This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
I have to admit that I am woefully late to the linen game. Having once thought that the wrinkles of the fabric were somehow a sign of dishevelment, I now see how wrong I was. Linen, for me, has been the best discovery of mine, sartorially speaking, this year. And, dear Reader, I am here to convince you of the same.
In linen, I feel like I am in the south of France, dressed for a stroll à la Alain Delon. I like to go for a shirt size larger (preferably in white or navy) and with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of comfortable chinos on. Perhaps a pair of loafers if I’m strolling in town, or barefoot through my kitchen garden. The linen is, somehow, naturally casual. I have embraced this wholeheartedly.
Not only that, but I am prone to profuse sweating. I’m not made for Summer, with most of my ancestors coming from the Nordic and British Isles. This leaves me uncomfortable from June to August. Well, not so in linen. The breathability and relaxed structure keeps me cool, eliminating the unsightly underarm markings of the season.
As for the wrinkles – get used to them! They’re a sign of being relaxed, maintaining a laissez-faire approach to style. They show you don’t take yourself too seriously. They’re part of the appeal, to remain a little undone in the hot Summer months. It’s nice to be a bit disheveled over cocktails once in a while, wouldn’t you agree?
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