The iconic Chanel couture cardigan jacket. The Clash. An adolescence spent in the brand with the three stripes…on and off the pitch. What could this triad possibly have in common? A Schott Perfecto. This Schott Perfecto.

The Perfecto’s rich history dates back to the mid-20th century. It was designed by Irving Schott in 1928 and named after his favorite cigar, the Perfecto. It wasn’t until 1953 when Marlon Brando wore it in The Wild One that it entered the cultural lexicon as a shorthand for youthful rebellion and nonconformity.

By the late 1970s, the Perfecto had evolved into the unofficial uniform of the punk movement. Punks studding and painting their biker jackets had become de rigueur. Band names, slogans, and political statements were scrawled on the backs with reckless abandon. Then the Neo Expressionists got a hold of it. Keith Haring. Jean-Michel Basquiat. Andy Warhol. They all repurposed the Perfecto as canvas in the 1980s. The uninterrupted back panel is aptly suited for it. The unruly, older brother to the graphic tee, the Perfecto was the first sartorial podium to preach your gospel from without ever having to open your mouth.

For as long as I can remember, I have modified my clothes. I tinkered with hem lengths at twelve. I had my own tailor at sixteen. Patchwork chinos. Paint splattered jeans. A modified backpack I had burned winding rows of eyelets into with crisscrossing boot laces that simulated the look of stitches.

In high school, I clocked a good amount of time on a competition grade foosball table I’d had in my room. I decided they needed proper uniforms instead of the plain white tops with blue or red shorts. I carefully removed each figurine from their chrome plated rods and for the next three weeks, painstakingly painted my favorite football kits onto each player. Acrylic model paint. Three coats. Twenty two players. By most high school metrics I would have been considered a loser, but at that table, I was undefeated. Do not come for me at foosball. I digress.

These adolescent arts and crafts, in hindsight, were my introduction to design. There is a healing quality to the act of making a mark that is simply inaccessible in the digital realm. The sheer physicality of it taps into the deepest recesses of our human DNA…cave painting muscle memory. Today, I paint to deliver my soul from the untenable hell of zeros and ones. And then wearing it? It’s as close to a religious experience in fashion as I’ve come.

The Adidas Perfecto