Orange heart, because the red one felt too needy and your whole personality is a basket of deep-fried potato product glistening under a heat lamp. That is the exact shade of love we are talking about here. Not romance. Devotion. The kind of feeling you get when the sun melts into the mountains at 9pm in July and the air smells like river water, pine, and somebody's charcoal grill three campsites over.
This is for the people who know that "famous potatoes" is a flex, that a two hour drive to a trailhead counts as "nearby," that winter lasts until roughly June, and that everyone from out of state assuming you live off the grid is actually kind of perfect. Fewer of them, more fishing spots for you.
Soft enough to live in, built sturdy enough to survive a creek crossing, a tailgate, and about nine hundred wash cycles. The fit is forgiving, the fabric is cozy, and the print will not peel off after one weekend in the mountains.
