Brown heart, because red was too romantic and South Carolina is a whole different kind of love. This is pluff mud love. The low tide funk that smacks you in the face when you cross the bridge and somehow smells like home. It is the color of sweet tea strong enough to dissolve a spoon, boiled peanuts dripping out of a paper bag, and whatever mystery sauce the barbecue spot out on the two lane road refuses to explain.
It is also the shade of your forearms by late May, the dust on your truck after a dirt road detour, and the tailgate mood in the fall when grown adults cry over a football game and nobody blinks. Eighty five percent humidity is not weather here, it is a personality trait.
Cut for actual humans, soft from the first wear, and built to survive a sweaty September and a chilly January alike. Washes well, holds its shape, and only gets better the more you abuse it.
