chearis No. 03 · That Man's Making Moves Subscribe
Already Jul 13, 2026 · 4 min read

That Boy’s Fresh

Karsten Chearis
That Boy’s Fresh
The maker and his mother.

Blasting 8Ball & MJG, over-spraying Curve cologne, and rocking oversized sweatsuits. That’s my teenage years in a tricolon.

Every era of Black style has its uniform, and that uniform was baggy in my high school years. Kids pestered their parents with pleas to purchase clothes that were two sizes too big to achieve this coveted look. My mom (Muh) approved the baggy. She denied the sag. I had to miss that part of growing up, but I say that with a teenager’s grievance coupled with a grown man’s gratitude.

Like most fashion trends, this introduced economic problems. Purchasing new clothes that were deliberately the wrong size cost money that most households in Fayette County didn’t have. That was a shared reality amongst Foundational Black Americans. In 1999, 33.1% of Black children lived below the poverty line, compared with 13.5% of White children. We found the cheat code, though; we went shopping in our parent’s closets. A teenage boy in his daddy’s extra-starched work clothes meant you met the fashion standard for free. You were able to brag that you were rocking Dad’s clothes when compliments and roasts were exchanged in the hallways. That was the bonus level: the kid was fresh and he had a present father. But that was the part of the game I couldn’t play. My dad left Muh and me when I was two.

To this day, I don’t know what size clothes my dad wears.

Hope Boy Fresh

So I couldn’t shop in my dad’s closet, but I did have my mother’s jogging suit. My mom’s sweatsuit was true to size for her but a bit oversized on me. Many sweatsuits were unisex, and I’m almost certain that my mom bought her sweatsuit from the men’s section. So now I have the baggy sweatsuit, I coupled it with my fat-laced sneakers, and finished the look with a (fake) gold chain and a watch. Other guys claimed their father’s clothes, but when someone complimented my fit, I smiled and said it’s my mom’s.

My response was met with the silence of judgement followed by the laughter of ridicule. A boy in his mom’s clothes was comedy, and showing the tag that said “men’s” or “unisex” wouldn’t save me.

I was the target of bullying and joke punching bag the majority of my childhood. Many of the words my peers said hurt me. But being judged for sporting Muh’s sweatsuit did not. Why?

Because I found joy in my mom’s love. She was there when my dad was not. Yes, the threads looked good on me and the fit was fashionable. But more than that, they were the mark of the first woman who showed me real love. You can’t roast a son out of his mother’s love.

Some kids wore clothes in hopes that peers would admire them. Others wore clothes that were “good enough” in hopes that bullies would ignore them. I wore clothes from the hope that was found in an accepted son. I was hope boy fresh.

The loop

This story has theology mixed in fashion. My mom loved me and accepted me, so much so, that she let me wear her clothes. I loved her, so much so, that I didn’t mind wearing what she wore. Acceptance is a road that runs both directions, and it can produce something that neither charity nor pride can produce on its own: boldness.

Because I was accepted, I could boldly accessorize the attire. With the right sneaks and the right accessories, any good outfit becomes a head turning one. But when you put on the overcoat of loving acceptance, it becomes the dopest thing you could ever wear.

Working from acceptance, rather than for it, positions you to create boldly.

Across every culture, ethnicity, and region studied for a research paper in 2012, about 26% of the variation in a child's psychological adjustment is explained by how accepted or rejected they feel by a parent. It is one of the most consistent findings in the field. It’s also a statistic that I have lived.

This essay is the introduction of my brand: Chearis. It’s only fitting that the first thing I publish is inspired by the woman who published me. Chearis is launching for those who are desperate to create. This post that you thought was about a jogging suit is my company’s entire architecture: acceptance that can be received without striving for it, which then funds the boldness to create on top of it. The accessories were me creating. The suit was me being declared worthy.

Already worthy. Create boldly.

If my tagline ever needed an origin story for the record, it has one now.

What the school saw What it actually was
A boy in his momma’s clothes A unisex suit, and proof that someone stayed
A kid who couldn’t sag A mother’s boundary found in love with rules attached
Accessories on a hand-me-down Boldness sponsored by acceptance
A confession worth roasting A badge of honor, worn on purpose

What’s next

Muh, like Black people before her, knew how to make more with less. This is the clause that carries generations. It’s how Virgil Abloh could make words and whitespace fashionable. It’s how entire cuisines were built on what master’s house threw away. It’s how Memphis rap was able to change the game from pawn-shop equipment.

And now, it’s how I am changing the world.

The creativity I have, the persistence that I use, the love and the faith and the joy that’s in my heart—it came from my mom. My life is possible because she accepted me and gave me space to create without shame.

Now I want to show you how to do it, too.

Already worthy. Create boldly.

The receipts (sources cited)