|Even this guy can't pull this off|
I have little frustration accompanying my wife shopping (though her stamina far exceeds my own and while shopping, my wife borders on super-human while I usually end up finding a corner to whimper in as a I moan about feet that feel twice their original size and complain of a lower back that seems to have thousands of needles jabbing into it without mercy).
My frustration stems from the fact that I have yet to find a store anywhere that produces clothes I want to buy beyond a random shirt or the standard blue jeans. Most stores, even the underwear they sell is pretentious and somehow over-complicated. And that is the center of my problem, the complicated nature of clothes. I don’t want weird collars on a sweater that covers the left side of my face, leaving my right cheek and neck exposed or pants with double breasted button-up flys or strange, single buttons on shirts on my bicep that attach to my sleeves when I roll them up.
I don’t want advertising, either, that tells everyone I’m wearing an Abercrombie & Fitch sweatshirt or the advertising done by other companies who feel the need to stamp everything with their name and logo.
Make quality clothes and people will buy those quality clothes. That’s my opinion, anyway.
I’m frustrated that my indifference has been replaced by the growing feeling that somehow I am picky or a clothes-snob, which up to now, I had not realized. This wouldn’t be a problem except for the fact that now when shopping as I once did, with no mind toward size and fit and little interest as to matching (all blues and blacks and reds, when paired together, match, right?), I now get a feeling in my gut that like a feeling of desperation. My style has to be represented out there, somewhere; simple clothes, made good, fit good, and clothes that look good.
I would hate to think, folks, that I’ve morphed into a clothes-snob, or worse, that all these years, deep inside, I was a clothes-whore.
Who knew that getting married would add this particular dilemma to my daily life? Completely worth it, folks, even if it turns out I am a clothes-whore. If so, so be it!