If there’s one major criticism I have with this site, it’s that I’ve always been more than a bit long-winded. So, in the spirit of all things new, I’m going to at least attempt to make this post as concise as possible. On Friday, I accepted a job (which I don’t feel comfortable announcing just yet, but I’m sure you’ll hear more about soon) and I feel that I must put all my efforts into this new endeavor therefore this will be my last post on Wax Wane for the foreseeable future. Don’t get me wrong though, I will still be writing on a daily basis and I’m very excited for what’s ahead, I simply feel the need to reprioritize things for the time being.
Whether you were a regular reader or merely stopped in occasionally, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the fact that you all took some time out of your busy days to read this site. Writing Wax Wane over the past couple years brought me an immense amount of joy, and so I just want to thank you all for allowing me to turn my divergent diversions into something somewhat meaningful.
So long for now.
And now for my monthly attempt to make this blog about more than just clothes.
Not too long ago I had a conversation with a friend (who is roughly a decade and change older than I) and I made the claim that beer is my generation’s wine. What I mean by this is that while historically beer has been largely ignored as a “craft” to be studied in a similar manner as wine, it’s now finally getting its due. While my friend was scrutinizing his glass of wine, I was doing the same with the beer that was in front of me. All you have to do is peruse through BeerAdvocate‘s reviews for a few minutes (and really I recommend not doing so for much longer as the entire site gives new meaning to the word pedantic) to recognize that there is now not only a vocabulary for the critique of but a fervent fanbase that is more than ready for this level of appreciation.
If you ask me, the apex of twentieth century comedy was reached during Cameron Crowe’s 1982 coming-of-age masterpiece, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Sitting in his room, smoking a bong, discussing brain damage with his shaggy haired compadre, Jeff Spicoli (played by Sean Penn) pulls out a brand new pair of Vans slip ons and begins to bash his head with the waffle sole to show off to his equally as blitzed out friend just how mentally numb he was. We could discuss the timeless humor of a stoned out kid bashing his own head in, or number of brain cells that Spicoli discarded that day, or the slapstick origins of his cranial abuse, but for today, I’m more concerned with Spicoli’s Vans.
Spicoli’s checkerboard slip ons have become the stuff of legend, and dare I say that never before has an actor’s footwear so completely captured the spirit of his character. Even the name “slip on” reflected Spicoli’s attitude, which was many steps beyond devil-may-care, in devil-may-get-high-off-brain-damaging-weed territory. Since ’82, slip ons fortunately have lost their THC-laced reputation as shoes for stoners, but it wasn’t until recently, that they registered on the menswear radar.