Ah, the feeling of a chiropractor’s elbows on my buttocks. Been having some back trubs lately. Too much bending over laptops I dare say. It’s a peculiar feeling, another bro prodding at my nethers. The silent ritual of examiner and examinee. Unspeaking. Just the squirt and slap of the emollient and the facedown grimace of the recipient. Tends to make a dude’s mind wander. The brain goes to other stuff, anything, rather than the clammy bro on bro action. Yesterday my mind went to this jacket. Which is remarkable, because I only saw it this morning.
Rather feel like it’s this blog’s purpose to draw attention to garms in the hinterland between wearable and abstract madness. I think this Needles jacket fits that requirement.
It’s banged together from vintage chinos. Consequently, each jacket is slightly different, however they all feature a chest pocket, pouch waist pockets and a shoulder rifle rest pad – the latter being an essential for the contemporary social media assassin.
There are also corozo buttons and mis-matched elbow patches in the mix. And the entire mix, when you stand back and take a good look, is power-narnas. But in a good way.
I think I could get away with this. I know I couldn’t. But I think I could. Which is a comfortable delusion. More comfortable than another man knuckling your ass at any rate.