WEAR AND TEAR
On Syracuse University’s infamously snowy campus, the harsh winter weather is an unavoidable part of attending SU. From decadeslong sledding traditions to the comically long jackets students buy in anticipation of their first Syracuse winter, the cold inevitably weaves itself through every aspect of student life.
By the end of four grueling years filled with endless complaining, the winters have shaped us. Students learn to become appreciative of the handful of warm spring days and every precious moment of sun they get. Closets are left with the true marker of an upstate student—a collection of shoes and clothing weathered by ice and salt.
These stains are proof of trudging your way through an arctic snow storm on a Friday night out, or cutting through the muddy quad as you trek to the 8 a.m. class you manage to be late for every week. It’s just part of being a student on a campus where it’s sunny and 60 degrees one day and blizzarding the next—and where getting the stains out of your shoes doesn’t necessarily rank highly in the college version of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.
At its core, clothing has always been a form of expression and a way for people to tell a story. But that story isn’t complete without the wear and tear that reflects the experiences of the item’s owner.
For Syracuse fashion and apparel design senior Kieran Romano, the rips and stains are part of the intrigue. As he finished his senior thesis collection, Romano said he was fascinated by vintage clothing and often referenced 1950s workwear and durable fabrics in his work.
As part of his research process, he studied wear patterns (the marks of daily movement and stretching on fabrics) and how they developed so he could replicate them in his own work. Over the past few months, Romano has experimented with different ways of dyeing and distressing fabrics in the studio to achieve the vintage look.
“I really love the look of a worn-in garment,” Romano said. “Having that specific wear pattern kind of shows you that it has been worn before, and this wasn't how it was produced.”
Thinking back to when he used to skateboard, Romano recalled a staple at the skatepark—what he called “heel bite.” The baggy pants he wore would sit on the heel of his board and grind against the ground, leaving his pants missing a chunk.
“When I look around, I'm like, ‘You're either from Syracuse or you skateboard because the back of your pants are destroyed,’” Romano said.
For fellow skateboarder Makenzie Sproles, the distressed look goes beyond her clothes. She said a banged up board typically earns respect rather than judgment amongst other skateboarders.
“They'd rather see it scratched up,” she said. “They'd rather see it ruined.”
Sproles, the former president of SU’s Skateboarding Club, has been skating since her high school years. Now a junior at SU, Sproles said she’s earned her fair share of ripped pants and banged up shoes. But that doesn’t stop her from wearing her clothes with pride.
“I like to wear my clothes as much as I can,” Sproles said. “I'm the type of person who [gets] a dollar a wear, you know? So if it's $120, I'm wearing it 120 times.”
The next time you glance down at your shoes to find that your pair of new UGGs are no longer brown, but a dusty, salt-stained white, think of them as an emblem of your days as an upstate student—a time when life wasn’t serious enough yet to be concerned that half of your jeans were ripped away during a late-night expedition across our icy campus.