Hoodies
I once worked for Joe Zee, the fashion stylist, prior to his time on television, when he was editor-in-chief of a magazine called Vitals. Our days were long. Our nights were long. Vitals was a quirky fashion title – we did an issue about squash, the sport, not the vegetable, which meant I got to commission an essay from Tobias Wolff and overpay him wildly – and everyone paid attention to what was worn in the office. But nearly everyone kept something comfy around for late-night, the exhausted hours, skimming layouts with bloodshot eyes, and Joe always wore what I thought was the best sweatshirt I’d ever seen.
A hooded sweatshirt is always the same: cylinder with a cowl, two sleeves, kangaroo pocket. I don’t count zip-up sweatshirts, they’re different creatures, more like jackets, crossbred for function. But a pullover hoodie, a good one, is such fine clothing. It’s designed to be invisible; are many things more undifferentiated? I can’t think of another piece of clothing better made for a person to hide inside – and is that why I wear them while I write, why I like to write with my hood up? A hoodie is grounding. It is mass-produced. It is so common that an American lacking one is hard to imagine.
If you hate all notions of high and grandeur, it’s for you. If you appreciate the sublime, it’s also for you.
The first one I really ever missed was an all-cotton, navy blue Nike. I traded it to a college roommate for a sweater, I regretted my choice by week’s end. But the first I truly loved, that I still think about, came years later from The Gap. It was a dusty, dark green, double-faced, with ribbed panels on the sides for structure. It got lost in a move years ago. Then the night that Joe, normally suited in Prada or Dolce & Gabbana, first showed up to a meeting in a hoodie – not just any hoodie, but one I knew immediately: here in dusty crimson, ribbed on the sides, fitting just right – I had to ask him, was it Gap? Did he love it? It was, he said, and he did, he said he’d owned it for years. (Vitals folded about three months later.)
Sometimes my brain shorts out when I take on too-big ideas. As a kid, I liked to close my eyes at night and picture death, nothingness, the end of me, in order to feel that freaky stall when my imagination reached the end of its capabilities. But to focus small, on the insignificant, a hooded sweatshirt and what it means, allows things to emerge in my mind and not dissolve. I don’t know who I’d be if I didn’t wear hooded sweatshirts, if I wasn’t inclined to them – and what that inclination says, I’m not quite sure, but I think more than less.
Something new for supporters
In about two weeks, I’m launching a new feature called “Field Reports,” and there’s a special offer below if you haven’t signed up yet.
Here’s the deal: I want these Saturday mini-essays to be free for everybody. And people tell me they’re enjoying the Sunday supplements. But I also want to write something more substantial for paying supporters, and I need to be better about managing my time.
Starting February 19, in addition to the Supplement, paying subscribers will receive a longer essay once a month. It will replace that weekend’s Saturday essay and involve a wilderness trip somewhere – a little wanderlust to kick off your weekend.
If you’re already a paying supporter (thank you!), you don’t have to do anything, it’ll just show up in your inbox. If you’re not, it means you’ll receive one less essay per month. (Sorry!) However, if you do sign up, you get the whole thing: Saturday micro-essays, the Sunday supplements, and the monthly field report, which is why I’m running a 20% discount until Feb. 19 to get this thing off the ground. Via the button, for either monthly or annual plans:
The big hope beneath all of this, I guess, is that you want to support me because you want to help me put more things out into the world. If that’s true, I can’t say it enough: you have my deep, sincere, humble appreciation. Thank you.
Very deep holes
From tomorrow’s “Sunday Supplement” – the Sunday bulletin with three-plus ideas of things to love – some recommendations focused on art: abstract art made from sea salt; a couple favorite documentaries; and the woman who digs by hand very deep holes, plants fully grown trees in them, then covers everything up.
This is not the first time that Jordi Oetken has dug a massive hole. It’s an action that she returns to again and again, like a prayer or meditation.
If you’re not on the supporter train, hit that blue button above.
What the what
“Meditations in an Emergency” is a micro-essay published Saturdays by novelist Rosecrans Baldwin about things he finds beautiful, plus a monthly report sent from the wilderness. The Sunday Supplement is a weekly round-up of three-plus ideas for things to love, no paid placements lol 💸
Rosecrans is the bestselling author of Everything Now: Lessons From the City-State of Los Angeles, available from Bookshop, Amazon, or your local store. (If you’d like a signed copy for yourself or somebody else, reply to this newsletter or send a note.) Other books include The Last Kid Left and Paris, I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down. Rosecrans’s debut novel, You Lost Me There, was a New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice.
Any other books mentioned in this newsletter are featured on a Bookshop list.