My fashion sense is more stretchy than snappy
I was walking in from the parking lot at work and I saw this office-worker looking guy walking down the sidewalk and I said to myself (and this is very judgmental of me) “Look at this poor, old, middle-aged guy. He’s a mess.” He looked like he’s just given up. I would describe his style philosophy as, “I guess I should wear some clothes.”
His hair was grey, he had a little gut hanging out and he just didn’t look like he had a whole lot going on. Then I looked twice and then a third time because I was realizing that, holy cow, I could be looking in a mirror. I checked my reflection in the glass door as I entered the office. Oh boy. That guy and I have a lot in common.
I’m that grey haired, round-bellied, bad-dressing, middle-aged guy shlumping along the sidewalk. From my scuffy but sensible shoes to my Costco pants to my never-iron shirt, I am not exactly turning heads or breaking hearts.
My fashion sense has always been questionable at best and, as I age, I am regressing. So much so that in the sentence above, I didn’t even mention that my Costco pants are “stretchy.” I didn’t think it noteworthy at first. Stretchy pants? Are there any other kinds?
I’d like to be one of those dapper, spiffy types who wears co-ordinated clothes. Maybe a nice jacket, perhaps with a handkerchief poking out of the pocket telling the world I am snappy and sophisticated. Salmon-coloured pants, perhaps? I don’t think I could pull it off.
Snappy and sophisticated is setting a high bar. Truthfully, I think clothes that fit would be a step up. As an avowed yo-yo dieter, I have a wardrobe that’s a diverse collection of sizes and almost everything in my closet is either too big or too small.
Except socks. My foot size remains so steady that I still have serviceable crew socks that I’ve owned longer than my youngest child — she just turned 18. I wish I was making this up for the sake of a laugh.
Instead, when I choose my daily wardrobe, my lone criterion is — is it clean?
Here’s how bad I am. I am pulling a king-of-dork move these days. And I know it’s a dork move but I love it and I do it anyway. When I want maximum comfort, I will rock the low, ankle cut athletic socks … with jeans. Jeans! I am far from a fashion enthusiast but I’m quite certain the low-cut ankle sock should only be worn with shorts while playing some sort of sport. It’s just a rule. Yet here I am.
And don’t cut me any slack. I see the hipsters out there wearing pants and shoes with no socks showing at all — just naked ankles. They wear “no-show” footie socks. That’s not what I’m wearing at all. I am wearing ankle socks and there is no hiding them, just for the record. Not that this is a solid defence but I am not the only fashion criminal out there. I see other bad dressers everywhere I go. For example, I am now an “elite” traveller (a.k.a. a soon-to-be-divorced guy who spends way too much time away from home). This means I have access to the exclusive airport lounges. VIP only. Swanky. Except they’re not. The carpets are stained, it’s noisy and crowded, and they let guys in even if they’re wearing athletic ankle socks and jeans. And I’m not even the worst dressed. I feel like executive lounges 20 or 30 years ago were probably magical places filled with sharp-dressed men and women all smoking and drinking cocktails. Now they’re riddled with people like me, dressed like idiots in hoodies and ball caps and eating yogurt and hard-boiled eggs and feeling like big shots. Last time I was there, I saw a guy in the lounge wearing an old T-shirt, shorts and sandals. And he wasn’t even Jimmy Buffett. But at least he wasn’t wearing athletic ankle socks.