I couldn’t tell you how many hooded sweatshirts I own. Even if I tried to count them, tore apart my closet and emptied the numerous storage bins I have stashed in various places, I’d likely never find them all. It’s somewhere between 20 and 100. Lifetime? Maybe 500. Truth is, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to feel the crushing pressure of all those decisions, of all that time and money spent amassing a collection that has tremendous value, but only to me.
Every hoodie is different, and I love them all. Not equally, of course. But as a concept, they are all important to me. I recall pivotal moments in my life through hoodies of the past — the Carhartt thermal zip my dad got me at True Value before I started eighth grade; the Ecko Unlimited hoodie I got a few years later at Yellow Rat Bastard; the hoodie from my college lacrosse team, which meant more to me than any of the few minutes I got to actually play.
Every year I look forward to the start of hoodie season, when the weather warrants the additional layer. When I buy a jacket, I always ask myself: Will a hoodie fit under this? I get weirdly specific about hoodies at certain times. Right now I can’t stop thinking about the perfect heather gray with a navy blue print. On family vacation in Maine this summer, I had to pull over several times on the long drive home in search of a hoodie that fit the vision.
Wearing a hoodie is an art. One has to understand not just fit and color but how to shape the garment on the body. When I was a kid I used to discard the drawstring and rip the collar, straight down a few inches from center, so that the hood could lay open wider. Now I like to cinch the hood slightly and tie a bow. No hoodie looks right without that bow ← another “fashion trend” started by skaters.
In fact, the drawstring might be the most important part of the hoodie. It’s what makes it feel infinitely customizable in the way I love. A recent Instagram rant by the good and correct homie Heron Preston declared that the drawstring represents a “return to authenticity” (something you know I love), and I wholeheartedly agree. A hoodie without a drawstring is not only senseless, it’s antithetical to the hoodie’s essence.
Of course, the hoodie has deep historical and cultural significance that hits close to home for me. For anyone, most likely. No matter how you identify or from which nook of life you emerged, there’s almost definitely a hoodie that holds this significance for you. Whether you’re a skate rat or a hooper, a hardcore junky or a rap nerd, there’s a hoodie that has empowered you and fortified your very existence. The Hookups and Victory Records hoodies of my youth were literal extensions of me, worn til the elastic cuffs frayed, worn to pieces, or until my girlfriend stole them.
Some recent hoodies I’ve loved: A grey one like this from the enigmatic Japanese fishing brand Creek Angler’s device; this Our Legacy Work Shop Hood in the best color yet; a perfect heather grey zip-up from 1LDK’s in-house brand Universal Products; and the lightweight hoodie we just made in collaboration with Camber. None of these hoodies have anything in common, really, except that they’re hoodies. Other garments just don’t work that way.
The hoodie has a unique and specific kind of swag. Which is why it’s also the ultimate egalitarian piece of clothing. Not just because there is a hoodie out there at just about any pricepoint, that meets the very specific needs of just about anyone. But because it’s the only thing that automatically makes anyone wearing it look cooler. It’s what people think a leather jacket is. There really is only one way to wear a hoodie: No one can tell you what it is. You have to put one on to find out. Just make sure it has a drawstring.
