I have a confession---I have the habit of borrowing my dad's things. His sweatpants, old tees, even his Navy issue linen shirt stamped "woz." Maybe it's because they are worn to perfection, or they smell like stale detergent. So when Mother Nature shows signs of fall, I promptly march to his closet and steal a few items for the coming winter. I mean, who doesn't have a place in their heart for a duck sweatshirt? So quirky, and well, manly (in an odd way, yes).
It is this sort of thing that ties directly to my love of masculine interiors. The apparent usefulness of each piece. The non-staged collections and groupings. That each piece is a treasure. How things can be beautiful without all the frills and fuss.
A book you've actually read on the coffee table.