Meridian specializes in the kind of excellent durable and tactile gear that the anti-soft-clothes movement (led by me) rallies behind. “Like, ‘acquiring this fucking crazy Australian shirt or cap, this is my vacation now.’ ” “There’s a narrative, and a unique enough quality to Man-tle that it can kinda be substituted for other cultural experiences,” says Logan. Despite that, the brand sells exceedingly well for him, mostly to Man-tle’s growing North American audience, and to those fortunate and adventurous souls who have not been financially affected by COVID (the shirts start at around $500). “People are intimidated by how hard the shirt feels,” he says. Man-tle’s advanced fabrics are pleasing to touch, but, says Sam Logan, owner of the Hudson, New York–based menswear shop Meridian, they don’t get very many try-ons in the store. That level of comfort you wouldn’t get any other way.” “Some never wash, and it becomes like oily leather, and others wash a million times and it becomes like paper. “People get all different results,” he says. These are clothes in their first state, Harry says, and you develop a relationship with them over time. Man-tle’s hardest garments, meanwhile-the pants and shirts cut from their signature chambray-are like a fresh pair of Levi’s or a cotton duck Carhartt jacket. People sloshing around in sweatsuits recall the human blobs in WALL-E. Sure, there’s an instant-gratification kind of cozy that lulls you into an amorphous state. “You put on a hard shell, and you have space to be relaxed within the garment.” For some, what soft clothes reveal is the entire point-but, says Harry, the void between you and your clothes, created by stiff fabrics and roomy cuts, is where comfort resides. “Soft garments give away a lot-you can see a lot in them,” adds Kim. This is a spiritual comfort as much as a physical one. This is the stuff you find at the hardware store, sure, but it’s being made by some of the best, most thoughtful designers in the world too-designers who share my affinity for clothes that do more than coddle you during sensitive times. Clothes that make you aware that you are wearing them, that’s what I like-natural fibers that itch a little, dense fabrics with a calming heft, a dry, crisp hand. Clothes with texture and structure and weight are better. Let me suggest something controversial: Hard clothes are better. Chemically enhanced sweats and petroleum-based fleeces are cheap thrills for your skin, but, like a saccharine-sweet dessert that makes you ill after a couple bites, they are not ultimately satisfying for the body or soul. Perhaps worst of all, it is not comfortable, even if it wants you to think that it is. Those cotton-poly-blend rags, brushed and enzyme-bathed into wearable dryer lint-that stuff is bad for you, and bad for the planet. Brands that sell sweatclothes may want you to think differently, but they are not the future of fashion. But, increasingly, I find that comfort is being conflated with softness, which is a mistake, because: Soft clothes are not good. To be comfortable is to be at ease, free of pain or constraint. And here in the esteemed halls of GQ, we are not interested in decoration. Even the most avant-garde, provocative, innovative, whacked-the-fuck-out clothes in the most rarefied shops in the world-they’re nothing but decoration if they aren’t comfortable. If something is uncomfortable, you’re going to take it off and never put it on again. The most important thing about clothes is-undeniably, unequivocally, unsurprisingly-comfort.
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