This patchwork shirt is a bit like one of those dresses girls with dreads wear at Glastonbury. Apart from it’s for men, and it’s a shirt. Also, hippy lasses wouldn’t pay 220 bar for this, they would rather make their own patchwork garms out of recycled cotton and tree-bark and shit.
I’d buy it though, and not because it’s all buddhist and that. Oh no. I would buy it merely to impress girls. Probably on the bus. Although lasses on the 10A from Prudhoe seem more taken with bros in Lonsdale micro-fleeces than contemporary Japanese denim.
Do fellas buy clothes to impress girls? Doubtful. Us males mostly buy menswear to laud it over other men. It’s primeval. I mean if one my peers identifies this shirt as Kapital I’d be smug as owt and safe in the knowledge that I do in fact own the best shirt. It would be like a wild cat marking his territory, you know, spraying and that.
The Katmandu looks like it’s littered with loads of pockets, but it’s not. That’s just the patchwork messing with your mind. Although it does have a rounded cross-stitched collar, split side vent hem and a single side patch pocket. It’s also got odd buttons, which will make it look like you’ve spent ages re-upcycling the thing at your local haberdashery, when really you just clicked a button on the internet and then 24 hours later it arrived at your door, which you answered still wearing yesterdays pants. Actually, you don’t even deserve this shirt. What a prosaic, unimaginative excuse for human being you are.
Why do I feel the need to take the hump at the end of every post?