More use = More sauce

The more I use the things I own, the more I love them.

Isn’t it beautiful to see the passage of time through the stuff you use every day? The fade on your jeans that reveals where you used to keep your wallet, your phone, your keys — like a personal map of habit. The coffee mug that’s survived a hundred drops and one near-death experience. The first guitar you bought thinking you were destined to headline Coachella — back when fame required, idk, to have a talent.

These objects tell stories. They age with you. They gain character — or as I like to say, they get saucy.

But in fashion, the line between cool and worn-in and just plain worn-out is blurry. The same scuffed boots might say rockstar or can’t pay rent, depending on who’s looking. And yet, there’s something powerful about clothes that show life. Not staged life — actual, lived-in, messy, beautiful life:

• A T-shirt full of holes — like the ones your favorite band tee would get after years of love.

• A jacket with fake paint splatters — as if you actually painted something other than your nails.

• Jeans with fake dirt and frayed knees — mimicking the wear they’d get if you built anything besides an aesthetic Pinterest board.

There’s a whole industry trying to sell you clothes with lives they never lived. It’s a performance. A shortcut to meaning. Your style would emerge by accident, as a byproduct of living, not curating.

I once heard someone on YouTube say: “The best way to improve your personal style is to have a life.” And it stuck.

You don’t need more distressed garments. You need more experiences to distress them with.

Honestly, that’s why I love Matty Matheson. The guy lives his life — loudly. He’s a chef, a dad, a builder, a guy who does stuff. And his clothes show it. His style isn’t something he puts on — it’s something that’s happened to him along the way. That’s sauce. That’s authenticity.

So wear your life. And let your clothes catch up.