Carmelo Anthony’s memories of New York are vivid in his mind. In the late 1980s, when the world was viewed from a waist-high vantage point, the city pulsed with an unpredictable rhythm. One day it was a wonder; the next, a challenge. “It was loud, it was unpredictable, it was survival,” he recalls. “Every corner was a test.” By the summer of 1992, he was gone. A young kid from Brooklyn navigating Myrtle Avenue in Baltimore, growing into both a new city and a 6ft 5in frame. If New York was the primer, Baltimore was the crucible. “I like to say that’s the city that actually raised me,” he says. “Baltimore taught me how to navigate life, taught me about feelings, emotions and the mental.”

It sounds ridiculous – and in some ways it is – but for a brief period around 40 years ago, a group of ostentatious Italian youths who liked to loiter outside of sandwich shops had a role in shaping the way we have dressed ever since. In early 1980s Milan, affluent teenagers and twentysomethings started to congregate first at a small snack bar called Il Panino in Piazza Liberty, and later at a branch of a newly opened burger chain, Burghy, in Piazza San Babila. In a matter of months, the “paninari” (derived from panino, the Italian word for sandwich) were known across Italy.

Adam Brody is an excellent sport. During his photoshoot for MR PORTER, he wears mohair in the blazing LA heat, submerges himself in a swimming pool in a LOEWE tracksuit and regales the crew with stories – funny ones – while balancing a martini on his head. When asked if he’d mind skateboarding for a shot, he picks up the board, no questions asked, hot coffee still in hand. From an insurance perspective, I’m on edge; as a devotee of The OC, I couldn’t be more thrilled. Perhaps I should come clean right from the off: Adam Brody was my first big crush. I’ve had to keep my cool around many attractive men in my career, but reader, this was my Everest. And as a long-time fan of Brody’s, in this moment, I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.

I am nearing 20 years of friendship with Tom Hazlerigg-Greeves. We met at school, bonded over an interest in fashion and later travelled together. Over the summer, I had the honour of being his best man at his wedding on Noirmoutier, a quaint, off-grid island in western France that you’ve almost certainly never heard of (though I suggest researching).

Carmelo Anthony’s memories of New York are vivid in his mind. In the late 1980s, when the world was viewed from a waist-high vantage point, the city pulsed with an unpredictable rhythm. One day it was a wonder; the next, a challenge. “It was loud, it was unpredictable, it was survival,” he recalls. “Every corner was a test.” By the summer of 1992, he was gone. A young kid from Brooklyn navigating Myrtle Avenue in Baltimore, growing into both a new city and a 6ft 5in frame. If New York was the primer, Baltimore was the crucible. “I like to say that’s the city that actually raised me,” he says. “Baltimore taught me how to navigate life, taught me about feelings, emotions and the mental.”

It sounds ridiculous – and in some ways it is – but for a brief period around 40 years ago, a group of ostentatious Italian youths who liked to loiter outside of sandwich shops had a role in shaping the way we have dressed ever since. In early 1980s Milan, affluent teenagers and twentysomethings started to congregate first at a small snack bar called Il Panino in Piazza Liberty, and later at a branch of a newly opened burger chain, Burghy, in Piazza San Babila. In a matter of months, the “paninari” (derived from panino, the Italian word for sandwich) were known across Italy.