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slipjig3Lately I've been trying to step up my clothing game, way later than I should have. Up until recently my personal style has been similar to how I wear my hair, i.e. "whatever requires the least amount of time and resources" (not incidentally, my last trip to a hair salon was during the Bush administration). So we're talking a lot of T-shirts and jeans, maybe a casual ill-fitting button-down or a pullover of some sort if it's cold. Those who know me know what I'm talking about; those who have dated me are probably shaking their heads sadly, thinking, "Gods, if only I could have helped that poor man...." Then Prince died, which was my wake-up call that life is far, far too short not to let one's colors fly, as it were. O Purple One, may we ensure that you have not died in vain.
So there's been some mild-to-moderate experimentation with my work attire. Nothing too blingy or too Vegas: a jaunty vest here, a blazer over a Dresden Dolls T-shirt there, variations on stuff that I'd worn for special occasions but not for casual office-squatting. I even put on a tie or two voluntarily, which I promise you is like a feral cat bringing you a leash in its jaws, begging you to tie it up so it can't chase the mousies. But yesterday was more of a terra incognita: I wore suspenders. Black ones, nothin' schmancy, over a lavender shirt with the sleeves rolled just so, holding up black khakis. They looked good, but I rapidly learned that suspenders are a lot more physically and emotionally complicated than I'd considered. For instance:
1) They're harder to get into than they look. There's a bit of a civil engineering problem involved in clipping them into place, and one where you can't see and can barely reach at least half of the operation.
2) I keep forgetting that suspenders aren't neckties, in that they have an actual purpose. This was the first time in recent memory that my pants didn't migrate from my actual according-to-Hoyle waist to somewhere around my pubic bone over the course of the morning.
3) I also discovered that the placement of those clips is verrrry important, especially in the front. At first I had them set in too close to the middle, and although it was reasonably comfortable it looked...well, wrong, in a way I couldn't put my finger on. Moving each of the two front clips three inches further out toward the pockets pretty much fixed it; it was the difference between looking like a jaunty but confident mature adult, and looking like the banjo player for a band called something like Stubby McGee & the Dusty Bottom Chicken Pickers.
4) The big thing I realized is that unlike some clothing choices (like jeans, say, or Converse sneakers, or even the aforementioned necktie), the meaning and value of suspenders changes according to the physical characteristics of the person wearing them. Suspenders on a thin man mean something different than suspenders on someone who's not. Same for young man vs. old man, or for man vs. woman for that matter. All these meanings are valid, but you can't help but notice the disparities if you're just learning how to dress yourself with care and discover your own style. When I was a strapping young buck [read: acne-plagued teen with a ground shrew's metabolism], I would occasionally wear them and find them charming and quirky and snappy. Now, though, I'm 45 years old, 240 pounds, and have a full beard that's greying at the edges—not the same story at all. When I got to work yesterday morning, I had the image of 19-year-old Adam in my head, and it was completely at odds with the guy in the men's room mirror, who looked like he should be the evil sheriff in a '70's exploitation flick with a muscle car on the poster.
The real problem, of course, is that this is all stuff I should have started thinking about 25 years earlier. I could have created a style that could evolve along with me, growing and mutating over time instead of being Scotch-taped together out of some misplaced fear-of-death panic flail mode. Then again, it's all a blank canvas and nothing is truly off limits, so I have the fun that comes with infinite possibilities. Whatever. I still have some thinking to do about the suspenders (not that I haven't already overthought them), but I'm pretty sure I'll wear them again. And yes, I'll get a photo next time.
So there's been some mild-to-moderate experimentation with my work attire. Nothing too blingy or too Vegas: a jaunty vest here, a blazer over a Dresden Dolls T-shirt there, variations on stuff that I'd worn for special occasions but not for casual office-squatting. I even put on a tie or two voluntarily, which I promise you is like a feral cat bringing you a leash in its jaws, begging you to tie it up so it can't chase the mousies. But yesterday was more of a terra incognita: I wore suspenders. Black ones, nothin' schmancy, over a lavender shirt with the sleeves rolled just so, holding up black khakis. They looked good, but I rapidly learned that suspenders are a lot more physically and emotionally complicated than I'd considered. For instance:
1) They're harder to get into than they look. There's a bit of a civil engineering problem involved in clipping them into place, and one where you can't see and can barely reach at least half of the operation.
2) I keep forgetting that suspenders aren't neckties, in that they have an actual purpose. This was the first time in recent memory that my pants didn't migrate from my actual according-to-Hoyle waist to somewhere around my pubic bone over the course of the morning.
3) I also discovered that the placement of those clips is verrrry important, especially in the front. At first I had them set in too close to the middle, and although it was reasonably comfortable it looked...well, wrong, in a way I couldn't put my finger on. Moving each of the two front clips three inches further out toward the pockets pretty much fixed it; it was the difference between looking like a jaunty but confident mature adult, and looking like the banjo player for a band called something like Stubby McGee & the Dusty Bottom Chicken Pickers.
4) The big thing I realized is that unlike some clothing choices (like jeans, say, or Converse sneakers, or even the aforementioned necktie), the meaning and value of suspenders changes according to the physical characteristics of the person wearing them. Suspenders on a thin man mean something different than suspenders on someone who's not. Same for young man vs. old man, or for man vs. woman for that matter. All these meanings are valid, but you can't help but notice the disparities if you're just learning how to dress yourself with care and discover your own style. When I was a strapping young buck [read: acne-plagued teen with a ground shrew's metabolism], I would occasionally wear them and find them charming and quirky and snappy. Now, though, I'm 45 years old, 240 pounds, and have a full beard that's greying at the edges—not the same story at all. When I got to work yesterday morning, I had the image of 19-year-old Adam in my head, and it was completely at odds with the guy in the men's room mirror, who looked like he should be the evil sheriff in a '70's exploitation flick with a muscle car on the poster.
The real problem, of course, is that this is all stuff I should have started thinking about 25 years earlier. I could have created a style that could evolve along with me, growing and mutating over time instead of being Scotch-taped together out of some misplaced fear-of-death panic flail mode. Then again, it's all a blank canvas and nothing is truly off limits, so I have the fun that comes with infinite possibilities. Whatever. I still have some thinking to do about the suspenders (not that I haven't already overthought them), but I'm pretty sure I'll wear them again. And yes, I'll get a photo next time.
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(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-16 03:21 pm (UTC)I am suggesting that to my bluegrass-playin' mom the next time she needs a band name. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-17 01:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-18 10:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-21 04:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-21 11:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-19 02:16 pm (UTC)(Also suspenders ++. Just not ever with a bow tie, please.)
(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-21 04:28 pm (UTC)Also, if I ever wear a bow tie with suspenders, please for to kindly shoot me in the head, thank you most muchly. There's a time and a place for bow ties, and they are few and far between. Thank gods for David Sedaris, or I might be considering them more strongly.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-21 04:38 pm (UTC)*looks in mirror*
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa what the fuck happened here this is the opposite of what I meant
*curates another outfit*
no
*lather, rinse, hysteria*
(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-19 10:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-21 04:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-19 11:55 pm (UTC)I did some suspenders-wearing in a previous era. Blossom Russo and Clarissa Darling were probably influences.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-21 04:33 pm (UTC)I did some suspenders-wearing in a previous era. Blossom Russo and Clarissa Darling were probably influences.
Truly a Debbie-Gibsonian golden era.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-06-27 05:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2016-07-25 02:26 pm (UTC)