I have a confession to make.
Listening?
I am a clothes whore. That’s me! Who goes to Goodwill to peruse their
jacket selection? Who buys Patagonia fleece from REI? Who was really
really sad when Structure closed in Springfield, leaving the Gateway
Mall
with only a Cinemark 17 to its name? Me! Me! Me!
Everyone goes through phases. At age 13, I got my own allowance. I
didn’t
really know clothes existed — the money all went to candy and video
games.
But I had buying power.
The early teen years came and went, and suddenly at 16, I realized I
had a
penchant for oversize shirts and outdoor wear. By 19, I’d really gotten
into ballroom dancing, which required nicer clothes. I had also
discovered
girls. Hint: They like guys who are stylish.
I was never stylish. I will never be stylish. So to compensate, I buy
clothes and hope, by blind luck, what I pull off the hanger in the
morning
will look good.
Confession over. I’ll take questions now. Am I a pretty boy? No. Have
you
ever seen me in person? I often forget to shave. Right now I’m sporting
my
winter beard, because it takes less effort than regular grooming. My
haircut happens once every three months with the changing of seasons.
Am I
gay? Also no. Gays dress too good to be straight. I have too many
clothes
in my closet to even dress well. Have I maxxed out my credit card? No.
I’m
on a debt-consolidation program. Thanks for asking.
I wish I had a good reason for buying clothes. Maybe it’s because I
like
the way they fit. Perhaps it’s because I know what I wear dictates how
I
feel. Or maybe it’s simply because the green trenchcoat I bought today
kicks ass. You want to outclass me? Fine. Just give me a few minutes
while
I figure out which one of my 10 jackets to wear.