Leandra Medine's Blog, page 630

The Five People You Meet on the Subway

You know it’s summer in New York when you prefer the smell of your month-old yogurt to the subway.

Trapped some 50 feet underground, takeout wrappers marinate in old newspaper folds among discarded change. If Manhattan is a melting pot, its trash is the amalgam of all the scraps that didn’t make it to the dinner table. And this, of course, is precisely why I love this city.

I spend a lot of time on the subway shuttling to and from places of work and leisure, various appointments and the occasional fitness class to which I am almost always late. I spend a lot of time trying not to fall asleep in the topknot of my seat mate, or jam the surface of my armpit into the face of the person below me — lord knows Secret may be strong enough for a man, but it’s no match for a Manhattan summer.

In all my twenty odd years riding the subway, I’ve found that Gogurt is the most transportation-friendly breakfast. I’ve also found that on any line, at any time, on any day I choose to ride, the following five passengers will be riding right beside me.

Oh, is My Music Too Loud?

It’s 8:20 a.m. and Laidback Luke next to you appears to be sleeping. His Beats by Dre however, tell a different story. From the looks of it, his headphones are on their fifth cup of coffee and they’re struggling to keep up with the EDC playlist Luke has prepared for them.

For the remainder of the ride, you will concentrate on your breath as you shoot glaring looks at Luke. He won’t notice. His eyes remain closed until miraculously, he jumps up just in time to make his transfer.

Five Course Franny

Five Course Franny always had a pack of Dunkaroos when recess rolled around. They were vanilla frosting-flavored with rainbow sprinkles and when she was done, she’d cleanse her palate with celery sticks. Now that Five Course Franny is grown and has a full time job, she must eat her meals in transit.

Never one to compromise her nom, Franny packs her breakfast in a string of Glad containers. She carries with her a single kitchen spoon and some Wet Ones, and has zero problems assembling a Greek yogurt parfait while standing up. She will one day lead the fight against dolphin obesity; the cure of which she is sure revolves around a balanced breakfast.

The Hot Dude Reading Who You Swear You Made Eye Contact With

He gets on at Smith Street. His carefully man-scaped beard suggests a deep level of dissatisfaction with his midtown office job. His flannel insinuates he’d rather be kicking it in Brooklyn with a creative cohort but also, that he is able to afford air conditioning.

Maybe you’ll muster up the courage to tell him that you, too, love Cormac McCarthy. Maybe you won’t. Maybe your phone will give you a damn signal so that Happn app can do its job.

The Peanut Gallery

The Peanut Gallery travels in a pack of at least five. They are chatty. They are loud. And they are almost always carrying Century 21 shopping bags. Reluctant as you are to admit it, you kind of want to skip your stop and hang out with them.

The Performer

To hell with Broadway prices; for $2.75 you can get the performance of your life. Or, you can get the magician whose “party trick” involves half a deck of cards and a loose tongue, but hey! This is New York. You might just get a six piece Mariachi band, a Parkour expert or a ukulele playing parakeet. No shame in the game. Just don’t miss your stop.

Drawing by Joseph Amar

While we’re categorizing “types,” what kind of shopper are you? Did someone say shopping? Check out Leandra’s shopping cart here. Need outfit inspo? These girls (and guy!) have some great closets to show off.

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Some Summer Outfit Inspiration

The color pink beat out the It’s-a-Girl! stereotype at least a few years ago when it had its runway comeback (Céline, Simone Rocha, Carven — you remember), but as we know in fashion: just because a trend flag is raised doesn’t mean we’re ready, willing or able to wear it.

I’ve been off pink since 2001, just around the same time Paris Hilton declared it her personal trademark and young men realized it made their tans look good.

Pink’s a shade I’ve appreciated and it’s a visual story I’ve championed from the bench. But not since I named every doll I owned “Sally” have I been so gung-ho about the color, and I credit every fiber of my excitement to her, my summer 2015 inspiration (for a non-shorts outfit option):

(That’s me in the green like, “Daaaamn. Where I can get a pink seersucker suit and linen waistcoat and non-douche-y suede hunting hat like that?)

Here’s why it worked:

1) The wrinkles — typically considered a flaw in other fabrics but considered a part of the seersucker package deal — add instant nonchalance. If there’s one thing you don’t want pink to be, it’s precious.

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2) The linen waistcoat is neutral in color, but not territory: it’s a unisex item of clothing more typically worn on a man, but what men cannot do (or dear god, should not do) is wear it bare-necked and without a shirt.

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3) The hat looks like it’s a part of her daily life as opposed to feeling like a contrived accessory. How to achieve that? Buy a hat that speaks to you. Wear it, love it, break it in, let it get rained on, sit on it by accident once or twice.

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4) She has swagger. But you do too. Catch your sportcoat behind your hip, stick your fingers in your pant’s hand hammocks, face the breeze, chin up, and chill.

There you go.

Photos by Le21Eme and Tommy Ton for Style.com.

Want to find other ways to attain (or fake) cool? What about being like this cool dad? You could also try to figure out what’s up with stripes, or take a minute to ponder the three-quarter length sleeve.

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The Thing About Three-Quarter Length Sleeves

Fashion and high school have one very fundamental thing in common, which is that they are both supposed to facilitate our accumulating identity. Both institutions are there, at least as far as I am concerned, to provide the resources we need in order to formulate who we are, or want to be. They’re both supposed to provide unbiased choice — underscoring their own senses of identity in an already-executed puzzle, allowing you to put your pieces together however you deem appropriate.

But the thing about my high school, a modern orthodox Jewish day school planted on the middle of the Upper East Side, is that it doesn’t — or didn’t — quite know what it was. According to similarly-minded Jewish schools in the Tri-state area, we weren’t quite religious enough to plausibly call ourselves orthodox in any of its varying permutations. Next to the prep schools, though, we were whimps primed to extoll the virtues of studying humanity’s greatest piece of literature: the bible. The bible!

That we didn’t quite know where to position ourselves outside the walls of our classrooms during those malleable years of personal evolution might seem problematic, right? But maybe not. Maybe providing more room to chalk up the definition of “identity” to what we wanted to make it given the lack of existing format made all the difference. Like a road less traveled in a Robert Frost poem, or whatever.

And you can argue the same about fashion. Without direction — without the proverbial boxes in which we are supposed to be placed, brimming with de facto garments that speak for our opinions and policies and ideas and thoughts, clothes are just clothes. Sure, they can talk, but they won’t say much.

Of course, though, in this current era of personal style, these boxes have been abandoned. Who wants to be subjugated to a box? I am individual, hear me roar! Let me explore the gray area! See my pants — they vary in trend! Notice my sleeves — they do ten different things! Which brings me to a recent trend that’s been resurfacing in its confused glory: the three-quarter length arm. Here’s a length that’s like a waiting room. You’re not in, you’re not out. It won’t keep you warm but might get you hot. It’s not short, it’s not long, and as far as I’m concerned poses the same question fruitcake does: why ruin two good things (fruit and cake, long sleeves and short sleeves) by combining them?

But maybe I’m being close-minded here. Or thinking too granularly. Maybe three-quarter length sleeves are like the therapy session you never went to. Not a girl, not yet a woman, the length is perhaps a placeholder for dressers looking to say what they think they want to say but haven’t quite figured out. Like a school that maintains two disparate belief systems, they’re kind of a work in progress.

You should further your education on sleeves. Or get educated on Summer Wine. Or perhaps you want to read about a dad with cool style. Or the bed of which you’re depriving yourself. Or a workout routine that you can do at your desk!

The post The Thing About Three-Quarter Length Sleeves appeared first on Man Repeller.

We’re Getting Married! Or, Uh, Dani Stahl Did, At Least

‘Tis the season, it seems, to get married. Which Dani Stahl, Nylon’s style director dutifully did and then generously let us into with her edition of New York Closets, chronicling the week leading up to her nuptials and the power suit at City Hall that came with it — the Ralph Lauren boots that walked through it, the Fendi and Chanel that punctuated it and, duh, the union that emerged from it. Watch and see! Happy Monday!

Monday

Off to the courthouse we go! I realize this is just a technicality of sorts — ya know, something the law makes you do before the actual BIG day — but to me this was MAJOR outfit opportunity #1. White Armani power suit, what else would I wear? Seriously.

Wearing: Armani Suit, Calvin Klein Tank, Louboutin pumps, Custom Edie Parker Dani bag, Oxydo Sunglasses

Tuesday

Piercing party! Woot woot! My best friends from high school decided we should all get pierced in honor of my upcoming nuptials. Now considering I’ve been talking about getting a second piercing for about a decade, Shoshanna (one of aforementioned best friends) felt it was time I take the plunge and made us all appointments at Venus by Maria Tash on Broadway. To be clear, for as much as I’ve talked about it I’ve never actually been committed to doing it. In fact, this picture is of me headed to the piercing place without any real intention of going through with it. However, once I got there I decided (peer pressure) this was the moment — plus we all decided on tiny matching gold heart studs and it was too cute to pass up. I’m obsessed. Oh and the look? Valentino floral. It felt right, naturally.

Wearing: Valentino dress, Polo Ralph Lauren boots, Hue Socks, Saint Laurent sunglasses

Wednesday

Dancing lessons! Confession: My husband-to-be and I both have two left feet when it comes to dancing — proper first-dance-dancing for our wedding. (Note that up in the club I like to think I have a few solid moves). It only seemed right that we take a lesson, and being that the wedding was only 3 days away, a double-lesson at the Arthur Murray Dance Center was in order. I had the perfect white DKNY dress for this occasion, one of my favorite dresses of the Spring ’15 season. I felt like an absolute ballroom queen, even if Dave (husband-2-B) made fun of me for getting so dressed up. But what did he think I was going to wear?

Wearing: DKNY dress, Christian Louboutin white pumps, Marie Robinson blow out (it was a good hair day)

Thursday

As a thank you to both of our parents, Dave and I planned a special pre-wedding dinner for all of us at Bouley. Bouley is a great French restaurant in New York that I have always liked for special occasions. I wore a white Fendi dress and knee-high boots. I have a heightened obsession with Fendi these days; I basically want to wear everything that has come down that runway (including that giant puffer coat from Fall/Winter). Anyhow, back to this perfect little white dress — I guess that sums it up, actually — perfect. By the way, dinner was an eight-course meal. Wedding diet, be damned.

Wearing: Fendi dress, Fendi boots, Saint Laurent glasses

Friday

The Rehearsal Dinner. We had our rehearsal dinner at 21 Club. It’s an old school New York institution (former speakeasy) and I wore Chanel, which I always knew I’d want to wear for this occasion. I saw this dress about 7 months ago when I first got engaged and couldn’t determine which I liked more: dress or marriage. The fit, the fabric, the Chanel of it all.

Wearing: Chanel dress, Chanel bag (not shown), Christian Louboutin pumps

Saturday

MY WEDDING DAY!!! MY WEDDING DRESS!!! The place: The Park Hyatt New York. The dress: Valentino. I can confidently say this is the most special dress I will ever wear. Floor length, perfectly cinched waste, cap sleeve, layers of tulle, gold and silver embroidery, and little fluoro pink beading throughout. Topped with two skinny signature barbed wire Gigi Burris headbands, Cartier diamond and pearl earrings, and last but NOT least, custom Christian Louboutin shoes with giant pink and white bows in the back! A total princess moment. I felt as if I was floating on air all night, it was even described to me that way. And the best part of it all, boyfriend now = husband!

Sunday

Last night was magical but now it’s time to leave the Park Hyatt hotel after a GINORMOUS breakfast (my other great love is room service). My look: casual chic. After all of my designer lewks from the week I am back to my usual high/lo dressing. Plus it’s Sunday, so gotta keep it real. One thing though — I just couldn’t give up my bouquet.

Wearing: Zara dress, Hurley gingham button-down, Converse sneakers, Dior shades, Chanel bag

And that smile, man, it’s priceless.

Follow NYLON Magazine Style Director Dani Stahl on Instagram, Twitter, and check out her post for wedding-perfect skin on Mario Badescu’s blog here.

Want more from our Closets series? Or you could get personal with the creators of the highly-coveted brand Tibi. If you’re seeing stripes, it’s because the Resort ’16 runway is full of them. Traveling soon? Grab a glass of Yes Way Rosé and pretend like you’re riding like a Royal Kardashian.

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Sleep: Your Long-Lost BFF

“Make time” is a bullshit societal construct invented by personal trainers and professional guilt trippers. “You don’t find time,” they tell you, “you make it,” as though time is a baked good and the recipe is on Pinterest and the ingredients come pre-chopped and divided up into little glass bowls.

But unless you’re a life-chef (if you are, get out) then you know that to be busy/crazy/overwhelmed/overworked means there’s not one extra hour of your day that can possibly be creatively rearranged.

The problem is, those closest to you are often the ones to get cut.

You know that one friend who you love — truly love, not a glorified acquaintance nor mid-tier pal — who you just don’t get to see?

You make every effort, every dedication. You swear allegiance to new resolutions, like putting those who matter first, leaving the office at a normal hour, not checking your phone. You promise you’ll spend quality time with her this week (“Finally!”); you swear that this night is going to be about you two — pinky promise.

The difference between these pledges and others is that with this friend, it’s sincere. There’s none of that, “Hey girl, let’s get a drink!,” followed by an apathetic but polite, “Totally!”

You miss her. You really do.

If you ran into this friend on the street you would stop your conversation, drop your bags and embrace. You’d jump up from a dinner date and run at her with excitement. If you could, you’d spend all day doing absolutely nothing together — just like when you were kids, or lazy teenagers.

You’d ditch boyfriends for her, nights out for her, workouts for her for sure.

But you don’t. You can’t. The daily rush gets in the way. There are familial obligations to respect, career deadlines to adhere. You’re like the dad from Liar Liar: well intentioned with confused priorities. “She’ll understand,” you reason. And she will, so you cancel yet again.

This friend for me is as steadfast as a Golden Retriever. Open. Welcoming. Loyal. Always down to hang out, there when I need her. Totally cool when I can’t be there for her. Understanding when I bail because of work, gym or travel.

This friend for me is my bed.

Catch up on what you missed over the weekend, like Dadvice from a Writers Club member and poem about mourning the loss of Game of Thrones. Add a new word to your vocab: do you know what PFSD means? Then grab a hat, grab a baby, and ask yourself: should I stay, or should I go?

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Life Without ‘Game of Thrones’

Careful! Mild “GOT” spoiler alerts below. If you haven’t finished the season finale yet, this post about “Game of Thrones” fashion is a safe bet.

It’s Sunday night!

Time for a fight

To win the throne

But then, a groan.

I miss my Snow

My dreamy beau.

Now on my own,

The weekend’s blown.

My broken heart

Is torn apart

Yearning to save

Stark from the grave.

And Stannis tossed?

Is Daenerys lost?

Saw the accost

But then ’twas glossed.

So now we wait,

We must debate

Til season six

Comes to the fix.

Stare at the screen

Feels awfully mean

Sunday’s new low:

I miss my show.

Words by Emily Siegel, illustration by Gabi Anderson (did you see her in our Illustrators to Know post?). Follow them both at Urban Ditty, and read their poems on MR, like this one about overalls, this one about dating apps and this one about scary bouncers. Still have the Sunday Scaries? Try watching the third season of Orange Is the New Black. Still not cutting it? Fashion always helps. 

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Father’s Day Dadvice

Drink good wine with quality friends.

Read often.

Don’t smoke, ever. Oh? Well, at least you’re honest.

Don’t do drugs. Oh? Okay, be less honest.

Surround yourself with positive people. Have loving relationships that challenge you. Don’t give all your power away. Recognize your own strength. Don’t be afraid of cheesy moments in life. The more fragrant the better.

Stick with the awkwardness, there is something magical beyond it. Go to yoga. Run. Hate it until you enjoy it.

Everyone fucks up. It’s who you are when you don’t get what you want that matters.

Balance. Don’t fit in, or do, but don’t compromise yourself. Don’t lose your virginity. Ever. Oh? Okay. Well, no regrets. Don’t just go out into the world to find your worth — know it. Take up your space. Your shape is in the universe so fill it, because no one else will fit.

Be kind to animals. Get drunk but get home safe. Debt — both financial and emotional — are not worth the interest.

Call home, even when you’re happy.

If you decide to not marry, that’s cool. If you want to own a donkey rescue sanctuary, that’s cool too. Don’t make choices based from fear. Don’t check out just because life is too hard.

Be grateful. Enjoy the highs and acknowledge the lows. Pass on the foie gras. Know you’ll never be destitute, so be courageous. Don’t sweat the small stuff, or the big stuff. It wont make a god damn difference. Come home whenever you need, just don’t stay too long and try not to wake your mother.

Do what you love and if you lack passion, travel. Seek. Persist, but also learn to say “fuck it” when it’s fucked. Recognize that sometimes cursing is the only way forward.

Listen to your intuition. Don’t be afraid to make a scene, because most of the time they’re glorious to behold. I have been watching for decades and it’s better than Shakespeare.

My dad is an Instagram inspiration guru, and I subscribe daily.

Speaking of dad, are you a dad-joker? What’s the most embarrassing thing your dad has ever done? Your dad’s probably not like a regular dad — he’s a cool dad. But how’s his beauty routine? What about his music taste style? Finally, check out Garrett Leight’s LA closet. He’s a dad. And he has a really, really cute baby. More published Writers Club submissions, right this way… 

Photograph via Time Life. Follow Kristina Ducker on Twitter

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An Apology to Hats

I’ve never liked hats. Didn’t want them. Didn’t need them. The particular accessory seemed aggressive. Hats, of all shapes and sizes had been dubbed high maintenance in my book.

They belonged to people who wanted others to look at them. I didn’t want to be that person, the one wearing a hat.

Until, that is, I wanted to be the one wearing a hat.

I was watching Baby Face for the third time in a forty-eight hour period when I found myself distracted by Barbara Stanwyck’s wardrobe. Before I knew it, a pre-code 1933 film starring my favorite Hollywood heartthrob became inspo for the foreseeable future.

Here’s why: Stanwyck’s character is flawed. Truly flawed. Vulnerable. Desperate. Does terrible things. But she’s smart. She’s ambitious. She raises her voice. She looks divine in her clothes, and she wears a hat. Granted, that was then — the thirties — and hats, like iPhones today, were just a thing you carried with you. But I’d never abandon my iPhone. Or call it obnoxious, so I guess I realized that hats aren’t as bad as I thought they were. What’s actually pretty bad is disavowing things for the sake of having an opinion. Which is something I’d like to do less.

I owe hats an apology.

See, the beauty of style is that it boosts that inner-thing that makes you, you. I think they call that self-expression. Stanwyck’s character, hopeless and hurting, going through a personal crisis, chose to wear a sundress and a hat. And what a message to send! “I’m going to be ok.” I like that.

This summer, I probably won’t be emphasizing which swimsuit I wear on the sand, but rather, the hat to go with it. The hat that covers the thing I cherish most (my brain!) and the choices I’m allowed to make, revoke, make again.

Hats aren’t like other accessories. There’s a nonchalance about them. They say, “If you think this is effort, you’re mistaken.” And that’s great.

Now I just grab sunglasses, a book and I go. Right towards the water.

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Need more summer accessories? Carry a bottle of wine from our Summer Wine Guide (wine’s an accessory)! Or why not try a scarf? Or some shades of our pickings? With said accessories, you’ll obviously need an ensemble. And a swimsuit to wear under said ensemble. And a beach read to go with that. Paperbacks or E-books?

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Should I Go Home? A Helpful Late Night Guide.

Quite often, the hardest part about going out is not so much the logistical strategy, the sartorial undertaking, nor answering the all-too-frequent question, “Where should we go?”

The hardest part is making the right decision about when to put your drink down, call it a night, and go home.

The wrong choice can put you in one of two unfavorable situations. Leave too early and you could miss The Night. The Night occurs on rare, magical occasions, like shooting stars, leap years and Kanye West’s rants on Twitter. The Night happens like love and lactose intolerance — when you least expect it — which makes it hard to effectively prepare. You know The Night: your crew almost didn’t go out. Everyone wore sneakers and the kind of sauce-stained gym clothes that double as pajamas when laundered. You go home because you’re a little tired, a little sober, a little bored.

Then half an hour later Bill Murray walks into the bar, buys everyone shots and starts a disco on the dance floor.

Excruciating as the post fomatic stress disorder may be, it’s often more tolerable than dealing with a morning of regrets which are the result of an evening-turned-marathon — the semi-sketchy party ripe with opportunities to politely bow out and songs that would have made satisfying exit scores long after the crowd was dwindling and yet, you decided to stay.

But how do you know? How is a mere mortal expected to make the right decision to go. the fuck. home?

With this guide.

Note: the below tips are most effective between the hours of 12 – 3 a.m. Any earlier than that and you need to suck it up. Any later than that and you need to haul ass into bed, stat. The witching hour starts promptly at 3:01 — nothing good happens between the hours of blackout and 6 a.m.

1. Safety First

Before you begin, rule out security concerns. Will I be stranded? Is my phone dead? Am I comfortable in this situation? Will I still be comfortable in this situation in 5 hours when the sun is coming out and all of my friends are gone? Where are my friends?

Play your own mother and listen to your gut here. If an alarm goes off in your head — even if the ringtone is “Samba,” go home.

2. Where Are My Belongings?

If you don’t know, especially if you’re asking this question with the contents of your purse in a pile on the bar’s bathroom floor, go home. Resume search in the morning. Lost phone > lost dignity.

3. Only Boring People Get Bored

If you find yourself whining the b-word, ask yourself if it’s the location, your present company, or you.

Location: If the bar truly “sucks” — and this happens (crowds get weird fast and awkward ghosts-of-hookups-past appear out of thin air) — then allow yourself to try one more spot. However, unless you’re on a bar crawl, very rarely does third time equal a charm on nights where venue-hopping feels like the answer.

Present Company: Theoretically speaking, you and your friends should be able to have fun in a cardboard box, but squads can have off-nights. First, try to revive the team. Play Your Song. Play a game. If no one’s having it, hug ’em and ditch ’em. Don’t let their bad vibes become your problem; don’t be a social martyr for the sake of an Instagram. There will be other nights. I promise. I swear.

You: If you’re the one not having it despite your pals charging forward, go home. If you’re the only one still hyped, however, make friends with a safe stranger and hang! Part of going out is meeting new people — just be sure you review list item #1.

4. Appearance Is Key

A simple question to ask yourself is: Do I look crazy? If the answer is, “Yes! You’re a confirmed psychopath,” go home. If you need a second opinion, ask the bartender. Where your mascara is relative to your lashes is often a good clue as well.

5.  Don’t Chase the Fun

Fun does not have legs. It is not running from you, so do not go running after it. Ever. The only time fun should make you work up a sweat is on the dance floor, at the beach, or while eating spicy foods with funny friends. Fun is like a butterfly in that it will come to you if you let it. If it’s not happening, say it with me: put the the drink down, stand up, call it a night, and go home.

Infographic made by MR summer intern Hannah Kellner. For more weird thoughts de Amelia, check out her June horoscope round-up. Looking for more helpful tips AND have curly hair? Rita Ora’s hairstylist is here to help. On another note: dude, what’s up with The Gap? It’s also Summer Friday. Open your fridge, take out a bottle of rosé, shove a wedge of watermelon in your mouth and celebrate.

The post Should I Go Home? A Helpful Late Night Guide. appeared first on Man Repeller.

Garrett Leight is the Best Dad on Earth

Missed Monday’s closet featuring Veronika Heilbrunner? Catch it here.

We have been holding on to this gem of a Closet for over a month, waiting for the magical weekend that is Father’s Day prep to release sunglass-aficionado Garrett Leight‘s week of divine wears. And how could we not be excited, really, considering the bomb-ass baby he was seen accessorizing with on three of his eight days as a Man Repeller-contracted supermodel? If ever there was a way to say “dad’s rule,” that kid’s smile is it. So I might not know much about men’s fashion, but babies — babies I know.

Per the clothes, you’ve got to give it to the Oliver Peoples veteran for wearing a Laker jersey two days counting in spite of Arizona’s 100-degree heat, no? And check out the slides! Also! Also! Leopard print harem pants? Abie, if you’re listening, I’m sorry but I do believe you’ve been stylistically eclipsed, which reminds me, community members: on a scale from 1 to 10 how important is it that I make Abie do a closet? LMK. Happy Father’s Weekend!

Sunday

Traveling day requires my go to jeans from RTH Shop, basic white Hanes Tee, Unis Varsity Jacket, Turnbull & Asser scarf, and J’s on my feet.

Monday

So happy to be home after being on the road. Wearing a Nom De Guerre Jacket, Chapter pants and Supreme Wallabee’s. Garrett Leight Kinney glasses. Ila’s in vintage jacket, OshKosh overalls, and Nike’s.

Tuesday

Bad mood because Ila threw up on my first two outfits, so I was over it and put on Supreme sweatpants, Hane’s tee, Kings hat, and my J’s.

Wednesday

Uniform day. Wearing RTH Shop Jeans, Vans, a vintage shirt from somewhere in Harajuku and GLCO Brooks Sunglasses.

Thursday

I’m wearing Chapter shorts, a vintage button up, Vans, a Stetson hat and GLCO Brooks Sunglasses.

Friday

Headed to the desert with the boys to watch the Dodgers. Gotta rock the Magic Johnson jersey to rep LA without being exactly like every other Dodgers fan there. Obviously paired with the uniform: RTH jeans, Vans shoes. Baby Ila’s in in pajamas, and my made in USA Boswell glasses with purple mirror lenses.

Saturday

100 degrees in Arizona. Jersey and my Japan Only Birkenstocks.

Sunday

Wearing vintage Levi’s from RTH Shop, Acne Studios button up, Mark McNairy shoes, and GLCO Wilson M glasses. Ila is in her PJs and a ridiculously cute hoodie with ears.

Follow Garrett Leight California on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook. You could also shop the GLCO site here. 

Want more from cool dads? Share the best advice you’ve ever received from dad with us! Or the best dad jokes. You could also show us your true stripes and rebel from your dad by shopping ’til you drop. 

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