The were maybe too closely associated聽with Tom Cruise鈥檚 toothy, underwear-clad uber-bro from , so an update was in order. The which was聽released in 2008 and is聽not actually so new anymore,聽is slicker aesthetically and more ergonomic than the original. Plus, the聽lens polarization is somehow, to my eye, more seamless than any other pair of shades I’ve worn. The highest compliment I can pay might be to say that I don’t notice when I’m wearing the New Wayfarers. That is, until I catch a reflection of my mug in a car window and think, “Tom who?”
As an 国产吃瓜黑料 editor, I’ve been trained to think that聽durability and performance reign supreme over style, but there’s no sacrificing with these glasses. I’ve had the same pair since 2013. The tortoiseshell veneer is peeling and chipping off the temple tips, one of the hinges is sticky, and the lenses are scratched to hell鈥攐ne of them is even cracked from a time I dropped the glasses on a rock during a backpacking trip. But somehow I haven鈥檛 noticed the wear and tear enough to feel compelled to buy a new pair. They’ve survived pool water so chlorinated it acid-washed聽my boxers from black to purple,聽salt water plunges in the Pacific, constant tosses and rough landings, a thousand thumb-inside-of-shirt lens scrubbings, and hours spent smashed聽in my pocket next to my car keys.
I don’t do a good job of taking care of my sunglasses, and I probably never will. I don’t schlep around a leather case or use one of those聽microfiber cloths that always come with a new pair of shades. These aren’t baby bunny rabbits. They’re a tool. Some people enjoy thinking about their possessions and relish opportunities to contemplate shopping for new ones. I don’t. My favorite part about these glasses: I never have to think about them.