Professional Fashion Guy
Clothes are frequently employed as a means of territorial display in
the manner of this absurd peacock. Photo by Jatin Sindhu.
I’m on my fifth career. The optimist would say I’m a Renaissance Man. The pessimist would say I never stick with anything. My longsuffering bride is simply weary of the chaos. Regardless, I would like to formally announce that I am embarking on yet another profession. I plan to become a fashion critic.
I am fully qualified. I have myself worn clothes for well over half a century. Though I am admittedly colorblind, I doubt I could do much worse than the current crop of fashion professionals. I don’t think you have to attend any special schools, and I obviously already own a laptop.
Clothing Philosophy
Why exactly do we wear clothes anyway? Per the Bible, clothes originated in the Garden of Eden. God created man and woman, and they wandered about blissfully naked. Eve was likely quite a looker, so Adam clearly had a pretty sweet deal going. Then they did something stupid.
After the Fall, man and woman fashioned themselves clothes out of fig leaves. God just sighed, crafted something proper out of animal skins, and dispelled them from the garden with a sincere remonstration to mind their manners. That ultimately resulted in World War 2.
Those first clothes were likely just intended to help Adam and Eve keep warm and avoid nasty sunburns. Since then clothing has evolved. Like the flamboyant mating display of some ludicrous bird, human clothing now makes a statement. More often than not, that statement is, “Hey, world, look how stupid I am!” A fair percentage of the population’s tattoos are apparently designed with the same purpose.
Nowadays clothes are expected to make some kind of statement.
Male Fashion
My patient was a sixteen-year-old African-American teenager who came to see me in the company of his grandmother. The young man was a strapping lad who was tall, fit and handsome. His grandmother — by contrast — was remarkably compact.
This lady stood maybe five feet tall in her church shoes, but was clearly all business. The kid obviously didn’t want to be there, so she veritably frog-marched him up onto the exam table. I forget what his problem was, but I needed him to stand up.
As he arose, the young man thoughtlessly adjusted his trousers. In this case that meant his waistband was literally secured around his thighs such that his butt cheeks, clad solely in a pair of filmy boxers, were flapping around with some vigor. He looked like some kind of hulking prepubescent penguin.
With shocking speed the diminutive woman flew out of her chair and slapped him hard across the back of his head before shouting, “Pull your damn pants up, fool!”
That kid complied toot sweet. Though small, this woman was clearly accustomed to being obeyed. I found myself subconsciously checking the drawstring on my scrubs to ensure it was at the regulation spot around my navel. On some primal level I just didn’t want this shockingly vicious little woman after me.
I like pretty girls more than most, but this strikes me as terribly impractical.
Photo by Beyrouth.
Female Fashion
Every Thursday I take my wife out for a date. It’s the high point of my week. I’m only a doctor two days a week nowadays, so that leaves the next four to toil selflessly behind my MacBook as a longsuffering gun writer. Who am I kidding? I have the coolest life in the world.
We parked on the square in my sleepy little college town and got ready to head into the Ajax Restaurant for some proper Deep Southern home cooking. As I gathered my keys and checked my concealed carry piece for both security and stealth, I noticed a young lady and her mom doing a little shopping.
Maybe it’s the water. We grow the most beautiful girls in the world down here. I myself married one and fathered another. This young lady could have handily secured a Sports Illustrated cover on the strength of a blurred selfie. She was gorgeous.
As the two women walked away, I was surprised to notice that her butt was literally hanging out of her shorts. Anatomically the hem of her micro-shorts tracked a line easily an inch above her gluteal folds…and she was walking around in public alongside her mom. At a slant range of thirty meters I could even tell she was sporting a thong in lieu of proper underwear.
I had to wonder if these two women had ever met an actual human male. It’s all fun and games until battalions of randy young men precipitate some sort of distasteful riot. Extraordinary. These people clearly just needed the services of a professional fashion commentator. I am proud to announce that I am available.
