Jared Everett

by Francis Parrilli

Bad As Fuck Good As Hell
 I’m surrounded by swatches of fabric, stacked and draped along the dark wooden beams in an old cabin overlooking the Pacific. Jared Everett’s happy to be home after a stint on the road, despite the fact that the work is, physically, piling up. But this is a dream life, really, if only the guy had time to sleep.

The desire to continue to shape a lifestyle has always been with Jared Everett, drafted over past lives, former incarnations, or bred from a deep affection for a precious article of clothing. In fact, all of his projects—designer and archivist for Levi’s Tailor Shop, touring constituent of the band White Fence, and a founding member of Darker My Love—are birthed out of clear passion.

The day’s photographer is a friend of Everett’s, and as they chat about growing up in rural Pennsylvania, Everett eases into laughter. “I’ve seen so few places resist change,” he says. “I can always count on it to be exactly what it is whenever I’m there.” His preoccupation with the classic fabric comes as no surprise: Almost every picture from his childhood shows a boy cloaked in denim, the jacket tattered with youth—a rare love that lasts even as the cynicism of maturity erodes the edges of personality. “It forms to its wear, taking on the individuality of its owner,” he says. “No other fabric really does that.”

For Levi’s, he travels across America, translating forms and techniques of the past and infusing the company with the vitality of a new youthful brigade—styling artists and musicians, cultivating fresh ideas among visionaries, and crafting a central creative vision and marketing viability while maintaining the integrity of the past. “They arm me with color and texture and a sustainability program,” he says. “I’m basically conceptualizing the storyline of the brand.” Previously, he’d charmed his way into another clothing brand, Mister Freedom, as a jack-of-all-trades with “crafted determination,” his passion for denim clearly outweighing his other endeavors.

Naturally, we broach a controversial aspect of the denim industry: laundry. “Inside out, cold water, hang dry, a creek and campfire is just right,” Everett offers, riding a slim line between wry and sincere—though it’s not hard to see the pant-ologist doing just that. Case in point? Everett also rebuilds vintage bikes: “I’ve never owned anything new, so I’m always fixing something. I’m not sure if it’s love or just compulsion...you know, the only thing better than resurrecting a forgotten gem is the actual freedom of the ride.”

He concedes he’s “always in motion.” It’s a condition that reverberates. “I enjoy the type of music that accentuates this. The Kinks’ Arthur. That’s my recurring road trip classic.”

Everett would like to cut across the vineyards, over to the foothills of the Sierras where the buildings dwindle to nonexistence, to spend the day relaxing in the river or the hot springs, but a guitar needs tuning, bags need unpacking as new bags need to be packed, and he hasn’t been to the office in a week; State Road 1 is waiting and miles to go. Straddling Screaming Chrome—a vintage bike he rebuilt last summer—he’ll cover the commute in good time.