Whys and Wherefores: Season 1, Issue 1
"A haunted house, with a picket fence, to float around and ghost my friends."
A few weeks after I’d moved into my first apartment in DC, it snowed. It wasn’t like the snow I’d encountered in South Carolina — winter weather there was always more ice than powder. Yet here I was, in early March of 2015, having my first brush with real snow. There wasn’t much of it, certainly not to the levels we’d receive a year later, and what little there was already melting when I decided to venture out of my Dupont dwelling on a Saturday afternoon. I grabbed my Wayfarers, my Dad’s leather jacket, headphones, and went out for a walk. My roommate was out of town, and I was already feeling a bit melancholy about being cooped up all weekend due to bad weather — I rounded a corner near the infamous Spanish Steps and caught my reflection in a car side mirror.
For a second, I felt elation. It was immediately followed by sadness. I was wearing my Dad’s leather jacket, and for a fleeting moment, I looked eerily like him. It was like seeing a ghost.
My Dad’s leather jacket is one of the first pieces of clothing I actively remember obsessing over. A World War II-style bomber jacket, the coffee-colored silhouette clung to him like a glove. He said he’d found it at an old Army Surplus store; the tag inside confirms as much. It looked timeless on him and exuded a level of cool, similar to the fashion icons of his era — the Newmans and Redfords and Deans.
I talked at length one afternoon — it was in the car on the way to or from church (I can’t quite recall all the specifics) — about how much I wanted one of my own. I got one as a Christmas gift one year, but it didn’t feel the same. My gifted jacket didn’t have the cool factor his version had. I realize now, with the benefit of understanding a bit more about how the world of fashion works, the jacket was made to last decades. It was, indeed, an heirloom piece. But the jacket meant a lot to me because it was, simply, his.
Memory is always a tricky thing. But was especially thorny in the days, weeks, and months following his passing. It’s all a blur, not out of repressed memories (although I’m sure there’s an element of that at play), but just because things moved so quickly. He passed on October 3, we all went back to school shortly after, and then came the holidays with the breakneck pace in which they always arrive; time never allowed us the respite we needed to grieve. All this to say: I don’t recall when exactly my Mom decided I’d be the one to inherit his jacket. In retrospect, I feel guilty about the speed in which it feels it was decided I’d be the one to have it. Maybe it was because of that car conversation all those years ago. Nevertheless, I had it now.
The level of unobtainable cool I’d yearned for all that time was now in my hands. I slipped on the jacket whenever when the pain was too much, and I needed a memory of him to make it through. Paired with Wayfarers — his shades of choice — I felt unstoppable. Until the universe, almost quite literally, stopped me in my tracks on a snowy DC day years later.
October brings Halloween. I’ve always enjoyed the holiday because I like coming up with elaborate costume ideas and then executing them. My girlfriend and I recently moved to a house, which means we have an outdoor space to decorate for the first time in quite a while. I didn’t waste any time in hanging up all kinds of seasonally appropriate items: styrofoam tombstones, a ghost, faux spider webs, and a skeleton on our patio bench. October also marks the anniversary of Dad’s passing. My Mom came to visit earlier this month, and we talked about the decorations I’d put up. She said after he passed, she didn’t like the furnishings people would hang up because it reminded her of graveyards, which in turn, made her think of Dad.
I then thought about that day in the snow and of his jacket and how scared I was in the moment because it felt like I had seen a ghost. I realize now, though, spirits aren’t always bad things. They can be haunting or scary, but you don’t have to let them paralyze you. It was a reminder, perhaps a little bit too literally, that I am a lot like my Dad. Wearing his jacket is just another way I can help keep his memory alive — a gift, not a curse. Keeping the spirits of the ones who matter most close by shouldn’t be scary, it should be reassuring. And I’m happy to let that ghost linger as long as it wants.
Welcome to Whys and Wherefores. The first ‘Season,’ as I’m calling it, will focus on a material biography of clothing I have in my wardrobe. My Dad’s leather jacket felt like a natural starting point. I promise not all issues will be this heavy.
In particular, this issue owes a significant bit of debt to filmmakers Mike Flanagan and David Lowery. They’re not reading this issue (lol), but I recently rewatched Doctor Sleep and watched A Ghost Story, and the themes of those movies helped to crystalize my thoughts a little bit more clearly when it comes to death and what happens after.
In case you missed it, at Complex last week, I reviewed Aaron Sorkin and Netflix’s The Trial of the Chicago 7. Parts of it (the script, a majority of the performances) worked. Other portions (Sorkin’s tendency to over-do, a woefully miscast Eddie Redmayne) didn’t. You can read the full review here.
I also reviewed the new Borat sequel, which I cannot belive is as damn good as it is. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since I saw it yesterday; this thing feels fearless. I hope it won’t turn into a meme like the first one did, because I think there’s potential for it to become one of the defining comedic works of the Trump presidency. Review can be found here.
Times are wild but you can hang in there. Wear your mask. Thanks for reading and see you next week.
If you enjoyed this week’s issue and feel compelled to do so, please consider leaving a virtual tip for a cup of coffee by visiting this link.