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(Old) Clothes Make the ManBy Rick Horowitz
I take my good news
where I can find it. And if finding it sometimes requires a bit of a stretch,
or even more than a bit, so be it. No one's going to call me
a "nattering nabob of negativity"!
So if researchers come out with a report, for instance, that says fidgeting
is healthy for you, that one major difference between the lean and the
far-from-lean is the amount of mini-exercise they get every day -- well,
that's good news for all the toe-tapping, finger-drumming, can't-sit-still
types out there. Years of mothers telling their kids to calm down? To
put their seats in their seats and stay there if they know what's good
for them?
Turns out it wasn't good for them. But finding it out after all these
years? I call that good news.
Same thing with fashion. If I suddenly discover that my own wardrobe
is so old that it's new, that's good news. Maybe not for the fashion
industry. But for me? Absolutely.
Understand, I'm not talking about one brief shining, flash-in-the-pan
fashion coincidence, like the time I discovered that my bright-red,
high-top Converse All-Stars, gathering dust in the back of the closet
for decades, were totally the latest thing.
Not at all -- I'm talking about two brief shining, flash-in-the-pan
fashion coincidences. That's completely different. That's a trend.
BSFITPFC No. 1: I'm in the shopping mall the other day to exchange
the watch band I'd bought just a few days earlier for one that will
actually stay attached to my watch. And what I see is a big sign in
the front window of The Gap:
"Inspired by your favorite jeans and T's...the broken-in shirt."
There they were, hanging right alongside the sign, a half-dozen or
more of them -- new shirts that looked like old shirts! They didn't
have the smooth lines and the crisp creases of most store-bought shirts.
They didn't hang from their hangers like freshly turned-out, 100-percent-cotton
soldiers. They looked a little the worse for wear. Or, The Gap insisted,
better.
And also familiar.
"Inspired by your distaste for shopping and a fear of starch...a closetful
of broken-in shirts."
That's what the sign in my house would have said, if there'd been a
sign in my house. After all, my shirts have been looking "broken-in"
for years. That's what comes from holding on to too many of the old
favorites, and treating the occasional new arrival with exactly the
same kind of loving care, a kind of loving care that could be best described
as "jam it in and forget it."
But right there in The Gap's window were practically the same kinds
of shirts as mine, and in practically the same condition. Only now they
weren't worn out and sloppy. They were fashionable. Which means I
was fashionable.
I had no idea.
BSFITPFC No. 2: I'm reading the newspaper the other day, and
I notice a story about the NBA trying to remake its image. Trying to
make sure that in the public mind, the "B" once again stands for "Basketball,"
rather than, say, for "Brawlers" or "Badboys" or...
The powers that B have apparently decided that some brand-new threads
might do the trick. So instead of the retro jerseys and the oversized
shorts and do-rags that were all the rage, they're promoting a new collection
of businessy-looking shirts with button-down collars and button-up fronts.
And stripes.
"Stripes are in," declared one stylish NBA player. (The rapper Jay-Z,
the story pointed out, had even done a recent video wearing stripes,
so you know it's a happening thing.)
"Stripes are in!" replied one astonished columnist. Come to think of
it, most of the shirts in The Gap's front window had had stripes! But
here's the best news: I've already got plenty of striped shirts in my
closet -- they're an essential part of my "broken-in" collection.
Now, none of my striped shirts happens to feature (at least not deliberately)
the team colors, let alone the team logo, of one of the NBA's 30 franchises.
But stripes are stripes. They're cool. They're hot. And I've got some.
Which means I'm cool. Or hot. Whatever.
Once upon a time, I used to go to track meets. This was during the
indoor track-and-field season, and I'd watch runners zipping around
the short indoor tracks. Every once in a while, if the race was long
enough and one of the runners was slow enough, I'd watch the rest of
the field pull away from the poor guy. They'd keep putting distance
between them until they were nearly a full lap ahead of him. Then they'd
keep gaining on him, closer and closer, until they were right behind
him.
And for a couple of precious seconds, just before they lapped him,
it would actually look like the slowpoke was leading the pack.
I know the feeling.
Posted 2/1/05. Rick's
commentary is always in fashion! (Have you told your friends yet?)
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Rick Horowitz
