MORNING GARAGE. OFF SEASON. GARDEN LEAVE. NIGHT MOVES.
That is the whole garment, and it is also the index of this magazine. Four things the season kept returning to, in the order the day returns to them. Nothing was invented for the print: the lines existed first as places the diary kept going back to, and one week in July they turned out to be the contents page of a way of living.

The index, by the hour
Worn, it is the contents page of the shop. The wearer carries the index.

It is set in the house type, one ink, centred on the axis of the garment — measured, not judged by eye. There is no mark on the front. The house does not sign its work, and an index signed by nobody is either a manifesto or a timetable, depending entirely on how you spend your July.






