It's not until you go to a party with your girlfriend—one that takes place in a garden, maybe with a canopy, maybe one you weren't explicitly invited to—that you realize you don't really have any hobbies. Someone might ask me what I've been up to and besides "work" and "driving here," I'm stumbling over and half-starting words, scrambling to try and find something I'd been doing that could count as a hobby besides "being on the Internet." Sometimes being busy and successful is boring, Engineered Garments. Anyways, they've started throwing together impeccably consturcted 8.5oz twill aprons, as if to say, "You need this, or you need to reassess your life." And now I need to become a carpenter. I wanna plane shit, get rough hands, maybe build a shelf to put books I won't read on. This might be it. I would look all kinds of intense if I strolled up in the office in a heavyweight apron, ready to bust my ass on some content, but maybe that's what we all need. Maybe nothing indicates that you have your life in order more than dropping a century on protective garments that you don't need, or confidence quite like rocking literally an entire apron to the soft media office you call home under a nice navy jacket with some jeans.
Sam Diss is a writer living in London. Follow him on Twitter here.
