“I was turning 40 and going on my own health journey,” he recalls. “And I decided I was ready to do something different with my life.”

Over the course of his tenure, Juice Press has vastly expanded its operations, not only through additional brick-and-mortar stores, but also an online market, which ships everything from cold-pressed beet juice to blue spirulina protein powder.

Ahead of our smoothie collab, we caught up with Karsch to see how he goes about starting his day…

First off, Karsch is addicted to Spelling Bee from The New York Times…
He’ll wake up at 3 in the morning to check out the new puzzle. Sometimes, he’ll fall right back asleep, although other times he’ll play for 10 minutes or so. “I kind of consider it my warm-up brain exercise,” he says.

When he actually gets up…
Karsch drinks a Maca shot, often called “Peruvian ginseng,” which is made from a nutrient-dense vegetable from the Andes. (They’re stocked in his fridge, as well as at Juice Press stores.) Then he’ll drink a double espresso or iced coffee while finishing Spelling Bee. “I have to get to Amazing or Genius before I can do anything else for the day.”

From puzzles to meditation…
Karsch has been trying to meditate more using an app called Open. “Even if I’m not in the mood, when I listen for 10 to 12 minutes, I really resonate with what they’re saying.”

The first call of the day: Karsch’s partner in Long Island City…
“He works harder than me, so I always call him just to catch up and show my support.”

Gym + Juice Press…
Before heading into the office, Karsch hits the gym and drinks one of his favorite Juice Press beverages, Game On. “It’s our lemon-lime electrolyte drink. It’s like a healthy Gatorade.”

Parting thoughts on daily productivity…
”There’s productivity in terms of focus, and then there’s productivity in terms of self-discipline, like creating checklists and detail orientation. I find that I’m better at the former rather than the latter. But I have to self-talk a lot. I have to give myself a break in terms of [maintaining] a certain productivity level. If I just keep chipping away at [a problem], it’s going to unlock. You just have to stay with it…

“For me personally, the best form of optimism is continuous learning. Not only does it keep you young, but it’s a very optimistic thing to feel like there’s always that chance that if you keep learning, eventually something good is going to happen.”

They’re plopped down sometime after the diver scallop tostadas and before the chocolate-y mole poblano, a soul-deep aromatic ring of them surrounding impatient cups of miso consommé and vivid red salsa. Emptied shots of unsolicited Hennessy litter the table. One of my dining companions is, somewhat discordantly, biting into a cheesy double smashburger. I’m not even sure if I’m still hungry? But the tacos, beef birria tacos on squid ink tortillas blanketed in queso, are so rich, and gooey, and crunchy, that I’m powerless to stop at just one before the meal is over.

The man responsible for this glorious smorgasbord is L.T. Smith, the executive chef at Chilte—one of the Southwest’s most inventive restaurants—and the star of our latest campaign. His path to cooking is as surprising as his food: A standout wide receiver in college, he made it to the NFL in 2015 but was released before the season started. In the aftermath, he found a new calling in the culinary world, a collaborative, high-energy environment not dissimilar from the football field.

“I was able to apply all those things from sports right into the kitchen,” Smith says. “The grit, the perseverance, working under pressure, building a team. It was just such a natural fit.”

Chilte has humble origins. It started under a 10x10 tent at the Mesa Farmers’ Market, where Smith and his wife sold tacos on hand-pressed tortillas, deploying some of the fine dining techniques he picked up during his training.

“A little before it was trendy, we did the birria taco,” he recalls. “And the second we did it, I knew we weren’t going to move away from it. It’s still a staple on our menu today.”

Since opening in 2023, Chilte has picked up a number of serious accolades. Esquire and Bon Appétit each included it on their list of Best New Restaurants in 2023. In 2024, Smith was named one of Food & Wine’s Best New Chefs. And just last year, he was a semifinalist for a James Beard award—essentially the foodie version of an Oscar.

Despite all the attention, Smith is still unapologetically himself. On one wall of the restaurant, flanked by a hodgepodge of funky, cacti-inflected artwork, the words “Me Vale Madre” are displayed in a combination of turquoise neon and graffiti. Translation: I don’t give a damn.

“If you really want something that defines me,” he says, “I put a burger on the menu because I like a burger, and it bangs.”

In college, Smith was known to mix strawberry ice cream with Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and top meatball subs with chocolate chip cookies—a so-crazy-it-just-might-work creation that would stump even the most stoned guy in your dorm. At Chilte, he focuses on sourcing fresh, local ingredients, if only to use them in unexpected ways.

“It’s important to challenge people’s palette—to challenge people’s ideal of what Mexican or Southwest or Black food is,” Smith says.

While his vision for the restaurant may be singular, Smith still sees cooking as a fundamentally team sport. And he’s willing to play at whatever position he’s most needed: Even after a day-long shoot with a friendly (if particular) menswear brand—not to mention, a busy dinner rush—Smith was still planning on heading back into the kitchen after close, to fill in for a dishwasher who called out sick.

“You know, we get to tell stories and use fun ingredients, but building that team and that community is badass,” he says. “I’m ambitious to a fault. I’m always looking for a new challenge. I love things that are uncomfortable—I love seeing people grow, and growing with them.”

Before we took off, we sat down for a cup of coffee with co-owner Jill Arden Lukeman to discuss the inspiration for the shop, her favorite menu items, and her gifting strategy heading into the holidays.

What was the impetus for opening the shop in the first place?
When I was a kid, I wanted to open a bread company. It was going to sell half loaves of bread and be called Singles Bread. I was in fourth grade, and I thought, okay, one single person will be shopping…they’ll see somebody else in the aisle…it’ll be great marketing. That never happened, but I’ve always had this entrepreneurial itch. Moving out to Rowayton from the city, I really missed the experience of a community-driven coffee shop. And I felt like there was an opportunity out here. So much of what we’ve tried to build is bringing something that people from the city want and bridging it with the history of this town.

How important is the community aspect to Arden’s?
For me, that’s been the most rewarding part. It’s been beyond what I’d anticipated. We kind of built the space thinking, ‘Let’s see what it becomes.’ And the community has dictated a lot of that. Window Shopping Wednesdays [during which our pop-up was hosted] is a perfect example.

It’s very much a living, breathing thing. So many talented people live here with very diverse backgrounds and experiences. That’s the magic of it.

What inspired the overall decor and vibe in here? It’s so specific.
We wanted it to be a reflection of the town and this area [which is close to the water]. But we also wanted it to feel travel-inspired. Some people will say, ‘Oh, it reminds me of California or it reminds me of Portugal,’ and so it kind of resonates differently with different people, which I love. But we wanted to keep the space relatively simple and let the people be the color in the room.

What’s your favorite item on the menu?
I get asked this a lot, and it changes so often because our menu is seasonal. My favorite item of all time is only available for, like, a month and a half, and that’s our tomato toast. We use these heirloom tomatoes, we basically only serve it in September, and it’s just the simplest toast with sea salt flakes.

What’s your go-to coffee order?
Usually I’ll have a drip coffee for the first cup, which is what I’m having right now. Our coffee, Ilse Coffee, is unbelievable, all single-origin, super thoughtful. I actually had the chance to go with them to Colombia on a coffee sourcing trip when we first opened, which was the experience of a lifetime. And then [for my second cup], I’ll switch to a latte. I’m an oat milk gal.

What are you giving as gifts for the holidays this year?
I’m in the process of opening a vintage store for home furnishings and small wares. It’s called The Mariner and the Muse. And so I’m trying to gift my friends and family recycled treasures from there with little stories that are specific to each of them.

Any favorites from our pop-up here?
My partner, Skyler, he’s a big Mack Weldon enthusiast. I want the oatmeal-colored cable-knit sweater. Obviously, the boxers are so comfortable—it’s like I want to steal them for myself. And he has the sweatpants, but he only has them in navy. So maybe I need to get him the Sage Heather over there. Those three items for me are crowd-pleasers.

Logi first got on his board as a teenager, in waters cold enough to give the average person hypothermia. Since turning pro, he’s surfed everywhere from California to Indonesia; he’s also been the subject of a Netflix documentary, wherein he manages to catch some waves under the Northern Lights. (Which, crazy sentence.)

“There is more surf to be had in those [other] places—it’s easier to find good swells and the winds aren’t as wild,” he told Rolling Stone in 2017. “But there is a fickleness about Iceland that makes you appreciate every wave.”

We spent the day with Logi, starting at his home outside Reykjavík before heading out to one his favorite surf spots. Along the way, we chatted about his most memorable surf, how he stays warm, and his new favorite hobby.

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Knowing the water is as cold as it is, what drew you to get in there in the first place?When I was a kid, I used to see photos of people surfing and I was just drawn to it. And I had a friend who would let me try for the first time. I made a deal with my mom that if i would pass all my school tests, she would buy me some gear and I would start surfing.

How did you learn to tolerate the cold?
The cold is just something that you learn to navigate. You just know it’s going to be cold and [eventually] it doesn’t surprise you anymore.

Can you describe the difference between surfing in Iceland and surfing elsewhere?
The difference between surfing here and warmer climates, first of all, it’s the crowd—here we don’t have that many surfers, so there aren’t that many people battling for each wave.

But it’s harder to surf here. The weather is more inconsistent and unreliable. I’ve had friends come over and some absolutely love it. Some don’t. It just depends on where your interest in adventure lies.

What’s your most memorable surfing experience?
The one time me and [my friend] Elli were surfing together on the summer solstice—you know, in Iceland we have 24 hours of daylight. To have waves that time of year is pretty rare, and to have conditions perfectly lining up at this place where we surfed was very special.

What’s been your most challenging surfing experience?
One time we went up to the West Fjords [region of Iceland]. We had been traveling for a few days shooting a video. I just didn’t have a lot of energy, and we had to hike this path to get to the wave, and once we hiked there we went surfing. On the way back, I was absolutely finished.

When you go surfing and you catch the perfect wave…can you describe what that feels like?
It’s the best feeling ever. When you’ve been chasing waves for weeks, and when you finally get that perfect day, you release so much dopamine and happy hormones that I’ve often had, like, a hormone hangover the day after.

Can you make a case for why Iceland is the best place to surf in the world?
It’s not [laughs]. It’s absolutely not. But we have good days once in a while. As a surfing destination, it’s hard work but it’s fun to pursue.

How important is it to stay warm before and after a session?
I feel like the most important part of staying warm before a session is to eat energetic food before you go, like fatty foods. But also, to keep moving. Even on the coldest days of winter, if there’s a lot of wind and you’re moving around quite a bit, you don’t necessarily feel it. But as soon as you stop moving, the cold creeps in.

After a after cold surf, it’s important to have a good first layer. So I usually wear a lot of wool—a wool sweater and an insulating windbreaker does the trick.

One last question: How did you get into fly fishing? What do you like about it? In some ways, it feels like the opposite of cold-water surfing…
Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had a hard time relaxing and slowing things down. A couple of years ago, when one of my childhood friends introduced me to fly fishing, I could immediately feel extending [the line] in the water by the river and just focusing on each cast, and the next cast and the next. It just creates this kind of focus out of nature, and time flies by without me even noticing.

I wanted to pick up this conversation, albeit from a different angle, with Nico Lazaro. A crucial voice of the menswear commentariat, Lazaro was a founding member of Grailed, and spent the last few years heading up brand storytelling for Buck Mason. He also runs a popular Substack called The Bengal Stripe, where a recent post caught my attention: “Style Authority Is a Lie.”

Like Dougherty, Lazaro is of the mind that quote-unquote “real” style is much more a byproduct of the life you lead than any adherence to the advice of voices on high—particularly when the TikTok-ificaiton of menswear (see also: everything) has laid bare the relative inefficacy of those voices in the first place.

“The so-called authorities look more like weather vanes than prophets,” Lazaro argues. “It seems like just yesterday the industry decided slim trousers were dead; now those on the fringe are telling you wide trousers are already over. Authority dissolves the moment you realize it’s just taste in motion, constantly repositioned for clicks, engagement, or sales.”

Taken by this sentiment, I called Lazaro to talk about his article, trend cycle velocity, style experimentation, and the value (or non-value) of gatekeepers in 2025.

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Apropos of your overall claim here, I find there to be a real oversaturation of “style authorities” now, to the point where it’s difficult to hear the signal through the noise. How does one respond to that?
What I’ve found helpful is not necessarily hard and fast rules, but more inspiration and guidance. One of the people [I looked to] was Glenn O’Brien, who was the original style guy at GQ. If you look at the advice he was giving, a lot of it wasn’t about the clothes, but more about how you carry yourself and develop confidence. If you’re able to have a clear idea of what your values are and what you bring to the table, the clothes kind of come after that—as a natural extension of who you are as a person.

Something you bring up in the article is the speed with which certain menswear “takes” or trends age nowadays. Can you talk about that a bit?
The world of menswear has been cracked open. With the advent of TikTok, there’s so much exposure which leads to quicker fatigue. And because there’s less substance there, it’s more about virality, and catching your eye, and being exciting in the moment.

You look at older men that dress well and that’s something they’ve developed over a very long period of time. When I think back to what got me inspired about fashion, it was kids in skinny jeans. But that hasn’t lasted for me. What has lasted is being inspired by the way my grandparents’ generation dressed, and the older men I was around growing up just having this casual confidence in how they presented themselves to the world. There are other elements at play there beyond the clothes that you need to cultivate if you want to have a real, enduring sense of style.

To what you’re describing, do you think about ways that guys might slow these cycles down?
Yeah, I think the more you can educate and inform yourself [the better]. I don’t mean reading books and stuff, but when it comes to developing personal style, I think you need to go through a period of exploration, understanding your body and how things fit you, how you like to move around in the world and whether your clothes add to that or take away from it.

You need to try things. I can say for myself that [the reason] why people trust and value my opinion now is because I did a lot of experimentation. A lot of that is failure, a lot of it is walking out the door and looking dumb and feeling embarrassed. But that’ll lead you to the stuff you feel good about.

In general, do you think we’re heading towards a place of greater experimentation?
The optimist in me is saying, because there’s so much exposure and fatigue, there’s no rules at this point. You can kind of wear whatever you want, and people might have opinions on that, but no one’s going to say you’re on-trend or not.

This is sort of a straw man argument, but I feel like I’ve seen more and more takes that along the lines of “Gatekeepers are good, actually.” What do you make of that?
I don’t think gatekeeping has much of a place anymore. I think that gatekeeping can be a way to try to preserve things in amber. And I don’t think that’s necessarily the healthiest way to move through the world. It’s important to understand history and the context that gives things value or power. But I don’t think that’s the only valuable part of clothing. And I think breathing new life into things is just as valuable.

There’s always going to be people who ruin things for you. But it’s an interesting time [for said people] to reflect on, like, “Why does that irk you so much?” I do want to see a better-dressed world, but it’s really up to people to take it upon themselves to do the research or not.

Something I took away from your article, too, is that it’s harder than ever to identify what a particular gatekeeper’s real agenda is.
A lot of new voices in this sphere are trying to present themselves as authorities, and for me it was interesting to explore that because it’s perpetuating a sort of false ideology in my mind.

A lot of gatekeeping comes from this desire to maintain some level of authority, but when you look at the bigger picture, [style] is still entirely personal. At the end of the day, no one can take that away from you.

Any last words of wisdom you want to offer?
Style is iterative, and something you’re constantly growing and evolving. Anything you look at and think, “Oh, that’s cool, I wonder if I could pull that off”—just give it a go. What’s the worst that could happen?

This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

I was starting to develop a complex. So I went. For the culture and cooler weather and, maybe most of all, for the drinks.

In Ireland, the pub still serves as the country’s beating social heart. It’s a gathering place in good times and bad, and every neighborhood seems to have an anchor pub on the corner serving pints and provisions. If you want to hunker down among dark woods and sip a properly poured Guinness or a native whiskey, perhaps while a live band provides a bit of craic, the pub provides. But Ireland evolves just like everywhere else, which means that a rising cocktail scene, modern wine bars, and new craft breweries and distilleries now live alongside centuries-old bars and historic hotels. And while it’s obviously impossible to capture an entire country during one trip, it’s this merger of tradition with innovation that stood out during my 10-day bar crawl across Ireland.

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Dublin: Where Old Meets New

The science hasn’t quite caught up with the anecdotal evidence, but years of experience have confirmed that nothing kickstarts your system after a long flight quite like a cold pint. Food doesn't hurt, either, but you have to be careful not to eat yourself into a post-flight nap when the sun’s still out.

For my first drink of the trip, I went to Ireland’s oldest bar, The Brazen Head, to enjoy Ireland’s most famous beer, Guinness. In the U.S., anything over the century mark qualifies as very, very old, but that doesn’t scratch the surface in Europe. This pub was purportedly founded in 1198—a mythical time that was after the dinosaurs but before the plague. The arched stone entrance confirms that this place is indeed old, but don’t worry—they’ve updated things a few times over the past 800-plus years. Enter through a patio that, with some luck, might even be sunny, then explore the cozy confines within. Check out the 1750s-era fireplace flanked by framed photos, and the bric-a-brac—vintage beer steins here, an old suit of armor there—stashed around the bar. Once you’ve settled in, fill your table with pints and plates, sticking to traditional serves like the beef stew or fish and chips with homemade tartar sauce, and consider all that’s transpired within these walls.

Other top-notch pubs include John Kavanagh the Gravediggers, which is situated next to a historic cemetery, hence the name, and The Palace Bar, which has fed and watered Irish writers and intellectuals since it opened in 1823 (Irish poet and novelist Patrick Kavanagh described it as “a most wonderful temple of art”). It also happens to stock one of the city’s best whiskey selections. Then there’s Temple Bar, a bright-red pub adorned with flowers that draws visitors from all over the world for pints and photo opps. Each is worth a stop to soak in the culture, and the Guinness—yes, it really does taste better in Ireland. (According to locals and a Guinness Brewery staffer, the prevailing theory for this is freshness (it’s made down the road) and a high turnover rate, so there’s always a new keg ready to go. Also, Irish pubs take pride in cleaning their tap lines—something American sports bars could stand to replicate.)

When you’re ready for a cocktail, try Bar 1661. It’s named for the year that Ireland’s native spirit, poitín, was banned (it was legalized again in 1997). Poitín, pronounced “pot-cheen,” is a high-proof, un-aged spirit made from grains or potatoes that’s like a precursor to Irish whiskey. Sample a couple at Bar 1661, then turn to its cocktail menu, where you’ll find the city’s most interesting drinks. Case in point: the Sanbokan Sun, made with poitín, rum, fino sherry, apricot, butternut squash, fenugreek, tea, lime, coconut, and marmalade bitters. Other fine cocktails can be had at 1661’s sibling bar, The Sackville Lounge, and at Sidecar, a good-looking spot with creative drinks and Art Deco style. None would feel out of place in London or New York, but each brings its own sense of Irish hospitality and local flair.

If you’re pressed for time and want to hit multiple spots under one roof, check out The Shelbourne, a historic hotel located just off St. Stephen’s Green that houses several great bars on the premises. I can confirm that the batched freezer martini works equally well as an aperitif and a nightcap.

Galway: Where Music and Drinks Flow Freely

This charming waterside town is highly walkable and primed for pub crawls. Start at The King’s Head, which sits in an 800-year-old building and has multiple bars and a full-service restaurant across its three levels. The pub hosts free live music seven nights a week, so stick around to see a show. Or skip over to Tigh Neachtain, a mere infant at just 130 years old, but one of the best bars in Galway to see traditional Irish music. The Crane Bar and O’Connell’s Bar are two more worthy additions to your list, both offering good pints and music.

Galway’s cocktail scene can’t compete with Dublin’s, but should you require a properly made mixed drink, that can be arranged. I enjoyed the cocktails at Rúibín, which also happens to be one of the city’s better restaurants, so that’s an easy two-birds-one-martini situation. The food is contemporary Irish, with lots of local proteins and seasonal produce dressed up with chef-y touches. And the drinks match—I’m still thinking about the clarified punch made with kombu-infused rum. Buddha Bar serves fun and creative drinks, though you have to like puns to get through the menu, and Hyde Bar has one of the city’s best gin selections. Ask to see the Gin Bible, and you can browse through 500 bottles from around the world.

The Aran Islands: Where Rough Seas Require Stiff Drinks

Taking a ferry to the Aran Islands seemed like a pretty foolproof plan, but the waves had other ideas. The boat swayed and dipped aggressively in the rough waters, and many (many) passengers got sick on the way. It was not a pretty sight, but I managed to narrowly escape such a fate. Once we arrived on Inisheer, the smallest and most eastern of the Aran Islands, I thanked the mercifully stable ground, steadied my resolve, and set out for a few drinks.

I tell you, nothing tasted better than that first post-ferry Guinness. Except maybe the local Spiddal River ale, or that glass of Aran Islands whiskey. Or that second post-ferry Guinness. Get a drink and a hearty stew at the Inis Oírr Hotel, or a drink and a sandwich at Tigh Ned. Then make a small prayer to your preferred sea god—that would be Manannán mac Lir, if you want to praise local—before getting back on that boat.

Small Town, Ireland: Where More Pubs Await

Irish author James Joyce wrote in his novel Ulysses: “The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue...”

After 10 days in Ireland, I know relatively very little, but a lot more than I did going in. And much of what I learned came with a pint in hand while seated beside a friendly local. So it’s worth venturing outside the major hubs of Dublin and Galway and visiting a few other cities and small towns as time allows. Maybe you’ll hit Cork, Killarney, Waterford, Kilkenny, or Kinsale. Maybe you’ll head over to Dingle, or drive up the coast to see what Donegal is all about. Whatever your itinerary, leave some room for beer-related side quests, because Ireland is best experienced via pub.

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For our latest campaign, though, we managed to convince him to stay put for some R&R at the Rockaway Hotel. Over a Loverboy or two on the rooftop, Kyle shared some tips, takes, and hard-earned wisdom on summers in the city.

The first thing you think of when you think of summer in New York.
A cold bevvy on a rooftop, overlooking the best city in the world.

The quintessential New York summer event.
Governor’s Ball. Summertime in the city just screams good times, good music…Gov Ball.

Your most coveted restaurant reservation (and your go-to order).
4 Charles. And I’m probably starting with the burger with extra-thick bacon and finishing with a porterhouse…[Editor’s note: I think Kyle’s joking?]

Your most frequented bar (and your go-to order).
Gitano took over this incredible space on Pier 17. If I’m not drinking a Loverboy, I’m ordering a mezcal margarita with a Tajin rim.

Your NYC song of summer.
Calvin Harris’s “Blessings.”

Flip-flops on the subway: Yay or nay.
Flip-flops anywhere—subway included.

Best mode of summer transportation: ferry or Citi Bike.
Citi Bike, all day.

The most underrated place to be in the city during the summer.
You don’t have to look too far or get too creative, just find yourself a nice little coffee shop.

The most overrated thing to do in New York during the summer.
You really can’t go wrong with summer in New York, but try to stay away from tourist traps in the heat.

Your biggest summer pet peeve.
The beach is great. But my biggest pet peeve is sand everywhere….is it worth it? It’s debatable.

You’re mayor of New York for one day: What policy do you implement to improve summer in the city?
If it’s a beautiful day, I’m going to let every single bar and restaurant empty out into the street, serve people cold ones, and let them mingle in the concrete playground that is New York City.

Your best advice for staying cool during summer in the city.
When you’re on a New York City street that’s when you’re going to feel the hottest, because the asphalt is just radiating heat. So if you’re trying to avoid the sticky-icky, just get off the street level.

The absolute worst place to find yourself in New York during the summer (be specific).
In the subway, having just missed the train, and you’re there for another 10 minutes and sweating through your entire outfit.

The thing you miss most about New York when you’re away for the weekend.
This is going to sound pretty cliché, but the hustle and bustle—the work-hard, play-hard attitude that the city thrives off of. Every time I travel, things are just moving at a snail’s pace.

You’re famous on the show for saying “Summer should be fun.” What’s your one non-negotiable for a “fun” summer in the city?
Don’t worry about losing your summer body in the summer. Get out there, eat, drink, and be merry. We’ll worry about it in the fall.

First up is Jonathan Thompson. An award-winning travel journalist, he’s currently the host of the Discovery GO series Adventure Cities, where you’re liable to find him hiking in Geneva, ice canoeing in Québec City, river boating in Australia, or otherwise living up to the name of his show.

The object that makes you feel most at home.
My car—a 2023 Mini Cooper. It’s weird, after a few days away, I really miss the sensation of driving it, and the familiarity of being behind the wheel.

The one non-clothing item you have to pack for any trip.
My St. Christopher pendant. I always wear it when I travel—not for any religious reason. It’s just a source of comfort, as I know I’ve survived some utterly ridiculous situations while it’s been around my neck. It’s still here, and so am I. And that's a real comfort.

The best seat you’ve ever sat in.
An F-18 Super Hornet Fighter Jet with the Blue Angels. I was very proud of the fact that I didn’t puke on that flight—I did black out at 7Gs though.

The person outside of your family you’re most yourself around.
One of my closest friends is Lee Thompson, the founder of Flash Pack. It’s funny when you’re just completely on the same wavelength as somebody else, and even though we live on separate continents we always pick up exactly where we left off.

The topic you never tire of discussing.
Football—both types, for as long as you have time. Both of my teams play in blue—Everton and the Dallas Cowboys—and they both last won a trophy in the 1995 season, so it’s been a rocky few decades. I guess I like to share that pain with anyone who'll listen.

The joke you can rely on to make people laugh.
I have a well stocked quiver of dad jokes, but what normally makes people laugh the most is when I try to say "water" in an American accent.

The most comfortable place in any airport (minus the lounge).
That sweet first step after security, when all the stress is over, everything is back in your bag and the airport is your oyster.

What you consider your personal “comfort food.”
I always resort to British recipes when I fancy comfort food. So Toad-in-the-hole, Lancashire hotpot, things like that. The ultimate British comfort food, though, has to be Shepherd’s pie. (With lamb, not beef, obviously).

The piece of clothing you’d wear every day if you could.
Mack Weldon’s Maverick Tech Chino. Honestly, I’ve been high up mountains in them and I’ve been in high-end restaurants with them. There’s nothing they can’t do and nowhere they can’t go. I LOVE them. [Editor’s note: We did not ask Jonathan to say this. But we also agree.]

A moment of the day that brings you peace.
Whenever I can open a book, even if it's only for 10 minutes. I’m a firm believer in the maxim that reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body. Now my perfect book time is on my porch in the early evening, after my one-year-old son has gone to bed.

The specific time and place you’d most eagerly return to.
May 1995, the last time my football team, Everton, won a trophy. Then I’d hang around for 8 months to watch the Dallas Cowboys with the Super Bowl too.

The weather you’d choose if the weather never changed.
This is easy. I love bluebird days. Cold and crisp…but with that sharp sun in the sky. Maybe a little breeze. The perfect kind of day for the Stormchaser jacket.

A song that soothes your soul.
“Shiny Happy People” by REM. The first single I ever bought. It always makes me smile and makes me think of good days past... and good days to come.

Words of wisdom you can’t live without.
All the best words of wisdom seem to come from Winston Churchill. And one I always remember is: “Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.”

The last time you left your comfort zone.
This morning, I jumped off the Stratosphere in Las Vegas. I’m actually afraid of heights…but I’m more afraid of failure.

I blame the stories I read and watched as a kid for creating in me this romantic image of an adventurer in flap-pocket safari jackets, uncovering lost wisdom, forgotten civilizations. Wonder. Astonishment.

The last time I was in this part of the world, I had come for front row seats to the Mayan apocalypse, in December 2012 (and if nothing extraordinary happened then, I guess none of us realized how slowly the world would end, in tiny increments). Much has changed in the time since. Tulum, which was still then a spit of beach with a dozen-odd hotels, ranging from beachy to boutique, now looks a bit like a burnout who has been hitting spring break as hard as a hurricane ever since. The new railway, intended to make easier the visits to the magical Mayan archeological sites, is indeed open. But the new airport, deep in the jungle, felt, on my arrival, like a bizarre civic works stunt, massive infrastructure for an Olympics or something that will never come.

When I arrived, in late February of this year, the Hertz desk at the airport was overrun, and I was told I’d have to wait some hour and a half for a car to be washed. I said that a wash was wholly unnecessary and managed to get out of there, not with a charming old Land Rover as I had imagined, but a kind of apple-red Kia utility vehicle in an hour and twenty-five minutes flat. If you want to make Itzamná laugh, tell him about your plans, etc.

And I had been planning this visit for ages, gone through myriad drafts of itineraries, with various partners in crime signing on to join, before cancelling. But I normally travel alone. I’m probably more accustomed to going solo. And I love a road trip—I can stop whenever, wherever, and change plans on a whim without having to worry about someone else’s schedule.

Except of course the ticket offices of the ruins themselves. Because of the crazy delay in securing my car at the airport I had to fight my way into the Tulum archeological site, to join the very last group of tourists admitted to the compound of ruins sitting atop the blazing turquoise sea. By the time I’d caught up with the group, having sprinted through the humid tropical heat, I was drenched, and blinking in the sun.

I am very hard on my gear and my clothes when I travel, often bundling together one batch of things for three, four, six, ten months on the road. Crumpled into a suitcase, battered around on safari and assaulted with the salty heat near the sea. So the notion of linen is not entirely incidental. If I look, in my wandering through airports, a bit like I’ve been on the run from Belloq and the Iquitos, I love the versatility of a linen capsule wardrobe. And in the books and tales that I love, it seems as though the explorers in the jungle are always having to be ready to weather the worst and then pop into the embassy or some institution to raise money, to attend a gala or whatever. So when Mack Weldon told me they had a new line to tough-wearing, easy-care linen, I thought what better place in the world to take it for a spin.

When I left the Tulum ruins, I got a note from my hotel that their power was out. The whole city grid was down. The charms of the jungle, they’d said, and offered me an exchange, with a stay at their property in the colonial town of Valladolid. Which was sort of perfect. After a couple hours’ drive, I arrived at this old stone town, beginning to soften in the purpley dusk light, its walls painted in mustard and watermelon beginning to glow orange with the last rays of the sun, and checked into the hotel, their only guest.

From Valladolid, I would make my little daily sorties, to Chichén Itzá and the nearby cenotes, rambling around, taking pictures, rereading Charles Portis’s Gringos—looking for, what, exactly? Adventure, surely. And a connection to a romantic ideal of my childhood, perhaps. Looking for the me I had always hoped to be.

Because maybe the thing is just to set out. Maybe the paths themselves, and even their end points, are incidental. All the gold is gone, carted off to the (wrong) museums. What treasure there is, we bring with us. And maybe that's the point of it all, not to travel in pursuit of the souvenir, to extract meaning or worldly wisdom, but to sprinkle what good we carry, what good we see, wherever we may be. Not to become more whole, but more diffuse, as we leave bits of ourselves with the people and places we encounter on the road.

After a couple of days, the city lights came back on and I returned to Coba, thinking about ghosts. About the ghosts of the gods and the ghosts of those who prayed to them at these wonderful pyramids. About the ghosts of our former selves, and the selves we never quite got to be. At the hotel where I’d original planned to base myself, I set my camera on a tripod and pulled out my linens’n things to play out some of the various characters I keep in my suitcase, to see if I could capture some of those ghosts on film.

Be careful what books you get into when you are young, is all I’m saying. If you are like me, you may end up blissfully lost, deep in the Yucatán jungle, in search, less, of treasure, than of yourself. And you would absolutely love it.

“‘Personal style’—defining it, finding it, cultivating it, expressing it—has been the go-to directive in menswear for a while now, all up and down the food chain,” Dougherty writes. But what if we’ve been misled? What if the fervid pursuit of personal style has only succeeded in pushing it further and further out of reach? Like a kind of grail (but not that kind of grail).

As a menswear brand invested in a “think less, do more” approach to getting dressed—see: the name of this blog—we took a special interest in the points raised in the story. The other week, we called Dougherty, a longtime brand director and consultant, to talk through his conception of the term, creativity in the age of the algorithm, and what comes after the apocalypse.

For people who haven’t read the piece, can you provide a working definition of personal style? It’s pretty self-evident, but I think the way you use it here is a bit more layered.
I think what I was trying to get at in the article is that there seems to be a tension now between “personal style™,” as you might see dictated by an Esquire or GQ or menswear brand, and then the “personal style” that comes a bit more organically through social media.

If it’s coming from that editorial channel, it’s taking more of a how-to approach. It’s service journalism. From the brand side, it’s in service of marketing. The idea of, “Here’s how to look good, and oh, by the way, it’s our brand that’s going to do that for you.” So that’s the former. The latter is this idea of people on Reddit or Instagram or TikTok (although I’m not on it) discussing with each other, “How do I come up with a look that feels unique to me?”

And I think that's the operative word here: Everyone wants to feel unique. No one wants to be the Patagonia vest bro. They want to be Bill Cunningham or David Lynch or James Baldwin.

Can you point to a specific moment in time when you saw this shift from personal style to what might be called the Personal Style Industrial Complex?
It’s been around for a long time—as long as I’ve been working in menswear. Some of the people who commented on the piece pointed out that, at the time [10 to 15 years ago], it felt new. It felt like a fresh concept. And these tutorials, these how-tos, the service journalism or brand content around it felt genuinely helpful because it seemed like a noble goal. But I think what happened was, just by virtue of repetition, there was sort of a tyranny of it. People started to feel like, well, what if I don’t want to develop a personal style? Or, what the hell does that even mean? The more it was repeated, the less impact it had, the less organic it was. Instead of being helpful, it felt prescriptive.

I almost find the notion of personal style incompatible with Instagram and the “algorithm.” Things are metabolized so quickly. As soon as you put something out there, someone else is doing it—and then it’s not “personal” anymore.
It’s hard, especially these days, to even know what the original thought is anymore. I talked to Nick Tazza [for a recent piece], who was the original digital director at ALD. And we talked about a lot of mood boards having the same types of images wherever you go, because we’re all just pulling from the same reference points. What does that do to creativity? What does that do to innovation and culture?

In the article, you gesture to an alternative—that is, a style that flows from your life and your interests as opposed to the other way around. Can you elaborate on that a bit?
I think back to how Clay Chambers, who runs sprezza, put it—that personal taste came as a byproduct of interesting stuff the people [he referenced] were already doing. That’s the through-line to Richard Haines. He’s an artist first and foremost, and so he wants clothes with a lot of pockets because he needs to have pens and notepads. He’s sketching everywhere, so he needs pieces that have the functionality built into them. He’s just living, and the clothes he’s choosing are supporting that lifestyle.

I realize this is somewhat antithetical to the nature of our conversation…but how might guys practically put this into effect?
Don’t copy anyone, no matter who they are. You can certainly take inspiration from some of these so-called menswear icons. Especially for a guy who's maybe a little bit more reserved in his style, it’s helpful to be able to look to a Donald Glover or Tyler, the Creator and say, "Well, maybe I could integrate a color or silhouette or type of piece that doesn't come naturally to me."

But at the end of the day, it has to fit your life and lifestyle. It’s about being open to new ideas, but also being true to you. As the father of a toddler, there are ways I want to dress, say, with more tailored clothing, that does not support my lifestyle. At some point, maybe I'll go back there and that's fine. But for now, that's not the stuff I'm wearing because it doesn't naturally fit within my lifestyle.

Sometimes, I feel like we end up conflating authenticity with uniqueness. But it seems to me that what you’re suggesting is a way to have the former without necessarily requiring the latter.
I always look at the Starter Pack meme as evidence that we're not as unique as we think we are. We're following the same trends, we're following the same designers, we're into the same current ideas, so of course you're going to end up wearing the shoes or pants or jacket likeminded people are also gravitating towards. And that's fine.

If you feel bad about your style, go to an airport. You’ll instantly be the best-dressed guy there.

I hesitate to place you in this position, but do you have any predictions? What comes after the personal style apocalypse?
Oh, man. I'm truly awful at predictions. I think menswear has to have an organizing principle, right? It has to have this North Star idea. The magazines need it, the brands need it, the influencers need it. They need something to kind of coalesce around.

What that will be, I don’t know. I think inevitably some of the more rules-based aspects of the #menswear era, those will start coming back. Counterintuitively, people who never had rules are going to want rules, and whereas the rules felt fussy and antiquated a few years ago, they're going to seem helpful to a generation that grew up without them.

Any parting thoughts?
Log off, live your life, go see your friends, have interests, explore new things. Naturally, you'll wake up one day and have a personal style without even realizing it.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

But evidently this thought did occur to Danny Sheehan, because he’s telling us about it now, his long jog through fall foliage on a brisk November day, with the matter-of-fact tone of someone discussing, I don’t know, laundry, or a bagel, or a rerun of Seinfeld.

I guess it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise, though. We’re talking at Mile High Run Club, after all, where Sheehan and his fellow running coaches have gamely agreed to put our new Stealth Pro performance boxer briefs to the test. One of New York’s premier fitness studios, Mile High takes the pace of a HIIT workout, puts it on a treadmill, and adds some exhilarating music and neon lighting—the result of which is sweating. A lot. But in a good way.

Still: Might this be intimidating to the average person?

“Honestly, I think the hardest part is just getting in the room,” coach Andrew Lyle says. “Once you’re there, it’s easy to say ‘yes’ to the challenge.”

“You can clearly see that when you're struggling or tired,” coach Shódan Rodney adds, “the person next to you or in front of you is going through exactly the same thing.”

The ethos of Mile High Run Club feels particularly well-suited to the moment. A recent study found that, in 2024, there was a nearly 60% increase in run club participation; people signed up not only to workout, but to socialize. Articles and thinkpieces abound, positioning the trend as a natural response to a post-pandemic world dominated by remote work and digital devices, less “partying” and more dating apps. “These clubs,” one New York Times article suggests, “help people build communities in cities that can feel alienating.”

Certainly, New York may be considered one of those cities. But its alienating qualities can also serve as the wellspring of its collective spirit.

“The amount of runners by sheer volume in New York City is higher than anywhere else in the country,” Lyle says. “The competitiveness and intensity can be overwhelming, but I also think it can sharpen you, especially when it comes to running.”

For 45 minutes in-studio, Mile High can feel like a microcosm of the greater New York running community—albeit one where competition, over the course of a class, gives way to camaraderie.

“The beauty of running is that literally anyone could put on a pair of sneakers and go outdoors, and they know that there's other people in the world probably doing it at the same exact time,” coach Alain Saint-Dic says. “What I love about a Mile High is you take those people and you put them in the same environment.”

Coincidentally, Sheehan was coaching a real-live running team—with the delightfully onomatopoeic name, “Dashing Whippets”—when a heat wave rolled through the city. Ducking into a class at Mile High, he quickly felt a kinship with the format.

“In my classes, I always say we're a team in the room whether you buy into it or not,” he says. “But if you do buy into it, you're really going to feel surrounded by that energy.”

Learn more about our collaboration with Mile High Run Club here.

The result is this expert guide, featuring everything from library bars, to winter spas, to red wine baths (which is…exactly what it sounds like).

An informal poll taken around Mack Weldon HQ in conjunction with the release of said article revealed the following:

1. Most people were into the more traditional options, such as the bar at Delmonico’s and fondue by the fireplace at Black Mountain Wine House.

2. A small but vocal minority preferred the “activities”—a staycation at The Rockaway Hotel or stand-up comedy at The Stand.

3. One brave soul confessed to his coworkers that he would indeed take the plunge (into a tub full of red wine at Aire Ancient Baths).

To which we say: Cheers?

New York boasts more than its fair share of famous residents: Spike Lee. Sarah Jessica Parker. Timothée Chalamet (plus a bunch of guys who look like Timothée Chalamet).

But perhaps none are so iconic—or, well, ubiquitous—as the creatures featured in the artist Luca Font’s cheeky “Animals of New York” prints. And seeing as we’re based in the city ourselves, we did what any self-respecting menswear brand would do: put them on our bestselling tees for you to wear.

Three of the four limited-edition tees are still available: the rat, the owl, and the pigeon. (The squirrel, an obvious favorite, has already sold out.)

Recently, we caught up with Luca to discuss his creative process, his greatest source of inspiration, and his underwear-related preferences.

This blog is called “The Brief,” after all…

We’ve worked together to bring your animals of New York to life on our tees—when did the idea for the series first come to you? How did you narrow the animals down to these four?

It’s interesting because if I think of NYC, these are the first animals I think of. But if you take a closer look, the variety of the fauna is much much wider than that, especially if you focus on wild birds. I guess it has to do with the ones I meet the most!

More importantly…which one of them is your favorite and why?

Sorry, subway rats. I’ll pick the pigeon anytime, anywhere.

In general, how would you describe your style of art?

I usually say I do graphic art, which—as much of a generic definition as this may sound—turns out to be a pretty good one, as it clearly indicates where I place myself in the wider spectrum that goes from realism to abstraction.

What’s your greatest source of inspiration?

I’d probably say that inspiration mostly lies in the stuff you experience on an everyday basis.

Can you take us through your creative process? When you’re conceptualizing a new piece, where do you begin?

I always begin from something that has way too much, then start taking away whatever isn’t necessary. I think of it as a sculpture—it’s mostly a job of subtraction.

When did you first think to yourself: “I can do this for a living”?

I honestly never thought I could live as an artist! I’ve always considered myself more of a craftsman.

What’s the most effective way to break out of a creative funk?

I think it’s always about trying to have fun, which requires a certain amount of honesty towards yourself and what you do, because you can’t enjoy what you do if your only goal is pleasing everybody else.

You split time between Milan and New York. How does that influence your work?

It has a really positive effect. It breaks down the routine and keeps the energy flowing. I tend to get bored easily, so keeping things interesting and somehow unpredictable definitely helps.

Artistically, is there something you want to do that you haven’t done yet? If so, what is it?

I would love to have a sculpture done sometime!

And because we’re all about underwear…F*ck, Marry, Kill: Boxers, Briefs, Boxer Briefs.

Unpopular opinion: boxer briefs rule!

You can really taste the corn.

That’s my first thought upon tasting “Cortes” on the homey, art-adorned patio of Bronx Brewery. A Mexican lager brewed with Texas blue corn, the beer feels appropriate for an early September day that’s August hot, the high sun clinging to the last of summer. It’s also key to understanding what makes the brewery tick.

With a label designed by New York native Danny Cortes (hence the name), the eponymous lager is one of the most recent entries in the Y-Series—the brewery’s run of limited-release collaborations with local artists and community organizations.

“There’s 10,000 breweries in the U.S. and they’re all making great beer,” says cofounder Damian Brown. “For us, it’s important to be able to stand out, not just for the beer, but for what’s driving the purpose behind the beer.”

For Brown and his team, that purpose revolves around three core pillars: creativity, community, and inclusivity.

“Bronx is in the name,” Brown says. “So the most important thing for us is having the brewery reflect the neighborhood.”

That’s where creative director Jose Ruiz comes in. Before joining Bronx Brewery, he curated art shows and pop-ups around the city. Now he draws on his deep rolodex to curate the Y-Series—and facilitate opportunities between the brewery and the community at large.

“The amazing, authentic people that come out of the Bronx are unmatched,” he says. “The creative energy that comes in through the brewery, through the backyard, it just ends up kind of leaking into our beer.”

Speaking of which: This month, we’re proud to partner with Bronx Brewery to launch our new SILVER Denim Jacket. Like the best beer, it’s a perfect blend of art and science, pairing rugged twill cotton with anti-odor Ionic+® silver (a technology that just so happens to be used in the brewing process as well).

“Denim is a natural fit for a brewery,” Brown says, referencing all the cleaning involved. “It’s tough. It’s durable. It’s a fabric that carries its history with it.”

It’s also ideal for, say, drinking a crisp pilsner in the backyard of your favorite brewery on a clear October afternoon.

In addition to the jacket launch, we worked together with Ruiz to design a limited-edition SILVER tee—spotlighting one of their beers with our custom “World Gone SILVER” label. (You can find the beer at participating locations, while supplies last.)

This kind of exchange feels natural for a brewery that prides itself on bringing people together.

“We want to make the best beer we can,” Brown says. “But at the end of the day, it’s like, what can we do with the beer? How can we use it to have an impact on our community? The beer is a platform, more than the end product.”

We’ll drink to that.

—Sam Eichner

The weekend before I catch up with golf podcasters Bradford Wilson and Drew Westphal, golfer Rory McIlroy loses the U.S. Open.

It is an indelible defeat, so perfectly terrible. With a two-shot lead heading into the last four holes, McIlroy missed short putts on 16 and 18; his foil, Bryson DeChambeau, made a 1-in-100 up-and-down from a bunker to win by a single stroke. In the aftermath, memes began to circulate online of Rory in the scoring room, eyes dim and face slack, a caricature of dejection.

“He’s been chasing another major since 2014,” Wilson says. “This is his life’s work. It’s everything to him. And to see him come up short like that…it’s like disappointing a parent or something.”

We’re hanging out in an Airbnb in Chicago, where Wilson and Westphal have come to interview young amateurs at the Western Junior Championship—and, naturally, play some golf themselves. In the grand tradition Guys on Golf Trips, they’re drinking cheap beer from whatever vessel happens to be available at the rental. In this case, teacups.

“For your putter to betray you on two of the last three holes…” Westphal adds, shaking his head. “Professional golfers do recover, they do bounce back. But this would take an enormous mental toll on anyone—even a guy that mentally tough.”

It’s a practiced mode for Wilson and Westphal, this casual back-and-forth about golf that’s not really about golf. Together, they make up two-thirds of the popular podcast, Group Golf Therapy (their third, Connor Laubenstein, is traveling in Spain). Over three years and 100 episodes, the trio has interviewed everyone from Macklemore to two-time major champion Lydia Ko—using golf as a vehicle to discuss mental health.

“We call ourselves ‘golf’s safe space’ for a reason,” Westphal says. “We truly want to be able to tell people’s stories through our platform.”

Before they started Group Golf Therapy, the three—all of whom played in college—were on an indefinite hiatus from the game. Then the pandemic hit. Like so many, they found respite in the relative calm of the golf course.

“Getting swept up in the conversations about social change and everything that was happening during 2020 was all-consuming,” Wilson says. “But finding golf, and finding a voice in golf, gave me purpose.”

In 2021, Wilson released a video essay, “Dear Golf”—an impassioned push for inclusivity in a game known for the opposite. Westphal saw the video and reached out.

“I knew nothing about him,” he recalls. “I sent him a couple of friendly DMs, like, ‘Yo dude, that was beautiful. Thank you.’ And then a few weeks later, I was like, ‘Have you ever thought about doing a podcast?’”

Westphal admits they had no idea what they were doing at first. But the three quickly found their groove. If Laubenstein is the head, Wilson is the heart—and Westphal the glue that holds everything together.

“Not only have we gotten better as podcasters,” Wilson says, of the difference between the first episode and the 100th. “We’ve gotten better as friends.”

It’s easy to see the pod as part of a larger cultural shift in the wake of the pandemic—a greater openness towards mental health, particularly in arenas where the concept has been something of a taboo. Like professional sports. Or groups of dudes just hangin’ out, shooting the shit.

“A lot of men reach out and and are like, ‘Yo, thanks to Group Golf Therapy, me and my boys talk about our feelings on the golf course,’” Wilson says. “I think it takes one or two people to set the standard for what’s acceptable across the board.”

“Another thing that blows my mind,” Westphal says, “is when people will message us and just spill their guts to absolute strangers. It keeps me wanting to do this, because you don’t know how many other people, who don’t send a message, are feeling those same feelings.”

Golf, Westphal suggests, is an ideal venue for real conversation. An uninterrupted stretch of time to find out, say, what’s really going on with that old friend of yours. In this context, a golf trip, like the one they’re on now, is kind of sacred: a tradition; a rite. Or, at the very least, a thinly disguised excuse to reconnect on familiar territory, in spite of all that’s changed.

“One of the things we really want to do,” Wilson says, “is go to each of our home courses and play them together. I want to see where Drew learned to play golf. I want to see where Connor learned to play golf. And I really want them to see where I learned to play golf, and share some stories. That was an early goal for us. And one that’s still out there.”

“I think I got better in my first year of doing stand-up in New York than I had the previous five years,” he recalls. “It’s like you’re getting better through osmosis.”

Like many comics, Mamawala initially worked a series of odd jobs (SAT tutor, tennis instructor) to make ends meet. But a little over a decade ago, he began earning enough to do stand-up full-time. As he’s matured, so too has his comedy.

“I’ve always gravitated towards autobiographical stuff, when you feel like you really get a sense of who the person is.”

Consequently, Mamawala wears clothes on stage that make him feel like the most authentic version of himself. Most of the time, that means a nice pair of jeans: comfortable, with the right balance of slimness and stretch.

“Fundamentally, stand-up comedy is all about confidence, right?” he says. “If you don’t feel good in what you’re wearing, you’re probably not going to be very confident.”

And just to be clear: Tom wasn’t a cook or anything. He just really, really (really) loved granola. To compensate, he started sending out scorecards with each package to solicit feedback from customers—hence the name, Perfect 10.

“Bringing people along on the culinary journey was crucial in my learning curve,” he says. “I can’t overstate that enough.”

Nowadays, he juggles his personal and professional responsibilities by maximizing the two-hour window from 5 to 7 a.m., before his kids wake up. As for what he wears the rest of the day, between recipe development and ingredient runs?

“I like a more minimalist look,” he says. “I want to be comfortable, but I also want to feel sharp.”

“There’s an 8 a.m. to 7 p.m. shift, which is normally when I focus on ‘work work,’ and then a 7 p.m. to 2 a.m.,” he says. “Obviously, you’ve got to fit a life in there. But I think it’s just about carving out those blocks of time.”

When it comes to clothes, Dan looks to keep things crisp, clean, more professional—even, or especially, if he’s working at home. “I feel like if I’m dressed a little bit nicer, I carry myself a little bit differently.”

“What I’m interested in is those unexpected destinations,” Jebara says, “but also uncovering the facets of what might be perceived as an ‘overrun’ destination.”

Whether in Greece, Oaxaca, or at home in New York, Jebara is constantly looking to expand his horizons—and share what he’s learned with an audience. Of course, it’s not all for our benefit.

“Selfishly, I travel for self-discovery. I see myself reflected in the destinations around me and the people I meet,” he says, “and I think I learn, not necessarily to be a better person, but a fuller person.”

To maximize his time in a given place, Jebara has a specific criteria for clothes: They should be comfortable, stylish, functional, and work within a neutral palette, so he can leave in the morning and stay out through the end of the night.

The way you describe what you do (to people who have no idea what you do).

I typically describe myself as a creator specializing in social media content. Then, I usually pause to gauge their reaction, hoping to spark a lively discussion about the world of social-first content creation. But usually that doesn’t quite resonate, haha.

The first time you thought to yourself: “I can do this for a living.”

For years, I juggled my full-time job as an Art Director with my passion for content creation. Things changed when I began traveling for specific campaign shoots and focusing on video instead of photography. Suddenly, my limited vacation days became a constraint.

The work you’re most proud of.

I find it challenging to single out one particular video. With every completed project, I experience a profound sense of accomplishment, knowing that I’ve overcome hurdles and created something meaningful.

The most effective way to break out of a funk.

I force myself to keep creating, even if it means trying things I wouldn’t normally do.

The last person, place, or thing to change the way you see the world.

During my college years, I was fortunate to have a professor who embodied the spirit of inspiration akin to Robin Williams’ character in Dead Poets Society. Much like the iconic teacher, he had a knack for challenging our conventional ways of thinking.

Your hottest take.

Skinny jeans should never come back in style!

The items on your bedside table.

iPhone charger, iWatch charger, a water bottle, and usually a couple decorative books that I never read and collect dust.

The last thing you spent too much money on (but was worth it).

I’m thinking hard about buying one of those fully automatic cappuccino/espresso machines…

The #1 single off the soundtrack to your life.

At this moment, the soundtrack to my life is heavily influenced by the music preferences of my five-year-old son. Currently, that’s “Down Like That” from the latest Paw Patrol movie.

And because we’re all about underwear…F*ck, Marry, Kill: Boxers, Briefs, Boxer Briefs.

I’m a one underwear type of guy. It’s boxer briefs or nothing!

Follow Phil @thepacman82