Why Is Timothée Chalamet Dressed for a 2003 Moshpit?

The year is 2025 and we may all be going to hell in a handbasket, but imagine, just for a moment, that it is instead the year 2003. You are about to see Sum 41 and/or Taking Back Sunday perform at Warped Tour, and you’re dressed in a version of this outfit Timothée Chalamet wore while buying a bagel in Los Angeles on Monday.

Are you with me here? Let’s break it down.

It’s hot out, so you’ve got on a thin, olive green tank top. Your keys—which may or may not be festooned with a Prada robot keychain like Chalamet’s—are hanging off your back belt loop. Your black cargo shorts—which are, at this point in time, a staple in your summer wardrobe, as they are for the actor here in the present day—are further accessorized with a silver-studded belt. And on your feet are probably a pair of Converse-esque sneakers; in Chalamet’s case, this translates to wearing black Nike crew socks tucked into a pair of Rick Owens Drkshdw “Hollywood” high-tops, one of several unmistakable silhouettes to emerge from the dark prince of fashion’s abrasive footwear oeuvre. (Speaking from personal experience, I recently spotted several young sneakerheads sporting similar Rick Owens kicks at a rambunctious Nettspend concert in New York City.) And for those keeping track, Timmy has previously flexed his credentials as a member of the Rick “Tribe”—he’s got a few pairs of the sneakers, and he wore a Rick turtleneck under his Haider Ackermann tux jacket to the Met Gala in 2021.

And maybe you’re wearing a ratty baseball hat, to ward off the unforgiving sun. Yours is ratty, no doubt, on account of all the sweating and moshing you’ve done in it. Timmy’s, meanwhile, came pre-distressed for $285 from Nahmias, the Los Angeles streetwear brand that produced several custom hoodies for his A Complete Unknown press tour. (The brand’s founder, Doni Nahmias, also happens to be dating Victoria Villarroel, a friend and former assistant of Chalamet’s girlfriend Kylie Jenner.) Chalamet is, after all, a Hollywood A-lister, and he’s not attending a pop-punk festival almost a quarter-century ago—he’s buying a $6 bagel in Beverly Hills. Such simpler times have never felt further away.