Who's to say how it feels to run an ultra-marathon - not you, that's for sure - but the mental exhaustion has to be, roughly, somewhere in the ballpark of, "Just spent an evening in the company of an amateur standup comedian," which we can confirm is just absolutely fucking draining. 

You know the type. He (and it's always a he, since women are the back-to-back-to-forever multi-generational gold medalists in self awareness) could have been the opener's opener at the last standup show you attended, or the guy who came out to fill time so you didn't complain to the box office when that improv thing you went to ended fifteen minutes early, or that friend of a friend who, after a bad breakup [read: he's a controlling weirdo] decided to start gigging at open mic nights to share his gift with the world.

If an acquaintance of yours showed up to an evening work function with a guy whose side gig was performing as Cletus the Clown at children's birthday parties but he introduced himself as Carl, a bank teller at Chase, you'd be none the wiser, because Cletus knows how to wash off that makeup and dial it back to socially-acceptable levels of humanity. Whether it's the growing pile of insecurity from toiling for peanuts (or popcorn, depending on the venue), or the frustration of watching - in their eyes - less funny or deserving versions of themselves play to increasingly bigger laughs every night, the amateur comedian just cannot turn that shit off. 

At first you'll think, Oh, this is cool, this guy's going to do the heavy lifting in this conversation. I can just sip this High Life and chill, but no - there will be zero chill tonight, friend. After he wraps up his infomercial-length monologue on the differences between local grocery stores you attempt to seize the opportunity to pivot towards a topic of more substance - or just literally anything devoid of comedic potential - but you were wrong there too: recent vote to increase property taxes? The comedy writes itself. Planned Parenthood funding in jeopardy? There's a joke in there somewhere. A friend's brother just got a Subaru? Bet you didn't know how hilarious car humor can be. 

And. it. never. fucking. stops. 

So if you find yourself in one of these conversational polar vortices, hopefully you'll have had the foresight to wear this Guccy Teddy Bear Hoodie from Gucci. When your new best friend heads to the bathroom people can just talk about something mindless and agreeable, like how dope your sweatshirt is, at least until he gets back from the bathroom.


Price:  $1,550

Brand:  Gucci

Store:  SSENSE

Why:  Because you've been searching for the single garment that says, summarily, "I have both expensive taste and extremely disposable income as well as a crippling fear of growing up," and you finally found your triple crown winner. This 100% cotton (like that's something to brag about) sweatshirt, made in Italy and finished with a laissez-faire spelling of GUCCI, also serves as a great introduction to fashionistas with a penchant for spelling and grammar correction, just the kind of people who do really well at parties.