Fast fashion moves on a six-week cycle. The Ray-Ban Wayfarer hasn’t moved in seventy years.
There’s an old photograph of my father wearing a pair of Ray-Ban Aviators, and I’d wanted a pair since I first saw it. Tom Cruise in Top Gun didn’t help — black Aviators on chrome frames became the only sunglasses I cared about. The moment I could afford a pair, I got one.
That phase lasted a couple of years. Then I tried on a Wayfarer, and the Aviators quietly lost their place in my wardrobe. I’ve worn the Original Wayfarer Classic for more than fifteen years since. I’ve tried the Mega, the Clubmaster, the State Street — every variation Ray-Ban has put out. The Mega is too bulky. The Clubmaster too flamboyant. None of them replaced the original.
“OG” gets thrown around casually now, attached to anything with a few years on it. Few things actually earn it. The Original Wayfarer Classic is one of the rare ones that does.
Dylan was wearing his during the June 1965 sessions for “Like a Rolling Stone.” Muhammad Ali wore them. So did JFK. So did James Dean. Jack Nicholson went further than any of them, once saying, “With my sunglasses on, I’m Jack Nicholson. Without them, I’m fat and 60.” Fashion then. Closer to essence now. The Original Wayfarer is complete in a way most products never get to be. No redesign chasing relevance, no special edition trying to outdo the last one. Just the same frame, year after year, because there was never anything wrong with it to begin with.
Recommending fashion to anyone is a gamble. You don’t know their face, their comfort, what they’ll actually wear past the first week. The Wayfarer is the one exception I’d bet on without hesitation. Black frame, green lens, that’s the only combination worth having. Look at the lenses closely and you’ll notice they tilt slightly away from the face instead of sitting flat — that small detail is most of why the shape works on almost anyone.
Fifteen years on, they’re still the first thing I reach for on my way out the door.
