Wow, fam, we all collectively bricked it. What feels like three weeks ago, we were lamenting how summer is the most swagless sartorial season of all and Jake Woolf was still serving Four Pins and dropping thinkpieces defending minimal layers and taking a hiatus from semi-occasional hemlines.
Now, we're almost half way through September and Lawrence and Moy and some other other bloke are wearing bombers and overcoats like Autumn is about to here tomorrow. (FYI it'll be here on September 22. Labor Day isn't the end of summer. We were all duped by the media and the beach/pool's Draconian rules smfh.)
We're nine months removed from January. We're closer to Thanksgiving than we are to last Memorial Day. We're closer to the release of the Yeezy 3 than we are to that one Sunday in February. Time is a flat circle and there's less time to #TrueDetectiveSeason2 than time since Ruse Cohle's first Lone Star induced synesthesia monologue.
I don't know how time seems to move so quickly. It's without a doubt, one of the biggest mindfucks there is in life. When you distill something down by measuring it in days and weeks, everything seems like it makes sense. You scroll through down your Instagram profile and you click on a photo of you and your boys at the first rooftop party of the year. IG tells you that you took it 24W ago. So, 24 failed Friday nights have come and gone since then. 24 anxiety ridden Sunday nights. And 24 "I'm not really going to go out, but I'll have a couple beers" Thursdays have past.
A lot happens in 24 weeks. But at the same time, nothing happens. You work the same job. Your closet still looks the same. Your bank account hovers between three and four digits and everything you said you were going to do in those 24 weeks hasn't happened. Six months has happened—AN ENTIRE HALF A YEAR—and you feel like you've done nothing with your life.
Awareness of your own mortality is a product of being an equally anxious and selfish person plugged into too many things with too much time to think about shit like this. If you go by the average lifespan of an American male at 77 years, you basically have 154 of those 24 week segments. If you make up the average Four Pins reader, you've already used up somewhere around 50 of your 24W Instagram blocks. So, give or take, you've got 104 more opportunities to:
-Become a next level #influencer
-Start a family
-Become the starting PG for the New York Knicks
-Find, talk to and marry endgame wifey
-Watch Seinfeld in its entirety
-Get street styled by Tommy Ton
-Have a tweet favorited by one @SartoriallyInc
-Intercept a ball thrown by Tony Romo
-Become a Four Pins commenter turned writer
-Buy a pair of visvim FBTs an an investment piece
-Write off an Our Legacy bomber as a work expense
-Set a thirst trap on LinkedIn
-Buy a surfboard, so you can chill at Saturdays NYC
How the fuck is it September already?
Nickolaus Sugai has a Twitter account with three figures. Follow him on Twitter here.