When my eyes grazed over it, I knew with all the resembling Astroturf glory that it was a rare attempt at love at first sight… seeing as I nearly atrophied to this jacket’s brilliant oddity. Lounging among the masses of a local Goodwill, its ugly duckling-ness screamed audibly from a corner rack. And somehow, I couldn’t stomach the thought of not having this delicious vintage piece readily socialize with others in my closet, my fashion lair.
In the vein of such a verdant forest quality and prickly green panache, the (very nearly) funky charisma hit a sweet note and the formula just seemed to work. In all fairness, albeit much to my chagrin of lusting after yet another wardrobe affiliate, unless some other peculiarity strikes a chord, it will perpetually remain… The Grass Jacket.
Boots, Nine West. T, F21. Cutoffs, DIY.
No animals were harmed in the making of The Grass Jacket.