If there’s one thing that’s going to get us all through this, it’s the idea that one day soon, a man, perhaps a man like you, will be able to freely wear this exact Zucca jacket in the kind of pretentious east London bar that has graffiti in the toilets, and fellow patrons will glance enviously at it, while pretending not to be looking at all.
We can but dream.
If I’m being completely transparent I’d rather it wasn’t a man like you. But rather a man like me. Me in fact.
After all, this is quite the formidable shirt-jacket. And the sun’s out. I want to be wearing it right now, marching around Shoreditch, glowering at tourists, standing on the smoking balcony at the Ace Hotel acting like the dog’s mustard. As it stands, I’m indoors and I’m typing this, with a headache.
This really is a beautiful thing. It’s downright optimistic is what it is. Look at its carefree billowy crispness. This ‘shacket’ hasn’t a care in the world — unsurprising really as tests suggest the virus doesn’t survive long on fabric. From the front it looks like a jacket, but the cuffs and hem suggests a shirt. It’s 100% cotton and features just the single chest pocket, so there’s no room for keys and other gentleman’s apparatus. But why would you want to bag this down with junk? Is perfect as it is — minimal, clean and cool.
You can grab this from NYC’s C’H’C’M assuming they’re still taking online orders. And if you do, maybe just sit on, keep it bagged and unworn. Until we rise from the beneath the malignant hegemony of Covid-19, such garments should be mothballed, along with self-indulgent peacocking sessions around the east end.