Full Grandpa Tweed

Tweed blazer | whatkumquat.com

A good tweed blazer is like a retainer. Both are decidedly unsexy and conjure up memories of being in school—the former via your math teacher’s uniform and the latter via you, post-braces—yet once you have them, you’re likely to be wearing them for the rest of your life.

Tweed blazer | whatkumquat.com Tweed blazer | whatkumquat.com

There are two types of tweed. There’s Chanel tweed, reminiscent of UES grandmothers who keep dogs in their purses and are either named Mary, Susan, or Mary-Susan. And then there’s full grandpa tweed. Boxy, more practical than fashionable, and complete with the distinct odor of cigar smoke.

Personally, I fall into the camp of full grandpa tweed enthusiasts. I love a good shoulder pad. I love a good masculine silhouette. And I love a good diner dinner at 4pm, which in my opinion is as essential to committing to the geriatric lifestyle as dentures are.

Tweed blazer | whatkumquat.com

And when you’ve committed to dressing like the elderly, there’s no turning back. You may as well throw on a mom-jeans-and-turtleneck combo to make Steve Jobs shed tears of joy, because committing is a commitment and you don’t half ass looking like walking birth control.

Which is how I came to find myself prancing around the West Village, looking like your geometry teacher from Grade 9 who you could tell once had a dream but promptly killed it upon entering the public school system.

I think I’d rather wear this beaut of a blazer with a matching skirt to jooj it up a little and make it more 23-year-old friendly. Though, given that the words “I just had the best oatmeal of my life!” exited my mouth yesterday, I think all hope is lost on retaining my youth. Tweed blazer | whatkumquat.com
Tweed blazer | whatkumquat.com

Tweed blazer | whatkumquat.com


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