Full disclosure – as is the standard elucidation one states when writing something about another generation, or when applying for employment and disclosing past jobs (as if they, the hiring dip-shytes, care)…I’m a fairly old guy. I’m 62.
Before you click off…think for a moment – you will reach this age too, most of you anyway, depending, of course, whether Beelzebub’s assistants who are, and have been in control of money, commerce, politics, education, creation of laws, military adventures heaped upon other countries and on and on, for millennial, decide to lay the planet to waste with whatever sick scenario their heinous minds might concoct.
Now, I certainly don’t know all, NOT having attained “true enlightenment” or any derivative thereof yet, and truth be told, I know fairly little, as about anyone attaining old age can attest. The older I get, the less I know…that type of thing.
But dudes…under 40…”man buns”, stovepipe pants, suits that make you look like you’re wearing Pee Wee Hermans’ latest offerings? What gives?
I was dragged to a talk on minimizing one’s life, possessions, etc., a while back, (which was quite good) and nearly every man there looked like his mom had dressed him in hand-me-downs from kindly neighbors who donated clothes too small for any boy over the age of 5. Why?
And the shirt tales untucked. It was at epidemic levels. Is this some sort of devil-may-care fashion statement, giving a nod to one’s inability to take care of the untucked shirt-tail that is about attractive as Jimmy Kimmel’s latest crying session or Trump’s latest tweet?
I get it, somewhat. It’s your generations’ “uniform”. A pair of jeans that you’ve probably worn for a few days, a shirt that is somewhat clean (and I won’t address the affronts to the sense of smell that recycled underwear and socks might pose) and you’re out the front, back or side door for a night of epic undertakings.
But when you get to be my age, and you’re looking back at those photos of you from yesteryear, you might wish you had thought twice about your choice of wearing little boys apparel when you were in your 20’s, 30’s or heavens, forbid, in your 40’s.
Come on, men…a little education on the art of dressing well is in order. Maybe you’ve heard of them…Cary Grant, Fred Astaire, David Niven, Gary Cooper, Wynton Marsalis? Give them a look. I know it’s not necessarily your fault, being raised on guano dispensed in brick walls from teachers and professors who droned on and on about a things, without the least bit of fashion sense, in most cases. So grow a pair and cast that shyte aside. It’s mostly dung, anyway.
In Vernazza, Italy, there is a “Commissioner of Good Taste”.
In Vernazza, the Commissioner of Good Taste is a regional official who, among other things, ensures that ancient buildings retain their historic Ligurian pastels. You can let them crumble, but you can’t change the color scheme to hot banana yellow. – via garyconklinglifenotes.wordpress.com
Could we institute a “Commissioner of Good Taste” here in the United States? Unlikely – as the office would be inundated with affronts to good taste 24/7/365.
But…YOU can start a trend toward taste. It just takes a bit of effort and care – care that you are a man, and not a creature of the current cosmic bullshit.
A bit of Rossini seems to be in order to close…just a couple minutes of Italian mastery. Try it – you might be inspired to don tastefully suited attire and take your favorite lady (or favorite someone else) to an evening out on the town, where, if you’ve taken a bit of care toward your fashion statement, just might set you apart from the modern day thrones of super-hero jokes and other idiocy that the current culture slams you with 24/7.
And someone just might say to you, you look marvelous!
Dudamel – Live concert – Encore – Rossini – Wilhelm Tell
Photo credit (Mr. Astaire): http://www.doctormacro.com
Photo credit (Mr. Cooper): By Paramount Pictures (eBay) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons