Fashion Handicapped

I have stated on many occasions that fashion is just a state of mind. Just remember that most fashion trends start on either the west or east coast, so by the time they make it to us here in middle most fads are obsolete. By that time the people who are considered trend setters have already moved on to the next big thing. I have always said that being trendy is a waste of our time and effort. In the twenties women dressed as flappers and men wore fur coats. In the thirties everyone dressed like Al Capone. During the second world war everyone was so focused on the task at hand fashion took a back seat to the color army green. In the fifties kids in school either wore flat top haircuts or duck tails depending on where they were from and their frame of mind. The sixties and seventies brought on enough polyester to choke a rented mule, and it is little wonder, most of them were higher than a March kite. Polyester is not a natural fiber and tends not to breath, especially in summer. Why would anyone put themselves through so much torcher on purpose? The eighties found girls in white rimmed sunglasses (whatever that was about) and boys in acid washed jeans. I should know, I was in high school during that unfortunate era.

Look around you now, there is no fashion. Either that or I am so out of touch I can no longer pick out of a lineup what's hip anymore. I wish I was just making this up for literary affect but I'm not; there is actually a pair of jeans on the market right now that appears to have a urine stain down the front. I have but one question, WHY?! Seriously folks, the next generation of adults has at the very least been dropped on their heads one too many times. My wife would disagree with my stance on fashion, but that is only because she is just young enough to still care. Give her ten years, that care will disappear like a virgin on prom night. In my world fashion comes down to whether or not I am wearing muddy boots, or the tidy ones I save for prayer meetings. This is what my wife refers to as "fashion complacent." If that is what I have been labeled as so be it.

Wearing house shoes to the post office, the gas station, a parent teacher conference, or even church has become common place. If my paternal grandma ever caught me pulling a stunt like that, she would pinch my earlobe until I begged for mercy. What's next I ask, wearing pajamas to a tax audit, a bath robe to a court date, or Speedo to a bar mitzvah? Once we all receive that neutral-colored house shoe with the sturdy bottom it becomes easier to commit that unpardonable public sin. And to that my reply is, WHY NOT? I spent all my summers as a kid with no shoes on at all. We would get so muddy in the summer head to toe mom would have to turn the hose on us before we were even allowed into the bathtub. And to top off the insanity we also drank out of the garden hose and lived to tell the tale. Yes, and here I am still kicking around the four corners of Oklahoma after defying all of the odds. But now days the bottoms of my feet are softer than a baby's bottom.

My grandma on my dad's side dressed to the nines everywhere she went. Her pocketbook (people her age never used the word purse) always matched her belt. I assume this was her way of compensating for the fact that she grew up poor. Once again, I am a man so proper protocol when dressing often evades me. Those of you that have been blessed enough to live past fifty understand that fashion comes down to one word, COMFORT. Grandma on mom's side, on the other hand often said "I wear a seven, but an eight feels so good I often buy nines. Many are the times I have been in a men's department store and my wife will bring me something off the rack, but there isn't a snowballs chance in hell I'm going to wear it if it pinches my fat roll. This is known as getting real! It's interesting that my fat roll is fair game but hers is totally off limits. I generally hate belts and elastic of any kind, although I have been regulated to using them nonetheless because some time after my 40th birthday my ass disappeared. Why? Nobody knows, it just one of those adult mysteries we learn to live with.

In my wife's childhood she had a fraternal grandma (everyone called Mimio) who wore a bed sheet everywhere like she was headed to a toga party. People often scratch their heads in befuddlement at those deemed socially unfit in their lives. I, on the other hand love these types, they make the world go around. Everyone on her family tree deemed her granny's behavior as kooky; personally, I think it hinges on pure genius. Life is too short to be uncomfortable all the time. Adam and Eve ruined our utopian dream of walking around the Garden of Eden in our birthday suits, so if you find yourself frustrated over that you can point the finger in their direction. Tomorrow, I have a black tie even scheduled, do you suppose there might be a bed sheet in the house that would fit me? If you are going to thumb your nose at the establishment, you might as well have fun with it.