Nothing ever lasts forever

Collection 2 sailed in on the wake of 1980s prep: deck shoes scuffed from the pier, polo collars flipped against the glare, linen shirts ballooning in the salt wind. Afternoons tasted of sunscreen and gin, radios humming faintly below deck.

The mixtape played like the sun itself had curated it. Love Plus One burst open with that absurd “ay ay ay ay ay ah,” all bright edges and boyish laughter. Sussudio strutted in, smug and unstoppable, as though Phil Collins alone kept the boat afloat. Then Hall & Oates turned everything languid, the air slowing into sway, eyes closing against the light.

It was the opposite of gloom: all varnish and glare, shallow maybe, but gloriously so. The water glittered, the music shimmered, and for a moment nothing existed but charm and surface and the pleasure of drifting.