I met Trea on my way to shoot Ellen Fisher when there was an emergency in the subway and we were evacuated. At the top of the stairs, I was stopped in my tracks by this dapper, handsome kid, standing out of the crowd on East 86th street. I found myself staring, looking him up and down to make sure that I had found another closet to raid and ideas to explore. He seemed to know what I was going to ask before I asked. When I went to interview Trea, I found a “grown-up” kid from Las Vegas in suspenders, vests, and emo glasses. Almost everything in his wardrobe is from a family member: his grandfather’s shirt, father’s belt and suspenders, and a pinned-up fedora that he had given to his brother and taken back. The leather pouch around his neck that holds a penny and a diamond for good luck is from his mother and reminds me of the unaccompanied minor tag one wears around their neck when flying under age. Trea has seriously classic good style on literally a few dollars, and I love his signature touch of rolling up the sleeves of his button-downs to reveal the thermals underneath. Most endearing is his comfort with the self-professed “big kid” in him, maybe best exemplified by the Burger King watch worn with his grays and pinstripes.
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