetic are ever-reflective of Japanese craft and an expert interpretation of American standards.  What UNIQLO produces differently is in their ever-successful collaborations.

I wanted to share a few photos that my wife took on our recent trip to New York City.  The last time I was at the WTC site, there was yet a finalized plan for the memorial and surrounding buildings; ground zero was still visible through a gap between security walls.

There will come a time in my journey of man where things will inevitably slow down.  A backyard garden will be maintained.  College funds will be invested.  Fatherhood and husbandhood will be towering priorities.  It’s not anything I fear or reluctantly accept; it’s what I’ve hoped to accomplish on my time here.  I am eager to push my children on their first training wheel-less ride, and make Mother’s Day brunch with them.  It’ll be a new adventure in which in which I hope to succeed.

One thing I’ve looked forward to is that transition into the life of the patriarch.  Quirks that only your wife could love tolerate.  The occasionally killer delivery of a dad joke.  And my favorite: hanging out with the crew.

EuroChasse is a little gem on Connecticut’s Greenwich Avenue for those seeking clothes built excellently for a specific purpose.  With an assembly of war-era knickknacks arranged on glass tables like Teddy Roosevelt’s nightstand, I couldn’t resist entering for a peak.  Inside was an autumnal sprawl of muted, earthy colors on shirts, hats, vests.  This was the bygone school hunter’s haberdashery, Van Pelt’s dream.  Lifting a field jacket, the weight and build construed an ability to endure a New England hunt at dawn.  Every item in this store was designed with zero affectation and lasting effectiveness for hunting season after hunting season.

I discovered on my recent trip to New York City that being a tourist in the Big Apple can prove a difficult role.  You don’t want to stick out like a Segway tour through Times Square; you want to blend in and act as if you’re here to get some serious shit done.  More apparently, you want to wear that attitude, since we all know we’re stealing looks off each other on the Q train.  I had every intention to step out of my cousin’s Brooklyn studio like an apex menswearist in my two-inch trouser cuffs and spread-collar polos.  But as suave as it could’ve looked, hoofing it through boroughs in my suede wholecuts would’ve proved hell on my feet.  The safe, blatantly tourist thing to do was to step out in my NB runners.  But the ensemble!  For shame.

But then I realized something for a moment, something that we men of sartorial pursuits can get caught into: who’s really going to give a shit?  We may research lapel widths and color combinations, but as much as we pore through detail, we gotta relax sometimes.  Go by feel, as some may say.

I wanted to feel comfortable, so the sneakers won.  I changed my shirt to a navy to match the shoes, but hey, baby steps.