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This essay on men's fashion came up in two different contexts today, and it kind of hit a nerve.
I had a fairly involved back-and-forth on this article via twitter, which I will summarize here (this is reposted in its entirety (but expanded somewhat) from another friend's blog, because copypasta is what's for dinner).
I'm afraid I find no points on which the author and I could come to agreement, save that comfortable clothes are a good thing.
I honestly only kind of vaguely understood the opening paragraph as even being written in English by context. Fashion is a foreign fucking language to me. I don't know if he was talking about articles of clothing, brands, designers, or what. He might as well have been discussing Czechoslovakian playwrights of the 18th century.
I am one of those crass, tasteless louts the author derides as "Is it clean? Then it's enough." For me? Yes; if it is the former, the vast majority of the time, it is the latter as well.
My attitude towards formal attire can be summed up as:
I look, and feel, like the same seven-year-old who resentfully wore hard shoes and a clip-on tie to his aunts' weddings whenever I have to wear anything fancier than slacks and a polo shirt. Frankly, I resent even having to dress that nicely at my day job ("professionalism" and "dressing for success" be damned; I spend my day talking on the goddamned phone and occasionally carrying things around or mucking about under a desk).
"Dress for the job you wish you had." Okay... I'm wearing a pair of relaxed-fit jeans and nothing the fuck else; I'm dressed like a wealthy layabout who hits the gym and doesn't need to give a shit what anyone thinks of his attire. (looks like this, as of ten minutes ago, if you're curious.
Do I "look my best" in a t-shirt and jeans, shorts, or a Utilikilt? I honestly don't give a fuck. That's what I'm comfortable and happy wearing.
People tell me now nice / dashing / handsome / what-the-fuck-ever I look when I put on a shirt and tie. Bully for them, but I can't wait to take the damned things off, because they're uncomfortable, both physically and psychologically. Of course, I've done things to make the body under the clothes more presentable than the average sack of meat, so I don't feel the need to ornament (or conceal) it with fancy attire.
Guys, in the main, simply don't give a fuck how we look, or how other guys look. We appreciate how women look, and the general consensus is that, for the most part, women don't give a shit how guys look, either. For fuck's sake, people, think about how much time I spend looking at nearly-naked women; I'm not paying the slightest bit of attention to what THEY'RE wearing, what makes you think I'd give a damn what *I* have on?
I could live quite happily in nothing but a comfortable pair of jeans or a Utilikilt and some nice boxer-briefs. Sure, I'd be unfit for public consumption, but, really, other than needing to go out and buy groceries (assuming I could telecommute), I don't really have much of a need to interact with polite society anyway. As the man said, "No shirt, no shoes, no problem."
If this makes me a heathen or an uncultured throwback, so be it. I am thoroughly, stereotypically male in many respects, despite wishing my hair was still long and purple, my nails were painted black, and my tie-dyed skirts weren't falling to tattered rags.
I am comfortable with who and how I am, and while I don't begrudge the author his sartorial predilections, I refuse to be cast as some kind of second-rate being simply because I don't share them.
I had a fairly involved back-and-forth on this article via twitter, which I will summarize here (this is reposted in its entirety (but expanded somewhat) from another friend's blog, because copypasta is what's for dinner).
I'm afraid I find no points on which the author and I could come to agreement, save that comfortable clothes are a good thing.
I honestly only kind of vaguely understood the opening paragraph as even being written in English by context. Fashion is a foreign fucking language to me. I don't know if he was talking about articles of clothing, brands, designers, or what. He might as well have been discussing Czechoslovakian playwrights of the 18th century.
I am one of those crass, tasteless louts the author derides as "Is it clean? Then it's enough." For me? Yes; if it is the former, the vast majority of the time, it is the latter as well.
My attitude towards formal attire can be summed up as:
"I will dress nicely when someone fucking dies."Until a week ago, I owned two suits and four sport coats / blazers / whatever the hell they're called. A friend is having a garage sale, and, as I haven't worn anything but the suit since my grandfather died (several years ago), it seemed foolish to waste closet space on them (especially after trying them on and recognizing that I was a much differently-shaped guy when I got them, and now they don't simply fit poorly, they barely fit at all. You know that standard literary trope of describing the hired goons/thugs/bodyguards whose suits don't allow them to raise their arms? We're talking that level of not-fitting-ness).
I look, and feel, like the same seven-year-old who resentfully wore hard shoes and a clip-on tie to his aunts' weddings whenever I have to wear anything fancier than slacks and a polo shirt. Frankly, I resent even having to dress that nicely at my day job ("professionalism" and "dressing for success" be damned; I spend my day talking on the goddamned phone and occasionally carrying things around or mucking about under a desk).
"Dress for the job you wish you had." Okay... I'm wearing a pair of relaxed-fit jeans and nothing the fuck else; I'm dressed like a wealthy layabout who hits the gym and doesn't need to give a shit what anyone thinks of his attire. (looks like this, as of ten minutes ago, if you're curious.
Do I "look my best" in a t-shirt and jeans, shorts, or a Utilikilt? I honestly don't give a fuck. That's what I'm comfortable and happy wearing.
People tell me now nice / dashing / handsome / what-the-fuck-ever I look when I put on a shirt and tie. Bully for them, but I can't wait to take the damned things off, because they're uncomfortable, both physically and psychologically. Of course, I've done things to make the body under the clothes more presentable than the average sack of meat, so I don't feel the need to ornament (or conceal) it with fancy attire.
Guys, in the main, simply don't give a fuck how we look, or how other guys look. We appreciate how women look, and the general consensus is that, for the most part, women don't give a shit how guys look, either. For fuck's sake, people, think about how much time I spend looking at nearly-naked women; I'm not paying the slightest bit of attention to what THEY'RE wearing, what makes you think I'd give a damn what *I* have on?
I could live quite happily in nothing but a comfortable pair of jeans or a Utilikilt and some nice boxer-briefs. Sure, I'd be unfit for public consumption, but, really, other than needing to go out and buy groceries (assuming I could telecommute), I don't really have much of a need to interact with polite society anyway. As the man said, "No shirt, no shoes, no problem."
If this makes me a heathen or an uncultured throwback, so be it. I am thoroughly, stereotypically male in many respects, despite wishing my hair was still long and purple, my nails were painted black, and my tie-dyed skirts weren't falling to tattered rags.
I am comfortable with who and how I am, and while I don't begrudge the author his sartorial predilections, I refuse to be cast as some kind of second-rate being simply because I don't share them.
