Carhartts, Compassion & Cults of Exclusion
The loyalty I feel towards all things Carhartt was firmly established in the spring of 1997 with the purchase of my first pair of carpenter pants.
They were the real deal—camel-colored carpenter pants with extra pockets, a hammer-hook, and a second layer of denim attached with grommets to protect knees and thighs on the job and increase pant durability.
I was in my twenties at the time and needed to be ready for a new job on a carpentry and labor crew. Nearly twenty-five years later, I still remember how thick and starchy the fabric felt as I slid the Carhartts up my thighs and over my lace underwear. As I buttoned them up and caught a glimpse of The New Me in the mirror at Murdoch’s, my heart raced a little. I felt powerful.
I was part of a new club. Or I would be — as soon as I earned that stiff denim a gritty, on-the-job patina.
Longing to belong to a club surely has roots in our survival instincts. Safety in numbers, hunters and gatherers, caretakers, night watchmen and all of that.
Empathy for others could arguably be considered a cousin of the instinct to join a herd — the ability to imagine another’s pain should, in theory, inspire kindness, curiosity and an inclination to protect others from harm.
