The first time I landed in the United States, it was for a tech internship in San Francisco. I’d imagined skyscrapers, innovation, and people moving fast. But what I didn’t expect was how the city made me feel so small and alive at once. During my second week exploring the city’s street markets and pop-up shops, I stumbled into a boutique that would change everything. In the center of a wooden rack stood the Essentials Hoodie, understated yet magnetic.
Most fashion brands in the U.S. seemed to scream for attention—logos, glitter, prints. But this hoodie was different. The Essentials Hoodie was quiet confidence in cloth form. A warm neutral tone, clean lines, and a bold-yet-minimalistic font. I was drawn to it immediately, not just for its look but its feel. There was a comfort in how it represented identity without noise—something I hadn’t known I craved. It felt like the hoodie wore me, not the other way around.
San Francisco’s foggy mornings were chillier than I expected. As someone from a much warmer climate, I wasn’t prepared. The day I bought the Essentials Hoodie, I wore it out of the store—and instantly felt at home in a foreign place. It wrapped around me like familiarity, even though everything else felt so new. Whether I was working from cafés in Mission District or walking across the Golden Gate Bridge, that hoodie became a second skin.
In my first month, I noticed how Americans expressed individuality through simplicity. People weren’t necessarily flashy, but intentional. The Essentials Hoodie fit perfectly into this culture. I saw it styled differently on students, creatives, and even tech executives. The design blurred boundaries—it was genderless, ageless, and versatile. It wasn’t just about the hoodie; it was what the hoodie allowed people to become. I began to see that fashion in the U.S. wasn’t about trends—it was about identity.
Back at my shared apartment, curiosity led me down a rabbit hole of researching the brand. I discovered that the Essentials line was part of Jerry Lorenzo’s Fear of God label. He designed it to offer luxury comfort for everyday people. It wasn’t about elite fashion—it was about essential fashion. That made me respect the Essentials Hoodie even more. It wasn’t an accidental purchase; it was a thoughtful design made for people like me who valued both purpose and style.
One thing that fascinated me about San Francisco was how the streetwear scene intertwined with tech culture. Hoodies were worn not just for comfort, but as badges of identity. Everyone had a version—branded, custom, vintage. But the Essentials Hoodie felt like the uniform of those who knew something deeper about aesthetics. It wasn’t trying to be flashy—it was simply better made. The cotton blend, the drop shoulders, the oversized fit—they all reflected subtle rebellion in a world of conformity.
The boutique where I found the hoodie wasn’t big—just a small independent spot in Haight-Ashbury. The staff was friendly and talked about the brand like it was art, not fashion. I tried on two more Essentials pieces and ended up buying another hoodie for my sister. That shopping experience felt more like a conversation than a transaction. I left with more than a bag—I left with a story stitched into the seams of that soft, oversized silhouette.
When my internship ended, I packed my suitcase with a heavy heart. But my Essentials Hoodie was folded right on top. It wasn’t just about style anymore—it had been with me on every major memory in that city. Rainy walks. Late-night brainstorming. Early-morning coffee runs. I realized fashion can carry moments. The hoodie was warm, yes, but it was also familiar, grounding, and deeply emotional. It reminded me that some pieces aren’t bought—they’re discovered, like chapters of a story.
Back home, people asked about my hoodie all the time. Some thought it was designer, others just loved the fit. But none of them knew the emotional weight it carried. The Essentials Hoodie wasn’t just apparel—it was a part of my journey. A tangible reminder that identity, belonging, and comfort can sometimes be found in unexpected places. It continues to be my go-to layer on uncertain days. And every time I wear it, I’m back in San Francisco—fog, freedom, and all.