The end of one year and the beginning of the next: (1) an ultimately meaningless transition that does little to divert the unrelenting flow of life, (2) a decent excuse to party, and (3) as good a time for any for picking the lint out of your navel and trying to see what it augurs. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks considering 2018 with an eye toward a better, more stylish 2019. I haven’t even made resolutions yet; I just wanted to see where I stood. So I’ve logged some rough data, crunched the numbers, and I have to be honest, 2018 was a rough one, style wise.
Here’s to more intentional wardrobe cultivation, honesty, and bolo ties in 2019.