6 min read

Every winter, no matter what I buy, I default to the pants . You know the ones; we all have them. Even though there are a dozen pairs within your closet, you still reach for the ones you wore yesterday, and the day before yesterday, and the day before the day before yesterday.

Each season (and each guy) has these pants. The heavy rotators, the first to rescue in a fire, the ones that always make it into the weekend duffel. In spring, mine is a pair of light-wash Dad jeans of medium value. In summer, linen fatigues . But in fall and winter, when the gales of November come early , I reach for a pair of navy corduroys the same way my agrarian ancestors must have reached for the harvest scythe—with practical, unfettered joy in anticipation of the season’s bounty. And if yo

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