If I could live and die in denim and moto leather, I would.
There's no substitute for my moto-jacket. It's travelled with me cross-country,
upstate when we had cabin fever,
the time I got hypnotized by
all the bright lights
and thought, for a moment,
that they all belonged to me.
was my security blanket through most of my twenties and served as armor for most of that time, as well. This week has really got me thinking about getting down to the bones of it all; getting rid of what's too much to carry or what I no longer really need to hang on to. Sifting through my wardrobe, on one hand in awe - "I can't believe I wore that!" - and on the other hand, completely ready to refresh. All this to say, some things that stay - like my personally infamous leather jacket - must really belong there, or else, well, I guess they turn to...denim.
Paired with bold statements and stilettos for fashion week, worn with flannels, messy curls, and no make-up to Home Depot on weekends.
If our clothes could talk. What secrets they'd hold, what stories they'd tell.
Photos by Stacey Belko