If you’re an avid fisherman, you’ve probably heard of the brand Costa Del Mar. If you’re from the South, there’s also a good chance you’ve heard of the brand. Much as I love the outdoors, I am not an avid fisherman. I'm also from Cleveland, so I don’t fit under either of these criteria which is why my friends are constantly asking me what the logo on my hat is. If you don’t know Costa, you best get to learnin’ because they make some of the best damn sunglasses you’ll find. And as corny as it may sound, I believe Costa is more than a brand—it’s a community.

I purchased my first pair of Costas prior to my birthright trip in May 2014. I wanted a good pair of sporty sunglasses that would stay on my head and protect my eyes from the intense brightness and glare of the Israeli sun. They definitely got the job done (not without contributing to my already dad-like wardrobe and further prompting my friends to continuously call me “Dad”). They have since become my go-to sunglasses for hiking, boating, trips to the beach and all other outdoor activities. Less than a year later, I would realize they’re so much more than just a pair of sunglasses.

Fast forward to spring 2015. I’m in Punta Cana for spring break. There’s a group of about 90 from the University of Tennessee staying at the same resort. I became friends with a few of them as I was playing roulette in the hotel’s sad excuse for a casino. I was having the best luck ever, up over $500 on the night, and these guys were occupying the rest of the table, blasting cigarettes in my face and cheering me on in their thick southern drawls. Not wanting to blow my winnings (which I would end up doing before the trip was over anyway), I managed to pull myself away from the table for the night.

The next day, my friends and I were out at the pool, and the guys who had been at the table with me the night before walked past and stopped to talk to me—remembering me only as “the guy who killed it at the casino last night.” Then one of them asked me if I was wearing Costas—they all were. I replied that I was. He gave me a fist bump and a “right on,” and they were on their way.

A couple days later, a bunch of Harvard football players checked into our hotel. Remembering that someone from my high school had gone on to play football at Harvard, I approached a couple of them and asked if they knew the guy. They got excited and yelled to some of their friends that I knew this former teammate of theirs. I was introduced to a guy who I can only describe as a smarter version Jimmy Tatro—he looked similar (only way more “yoked”) and talked almost exactly the same. I was glad they liked the person I had brought up; I didn’t want to be on the bad side of a bunch of guys more than twice my size and at least three times as smart. God forbid they went on a drunken rampage, I might be spared.

The next day, again by the pool, Smart Jimmy Tatro (who would later describe himself as “dumb-smart”) and his friends walked past and said what’s up. Smart Jimmy stopped and said, “Bro, are we wearing the same Costas? No f****ing way!” He then proceeded to “dap me up."

For the rest of the trip, whenever my group got split up, and I found myself wandering aimlessly around our resort, I knew I could simply look for my Costa-wearing companions and have someone to hang out with. This isn't the only time I've had encounters of this sort because of the Costa brand.

The other day I was wearing my Costa hat, walking through my school’s student union, and some guy wearing a Costa hat was walking toward me. We made eye contact, and he nodded at me. I knew we had both silently approved one another’s existence solely with that interaction. It may sound strange to someone who hasn’t experienced it. If you’re not a part of it you may not understand.

Beach bums, Kenny Chesney fans, fishermen and many others know and love this brand. They're all part of the reason I truly believe that Costa Del Mar is a community more than a brand.