This is a combat jacket. It’s made of old combat jackets. It costs 375 quid.
My taste level has exceeded that of a standard, human, male, man. Compared with every other barren, bro-shaped being, I’m pregnant with artfulness. A maven, in the 100th percentile of gentleman’s chichi. I know this how? Because I want the above jacket.
The alternative is, I’m so impressionably idiotic, I’d buy a poo in a tissue, if you told me it was made by an obscure Japanese brand. And that’s stupid, because I wouldn’t. Not without proper provenance.
Part of me thinks, I should be able to make this myself. Hit up some vintage stores for some battlewear, chop that shit up and get busy with a Singer. Couple of problems though. Number one: I’m Olympic level lazy. Number two: it wouldn’t be by Needles. It wouldn’t be designed by Keizo Shimizu, the owner and director of streetwear umbrella company Nepenthes. DIY just doesn’t offer the intangible sense of reassurance and ‘fuck y’all-ery’ that comes with busting the real thing. Rarefied, imported garms work some monster-ass voodoo on susceptible foolios like me.
Each one of these jackets is different, same cut, but different panels, pieces and details. I think it’s the sort of thing you could wear for many years, kind of fashion agnostic, like the best Comme des Garcons pieces. I’m going to keep my radar on this. I could swag it here for 209 plus shipping. Canada is a long way to look like a destitute Rambo, but I might seriously go for this. And you know, I’ll be chowing down on a bacon-burger-dog at a barbie and some high-street bro will ask if I got my jacket from Zara. And I’ll say no, it’s by Needles, it’s from Japan and it cost 375 large. And he’ll look at me like I’ve got a balloon for a brain. And I’ll look away and smile, safe within my intangible sense of reassurance and ‘fuck y’all-ery’.