Clothes Make the Man
Task 36, Sept. to Sept. 13
"In Green Bay, Wisconsin, ten bowling shirts are considered a great wardrobe". Greg Koch
There is a car club in the smallish, resort-ish community of semi-and-formally retired people in the desert that I now call home. It's not a 55+ kind of place in any sense--there are thousands of young families--but there are a LOT of golf courses, pickle ball courts and geriatric m.d.s and every business, no matter the type or size, has a sign politely indicating the location of the restrooms.
But I digress. I drive a Porsche. Not an old Porsche nor an expensive one--it's the kind of Porsche that other Porsche owners smile at patronizingly when they spot me out and about. But recently one of these snidely Porsche owners did stop me at the gas station and tell me about the local car club and encouraged me to attend a meeting.
So I did. The club met in a large conference room in the town's fitness center. I arrived on time and walked in with a smile and an open attitude.
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But I felt out of place. Why? I wasn't dressed right. Or maybe "right" isn't the right word. I wasn't dressed appropriately. Or maybe "appropriately" isn't the right word. I know what it is--I wasn't dressed like they were. Every other man there, regardless of age or color was wearing a golf shirt. By golf shirt I mean a loose fitting polo with a tiny collar and a sporting goods logo or name of a golf course on the breast that were made of some cotton/polyester mix and were pastel in color. And they weren't plain, design-wise: they had muted, inlayed images: tiny men swinging golf clubs or dimpled golf balls or, in one case, penguins. And they were all wearing crisp, longish Bermuda shorts--not too loose and certainly not too tight, and khaki in color. Not blue, green or anything garish. Khaki. And completing the ensemble were below-the-ankle socks. And the shoes! Ecco. Those of you who know what I'm talking about, nod your head. Those of you who don't, google.
I was wearing a Spectrum News t-shirt that I had purloined from a pile of swag on the desk of a women in the marketing department and a pair of cargo shorts with giant pockets that had never felt the sting of an iron and hung below my knees, not fashionably like a hip-hop star, but in a disheveled manner.
After the meeting (yes, I stayed, though awkwardly) I sat in my car and thought about my wardrobe and how it's affected, or been affected, by my life choices.
I really started dressing myself in college (before that it was Catholic school uniforms by day, mother-driven at home) and looking back through the years I can say to myself, with a regretful sigh, that I never really found "my" style. My LOOK drifted as aimlessly as did my early jobs, from bouncer at the Whisky A Go Go to bartender to ticket-order-taker at the Pantages theater to waiter at a Hollywood Boulevard rib joint; and even after I started working in television, where I spent the last 42 years, I struggled to dress myself as I felt I should look like for the positions I held, or for my co-workers, or for myself.
For almost 2 years in the late 80s I wore the SAME outfit to work everyday. A white, buttoned-down J Crew dress shirt, khaki pants and Doc Marten smoother leather black Oxford shoes (and if you're scoffing, thinking that I making this up, send me an e-mail--oldpeopletoday@gmail.com--and I'll send you a picture of myself in what I called my "uniform" at work at KABC in 1986, and I'll include an explanation as to why I am gesticulating in such a wild fashion).
And later, though I was more confident in myself both corporately and personally, I still never dressed quite the same as the other men...and I would feel self-conscious at times, and I worried that my wardrobe related cluelessness kept me from achieving my full potential as a corporate officer...
But then, as I sat there in my entry-level Porsche in my free t-shirt and baggy shorts (and did I mention my above-the-ankle Target brand socks and Adidas running shoes) I had an epiphany--I did have a style! It's just not everyone's style. I don't fit in. I don't play golf or dress to pretend I play golf and I don't like shirts with collars and, btw, golf shorts just don't have enough pockets to hold all the crap that I like to carry around. And my wife buys my sneakers when they're on sale.
Boo-ya.
TASK:
Look at yourself in the mirror before you leave the house this week. How are you dressed? What does it say about you? Think about that: how am I dressed? And what does it say about you?