How I Dress Now: Justin Theroux
On boots, jeans and the merits of winter from the waist down
The same kind of guy who, if you told him you were stressed, might recommend that you “Just breathe, man.” (As if anyone could forget that particular component of not dying.) Often in summertime, these kinds of guys say things to me like, “Boy, I bet you're toasty!” To which I usually offer up a shrug and “I'm good,” all the while looking like the guy whose face melted when the Nazis opened the Ark of the Covenant in Raiders.
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In fairness to me, maybe my loyalty to these jeans and boots isn't so much an endorsement of them as it is an expression of my distaste for anything else. Other options seem almost too grim to contemplate.
Sweatpants? Cargo shorts? Light slacks?! Just the word slacks makes me anxious. And my boots might be functionally useless, but Teva sandals with Velcro fasteners? What's the thing with guys who wear those? I may not be panning for gold anytime soon, but are they going on a hike under a waterfall?
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