I’m trying not to dress like a fisherman. Which is an odd thing to say. Particularly beneath a picture of me dressed like a fisherman.

I have no interest in fishing. The closest I come to piscatorial appreciation is a fish finger sandwich. But then neither do I have any interest in the US railroad workers of the 1940s. Or soldiering. Or exploring. Or manual labour, in any of its spine-bothering manifestations. So why is 75% of my wardrobe made-up of pockets?

I have a growing unease with the ubiquity of the multi-layered, multi-pouched lifestyle. If it’s not luxe gardening wear, it’s a military-remix. If it’s not revisionist workwear, it’s a zillion synthetic gorpcore hats, hoods and harnesses. I bought a pair of cords recently with a pocket on the ankle  — I mean, what the fuck is that about?

I blame Engineered Garments  — or rather the sustained influence of their success. My IG waterfalls with hooded smocks, field parkas and pertex t-shirts  — a ceaseless Fantasia of marching Snow Peak flexible insulated cardigans.

I don’t feel ‘over it’ as such. And I’m certainly not thinking of taking a dive into Balenciaga‘s sparkly glory-hole. I’m just looking at these images of me in my EG cover vest and seeing something about as radical as a middle-aged mum in a pair of Vejas. I think I’m suffering from fatigues fatigue.

Not entirely sure what do do about it either? I only bought this vest about two weeks ago (despite feeling jaded by the nuclear-pocket thing for months.) One minute I’m dosing off in front of an identikit scroll of Fidlock buckles, the next I’m priming my Paypal for another ‘action man’ belt.

Sacoche bags? 3D pockets? Is this the entirety of menswear right now? Sure there’s tailoring, but a wedding is the most formal thing I ever have to attend and even then, my battalion of unstructured suiting is more than up to the task. I’m never going full-streetwear. Normcore only looks like a ‘thing’ on the super young. And in Rick Owens I’d look like the Child Catcher out of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. What am I missing here?

I’m aware my self-indulgence is off the charts. But equally, this is a cry for help. A man with a confused vibe is no kind of man. And right now my vibe appears to belong on a commercial crabbing boat.