Something like thirteen years ago, my baby sister gave me a hoodie for Christmas. I started hand washing it six years ago because it was clearly not going to survive another trip through a washing machine. Shortly thereafter, people started commenting on the hobo look I seemed to be going for when wearing the hoodie. I thought about replacing it. I really, really did. But I never did. Even when it had clearly ceased to be a hoodie and had instead become proof that while I’m not frequently prone to sentiment, when I get sentimental, I don’t believe in half-measures.