How we choose

Somewhere there is a room where someone is still doing this slowly.

They have made the same collar a thousand times, and the thousandth is better than the first in a way only they can see. Nobody is watching. They do it anyway.

That kind of care leaves a mark, and the mark is what we look for. It is in the fall of a sleeve. In a lining chosen as though it would be seen. In the weight of a coat that was never meant to be light.

Not the season, not the name, not what is moving this year. That mark.

Everything else, however beautiful, we leave where we found it.