“If you can’t draw that while sitting in a 1999 sedan with a seatbelt pinning your shoulder, what exactly are we paying for?”

My client didn’t have an answer. He just looked at his belt, which was currently supporting about 19 pounds of matte-black, aircraft-grade, serrated-edge nonsense. He looked like he was ready to fast-rope into a disputed territory, but we were actually just standing in a fluorescent-lit community center basement, the kind that smells like stale coffee and the quiet desperation of 49 men trying to stay sober one hour at a time. I’m Indigo P.-A., and as an addiction recovery coach, I spend a lot of time looking at the masks people wear. Usually, those masks are metaphors-performative toughness to hide a trembling interior. But lately, the masks have become literal, manifesting as a ‘tacticool’ aesthetic that has colonized the professional gear market like a parasitic vine.

Flip through any modern catalog and you’ll see it. 29 different shades of Flat Dark Earth. Pockets that have pockets, secured by zippers that require a two-handed operation to open. Holsters with aggressive, angular geometries that look like they were modeled after a stealth fighter jet. It’s a design philosophy that prioritizes the silhouette over the skin. When did we decide that ‘professional’ had to mean ‘uncomfortable’? I’ve seen guys carrying equipment that costs upwards of $799, yet they spend half their day adjusting their waistbands because some designer thought a sharp, ‘aggressive’ corner looked better in a 3D render than a smooth, rounded edge feels against a human hip.

The Pink Cloud of Gear Design

In recovery, we talk about ‘the pink cloud’-that early stage of sobriety where everything feels miraculous and you think you’ve conquered the world. You’re performing the role of the Healthy Person. The tacticool aesthetic is the pink cloud of the gear world. It’s an aesthetic of readiness that actually hampers response. If your holster has so many ‘features’ that it creates a 59-point failure map, you aren’t more prepared; you’re just more decorated. We’ve traded the quiet efficiency of the professional for the loud, clanking costume of the enthusiast. The irony is that the people actually doing the work-the ones who have spent 1009 days in the field-are the ones stripping the ‘cool’ off their gear with a belt sander just so they can sit down without getting a bruise.

Efficiency vs. Feature Count

There is a specific kind of fatigue that comes from fighting your own equipment. I see it in my clients when they try to over-engineer their lives, and I see it in the way people choose their carry systems. They want the ‘Level 3’ everything because the number sounds higher, ignoring the fact that a complex retention system requires thousands of repetitions of muscle memory that they simply haven’t put in. They are buying the result without doing the work.

The Tyranny of Matte Black and MOLLE

Consider the ‘tactical’ obsession with matte black. It looks great on a website. It looks ‘serious.’ But spend 9 minutes in the sun at 109 degrees, and that black Kydex becomes a branding iron against your appendix. Or consider the MOLLE webbing that has migrated from plate carriers to backpacks, to car seat covers, to-I’m not joking-toiletry kits. It’s become a secret handshake, a way to signal to others that you belong to a specific tribe. But that webbing adds weight, it catches on door handles, and it screams for attention in environments where discretion is the highest form of security. We are losing the ‘Grey Man’ philosophy to the ‘Neon Tactical’ reality.

Case Study: D-Ring vs. Turnstile

I remember a client, let’s call him Mark… He was dressed for a war zone and defeated by a turnstile. This is the ergonomic betrayal. We are sold the idea that ‘rugged’ equals ‘better.’ But ruggedness in design often leads to a lack of refinement. A truly professional tool should be invisible until the moment it is indispensable.

Compromised by Over-Engineering

I once spent 19 hours straight in a car, tailing a lead for a family intervention. I was wearing a belt that was so ‘over-built’ it actually compressed my sciatic nerve. By the time I had to get out and move, my right leg was partially numb. I was technically ‘carrying,’ but I was physically compromised by the very thing meant to keep me safe. That was the day I stopped buying gear because it looked like something a SEAL would wear. SEALs are athletes in the peak of their lives who are often issued gear for specific, short-duration missions. I am a 49-year-old man who spends a lot of time in diners and office chairs. My needs are different, yet the industry insists on selling me a fantasy.

We need a return to ‘human-centric’ design in the professional space. This means rounded edges that follow the contours of the pelvis. It means retention systems that rely on natural grip pressure rather than a series of thumb-toggles that feel like playing an oboe. It means materials that breathe and move, acknowledging that the human body is a dynamic, changing thing. We have become so enamored with the ‘tactical’ that we have forgotten the ‘practical.’

The True Measure of Preparedness

Indigo P.-A. might just be a name on a business card to some, but to me, it’s a reminder that authenticity is the only thing that survives a crisis. Whether you’re recovering from an addiction or just trying to navigate a crowded city, the tools you carry should support your reality, not distort it. We have to ask ourselves if we are buying a solution or if we are just buying a costume for the person we’re afraid we aren’t.