a good, hard look in the mirror
Go ahead and believe the hype, dear readers. I’m a bonafide fashion guru.
If you see me on the street, you will no doubt be compelled to ask, “Gosh, Mike, how did you develop such a fantastic personal style? Are you a famous fashion designer or perhaps a genius?”
I have no idea how my wardrobe got to its current state. I really don’t put much thought into it. I trust that the universe will conspire to dress me in as visually delicious a manner as physics will allow.
And I will reply, “While I appreciate zealous adulation from complete strangers, a magician never reveals his or her secrets – even secrets as fabulous as the t-shirt/jeans combo I am currently rocking. Sorry, but get used to disappointment.”
In all honesty, I have no idea how my wardrobe got to its current state. I really don’t put much thought into it. I trust that the universe will conspire to dress me in as visually delicious a manner as physics will allow.
Even as a child, I had a style all my own. Who else thinks to wear cowboy boots with a Darth Vader t-shirt? Who else?! Well, OK, pretty much any kid into Star Wars and the Lone Ranger could come up with this ensemble. (And most of today’s hipsters.) But still – I looked pretty sweet.
OK, in all honesty (and for real this time), my wardrobe lacks ... pizzazz. And by “pizzazz,” I mean “any kind of active thought concerning my appearance.” While comfortable, most of my clothing is kind of forgettable. I imagine Cold War-era Russian spies dressed very much like I do on any given Wednesday.
I have followed the same basic fashion rule for the past 20 years: wear a shirt, some pants, and if you go out, wear some shoes. Everything else I just kind of play by ear. And by “play by ear,” I mean “when possible, have your socks match.”
However, my belt always matches my shoes. Of course, people rarely actually see my belt, so I’m the only one knows about it. And my wife. Who doesn’t really care.