Saturday was a two-parter: the first half was spent in Brooklyn on nephew duty: we walked over to the brand new Barclays Center—I had only ever seen it at night, in a car, and wanted a proper look. And my nephew Eli—having already checked out the official Nets store about a thousand times so far—felt it had been too long since his last visit. Barclays Center is located on one of Brooklyn’s major thoroughfares: the busy, half-junky, half-gentrified traffic clusterbang that is Flatbush Avenue. There are a few taller structures here and there, but generally speaking, most everything on Flatbush is about three or four stories high. So this is what may come to mind as you approach the new Pride of Brooklyn:
Remember Independence Day?
It’s all quite a lot to encounter. Like for instance, this rather trippy bit of business: a huge “Oculus” ringed by an electronic display screen flashing an endless procession of ads. It’s a stunning spectacle in person—although not, apparently, if you are 10 years old and have been staring at, and interacting with, colorful, bright moving screens your whole life. In which case you will find nothing at all notable about encountering one that is about fifty BAJILLION feet high and does 360 degree loops.
The Nets Store is great: definitely the coolest looking sporting-related store of any kind I’ve ever seen, and they’ve got some fantastic stuff—like very realistic faux boix regulation Nets basketballs (not available on the e-commerce site, irksomely). And also a bumper crop of legitimately cute Nets t-shirts for women, which never happens in pro sports.
Part two of my day involved getting on a train to visit friends upstate and look at the pretty foliage, and therefore necessitated a wardrobe switch: it was hot in the city, and I was in cropped jeans and sandals. But it was going to be at least 20 degrees cooler by the time I got off the train later. So into my LL Bean tote, along with my Barbour jacket, an ancient blue crew neck sweater, and as little else as I could possibly get away with, I had thrown:
My new Rag & Bone tee, which is achingly light and soft, and yes on the pricey side, but as I anticipate wearing it pretty much three times a week between now until summer, I’m thinking things will go my way on the cost-per-wear front. The care directions say machine wash, but I never, ever would. My favorite T-shirts (in particular the ones I’ve spent a lot on) are like gold to me, and I treat them like I would anything I want to have last forever. Which means hand only washing, ever.
A pair of Citizens of Humanity jeans like these that I’ve had for a couple of years now. The wash has faded to this great grayish blue, and they’re the most comfortable things ever.
And a basic pair of black ankle boots not exactly like, but quite similar to, these. You get the idea. Simple. Likewise, the transition itself was to be streamlined, seamless. And it would have been, were it not the fact that I forgot to pack the jeans.
We have all been there yes? This wardrobe crisis was not simply aesthetic (calf-cropped jeans + ankle boots + barn jacket is a brand of dotty I’m waiting for my old age to embrace) but, more significantly, practical. I’d be freezing. And there was no time to return home and still make the train. There was only time—and this was only if the subway gods were on my side—to make a mad rush to the J. Crew a block or two from Grand Central on Madison Avenue and hope for the best.
And indeed, J. Crew had my back. These toothpick jeans hit right at the ankle (cropped but not really) and looked all sorts of sportif with the crew-neck sweater and the the ankle boots. The wash is the kind of excellently straight-up dark blue you don’t see enough of these days, and they’re mid-rise, which lends some dignity to the proceedings. I love them. And, seeing as how I almost missed the train entirely, making it exactly three minutes before departure, that is a very good thing.