The Fitchecker

a meditation on purpose and presence

I’m not sure who invented the mirror. For brevity purposes, I’ll let you look that one up. I’m not even sure if the mirror was officially invented. Did people used to just peer over the local pond to vaguely see what they looked like? Life used to be hard. But then someone saw their reflection and I’d guess it was the closest humankind has come to an Adam and Eve style realization. This is what that person likely said

I have a weird neck.

Then, they turned around and complained…

I wish they made pants in bootcut.

Ever since that historically accurate moment, we’ve been absolutely fascinated, mortified, and endlessly interested in our appearance. Enamored with the intricacies in ourselves that only we can notice. I’m man enough to admit to it. Embarrassed everyday by the amount of mirrors and reflections I look into - most of the time without even realizing. I’m aware there’s absolutely no reason to do so. Discounting an encounter with high powered winds or buffalo wings, rarely has my appearance changed since I stepped out the front door. But there I am, checking to make sure I look how I intended to…when I saw that one guy from that one thing who reminded me of that type of person I’d like my clothes to say about my lifestyle.

This may sound sad, vain, and dramatically over-complicated - such as using the term dramatically over-complicated. But it’s true. Pinterest has made a business on it. Stylists have made careers out of it. And now, random hot people on the internet have made 15 seconds out of it. I’m, of course, referring to the fit check. A verbal or many times nonverbal display of what one might be wearing, posted on the internet, and aspirationally consumed by others. The concept of the fit check is versatile - as we all would like to look like somebody. The result of the fit check can be absolutely addicting - as Instagram and Pinterest have my dream hemline boiled down to an algorithmic science. And most importantly, the fit check is surreally satisfying - as those best at it offer up a digestible vignette into the life I could embody, if only Car Seat Headrest played while I strutted up to a propped up phone camera, wearing the perfect pant/jacket/boot/A-Frame trucker hat combination.

But there’s a flaw in the fit check culture we find ourselves relying on to curate our physical appearance. The fitcheck is just a check. A gander. A peak into a life that obviously does not exist as simply tailored as it’s presented. The fits they check have no physical purpose other than to be admired through your screen. That’s where they fit best. But once outside in the world, half those layers you layered just as that one fitcheck layered might have to come off. The pants that look perfect in your mirror might give you a wedgie at your desk chair.  If you’re like me, you rock your Mescal shorts to run errands and then realize rugby shorts don’t have pockets. Great style must have great purpose. But if your purpose is not to look real cute for your front-facing camera, it may take a little more work to feel as good as we imagine those tastemakers do on screen.

If a legendary film character’s style is the product of a fictional environment, built by experts in design, with an arsenal of cash, and constructed specifically to make that character look as fucking cool as possible over the course of 2 hours (i.e. The Archduke of Khaki, Crash Davis wearing pleats to the batting cages) the far briefer fit check is that on steroids. Because it’s easy to be a fit god in 15 seconds. But what happens once that fit god steps out the door and say, gets gas at Costco in Burbank? His army fatigues, designed to survive a Soviet Winter, become a gooch sweat nightmare (blog name, called it). Our digital fit god becomes a fit mortal once stepping in the world with the rest of us. 

imagine seeing a few in this fit

The fitcheck can be useful, surely. Maybe as a reference point. Such as page flipping through a style thesaurus. But truly, your best fits must be uncheckable. They must fit the occasion, whatever that might be. And I’ll take a wild guess that it’s not a photoshoot, alone in front of your bookshelf. 

I’d instead advise anyone looking to up their style, not to blindly mimic 15 seconds of relative fiction. This is what separates the fitchecker from the far rarer fitsmith (to be written about at a later date). Such as any great storyteller, the fitchecker simply intends to inspire, not directly instruct, while a true fitsmith feels no need to advertise what suits them out in the wild. Because a true fitsmith knows everyone else is far too obsessed with themselves to even notice. They’ll surely know when it’s right to triple layer and throw on those dank soviet fatigues. Possibly for a trip to the apple orchard this month or a tasteful tailgate. Maybe they’ll tuck a crispy tight tee into denim when it's standing room only at The Moroccan Lounge instead of a night at Tiny's Hi Dive, where in the midst of running the pool table like Newman - it’ll surely pop right out and get all wrinkly. The fitsmith will put on clothing that feels as authentic as it does useful. Fits too pure to ever simply be constructed for the purpose of a check.

purpose + presense = fitsmith