I don’t know how I ended up an August person. I spent the first 35 years of my life absolutely hating month number eight, but then there was a sudden switch and suddenly I understood that I was in my truest form this time of year. As a person who sweats when the weather is anywhere above 55 degrees, I’d always just figured that since I’ve got a body made for winter, I’m just a cold-weather person. A very big part of the move towards turning into an August enjoyer was due to a career change; not having to take a train into and then out of Manhattan during rush hour would drastically change anybody's perspective. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be typing any of this. But it did happen, and here we are.
August is pure trash month. If you invite me out to anything, the likelihood of me showing up in shorts and a t-shirt is higher than any other part of the year. The image above is of me at a Long Island welcome center last Thursday in what I’d consider the closest thing to a uniform that I get. Old-ass jorts covered in paint, sandals, and an Online Ceramics Dead & Co. shirt. That’s basically it, and I’m not going to put on any menswear guy airs about how I’d rather be wearing pants and a shirt with a collar. This is pure comfort and I love it. August is the month of the year when you’re supposed to let it all hang out. It’s the final 31 days (plus maybe a few more counting Labor Day) you’ve got to soak up summer. September is the real enemy we should all be hating on since most of the month is technically summer, but it also isn’t summer at all. It’s usually hot and you spend the entire time waiting for the moment when you can start pulling out sweaters and flannels. September is a fraud month, while August is the purest part of summertime. And there’s a way to do it right.
Part of it has to do with footwear, specifically boat shoes and loafers. I usually buy a new pair of shoes towards the end of the spring and the intention is to break them in during the summer. When I say “break them in,” I mean that I have some shoes that I wear on special occasions that I’ll get used to by only wearing around the house so I don’t mess them up; summer shoes are meant for kicking around, and I’ve got a mental Hall of Fame with the greatest summertime shoes I’ve ever owned. That illustrious list includes a pair of brown Bass Weejuns I bought 12 years ago, had to resole once, and love to wear out to chill outdoor parties. There’s the pair of L.L. Bean moccasins I ended up getting after I saw a pic of Bob Dylan hanging out upstate and thought I needed to recreate the look of the guy in the Cobra shirt. I had the 501s, I just needed the mocs. I wore them from June until September and by the ninth month of the year they were in perfect condition.
This summer, it was a new pair of boat shoes. No, it wasn’t because I read one of the “Boat shoes are back, baby” articles that kicked the warmer season off this year; anybody who knows me can attest to the fact that I’m a longtime Topsiderhead and don’t care about silly trends. But they also might know that a pair of new-looking boat shoes is as sinful as a pair of Chuck Taylors without any major scuffing on them, and I take great care to beat the ever-loving hell out of my Sperry shoes. I don’t bother with any other brands because Sperry is the best for what I want, which is something that I could actually wear on a boat or by the water, and don’t mind them getting sandblasted or soaked. I’ve always believed that boat shoes became “uncool” when they became the defacto slip-on for people who don’t do much walking. A middle-aged man with a polo tucked into some Dockers and maybe a pair of boat shoes with socks on smacks of boring 1990s Office Space character who got away from Lumbergh asking them to come in on the weekend. But to me, boat shoes are the best shoes for city living. If you’ve got a dog that needs a walk, slip ‘em on; going to the bodega, just put your feet in those beat-up boats; grilling in the park—boat shoes.
But August isn’t just about footwear. It’s also about being by water as much as possible and ODing on tomatoes. Our thing is the weekly duck bacon BLTs we eat that are almost 100 percent farmers’ market ingredients save for the mayo and if you’re pro-light schmear of dijon like I am, the mustard. I guess I’d also count the cornichons I spike through the top of the sandwiches with the mayo and mustard, but I feel like I could convince one of the local pickle people to start making them and then I’d take care of that. Otherwise, the duck bacon, tomatoes, lettuce, and milk bread from our Saturday trip to Grand Army Plaza, then put it all together for a perfect Sunday dinner.
Getting close to water as much as possible is also a must. I don’t know why, but I don’t enjoy the beach or a pool in June and July, but if I could swim every single day in August, then you bet I would. A part of it is that other people are water-logged from the last few months, and I find that beach towns especially tend to be a little more chill in August. We went to Sag Harbor this past weekend, and that’s something I would try to never ever do at the start of summer because everybody has so much energy and they’re just living it up, usually, in the case of Sag Harbor, it’s because they’re blissed out from their first helicopter ride of the season from Manhattan to the Hamptons or they just upped their salary a few million bucks by laying off half the workforce. But by August, there’s a little more mix. It’s still a lot of rich people, but you get the rest of us folks who just want to walk by the water and get a juice at Provisions, the health food store that also has the best damn hats on the planet.
August is for the true dirtbags, my friends. Anybody who doesn’t live it up, who doesn’t get sweaty and dirty, or takes the opportunity to count dipping in a river or ocean as a bath isn’t doing summer right. This is the time of year when you let it all hang out. Drop your pretensions and just order whatever rosé they've got without asking to look at a wine list. Wear shoes without socks—bad smells be damned! Listen to “The Summer Ends” at least once a day by American Football, eat tomatoes, eat corn, and all the other produce you can snatch up. Let your dirtbag flag fly and August like there’s no September.