An Ode to Cool Dads

On a bleary-eyed morning last summer I walked into my parents’ kitchen to find my dad sending chia seeds, kale, coconut water, maca, celery, a frozen banana, and a purple carrot into the Vitamix. His costume for this ritual was a pair of perfectly frayed and faded denim cutoffs and black New Balance running shoes which, in men’s sizes, are an alarmingly clunky sight to behold.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt but had a blue and white dishtowel flung over his shoulder. He poured the green concoction into two glasses, handed one to my mom, and glided off into his studio. “Twins!” my mom said as I walked towards her. And she was right. I too was wearing knee-length denim cutoffs and bulky black running shoes (worn, temporarily and weirdly, with a bathing suit top). I was flattered, somewhat to my surprise, by her exclamation. My dad had looked so cool this morning.

His closet, like the closets of many cool dads, is comprised of meticulously hung, folded, and stacked jeans, t-shirts, flannels and button-downs. From a distance, everything appears to be a shade of blue, but upon closer inspection dashes of black, white and gray will appear. There are dozens and dozens of the everything.

To the untrained eye, all like-objects appear to be identical to one another. There are multiple pairs of brown leather slip ons, clog-like shoes and running sneakers. My dad does not run. There are denim baseball hats, a few spun cashmere scarves and fleece vests. Fabrics are unfailingly sturdy.

Dads have a knack for blurring the line between high and low — tee shirts by Gap and Theory will hang alongside each other and, on the dad, will be indistinguishable. Items are only added to the collection if they are soft to the touch and come in a “good” shade of their color.

My dad wears jeans to his appointments (with clients, the dentist, the accountant, etc.); he wears them to work, to dinner parties, to holiday parties, to the movies, to hang out in the kitchen. A pair of khakis would look alien on him.

He looks like Larry David and eats at least one half of a full-sized salted dark chocolate bar every day. He drinks decaf every morning. He has an (excellent and sparsely followed) Instagram account and frequently responds to my text messages with nothing more than the thumbs up emoji.

The dad look is not something that can easily be mimicked. To appear as cool as these dads, one must be of their kind. Their look is streamlined because they’ve lived — and therefore have refined their tastes. They teach us the importance of having the confidence to know what you like and feel best in and, if you want, to unapologetically wear a version of it every day.

We can wear fleece when it’s snowing without a hint of irony. We can unlearn terms like “basic” and “normcore,” because to call such a look “normcore” is to minimize, misunderstand, and insult what’s indigenous to dads. The look isn’t about post-fashion, irony, or a lack of care — it’s about comfort, subtlety and reliability. Really, truly, and like my dad, I believe there is nothing better than the perfect t-shirt and a great pair of jeans.

As we grow up and in turn refine our daily practices, it’s difficult to think of a — for lack of a better word — cooler thing to strive for than dressing (and acting) more like the cool dads of the world. We are told that we become our parents as we get older. Finally, we have something to look forward to.

Image via Le 21ème