I cannot imagine how much nicer a vista a glance around the grocery store or gas station would become if we abolished some of the current fashion trends. I’d like to imagine a world where I can gaze across the horizon and be sure to see neither stirrup pants nor pimp chains. I’d like a daily gander around my surroundings that doesn’t involve fat rolls that I can count under a shirt that’s too tight. Really, what’s an extra level of thought gonna cost when choosing how to present one’s self in public? People just do when it comes to fashion. And sometimes what they do is downright silly.
Like popping the collar on one’s polo shirt. Problem number one is that it’s called “popping” your collar. It’s as if the action is choreographed, and I imagine the young man be-bopping around, misting himself with cologne while preparing for the public eye. He rocks out to the beat of his own stupid drummer and pops the collar in a triumphant gesture. Denial occurs. Then he leaves the house looking like an idiot in this most specific way. Excuse me, sir, with the tips of your collar gently brushing your cheeks and hairline, why not just leave fly of your pants open and go on about the day? Insist that you meant to leave it that way. You don’t need help putting your collar down or pulling your zipper up because you are a baron of fashion and you are an intentional son of a bitch when it comes to statements and shit. Don’t tie your shoes either.
Jeweled designer t-shirts for men. You can’t polish a turd and the same is true for these never-intended-to-be-fancy recipients of armpit stains. The t-shirt has now gone from personal billboard to the most thoughtless and incongruous outlet of personal taste and style. If you want to show off what a forward thinker you are, or that you think at all, become bilingual. Read a book. But please, bejeweled t-shirt man, you should never use this item to tell me you are cultured and brave. Your chest is shiny and distracting, but you are still boring.
Stirrup pants and leggings. Unless you have a body mass index of great to extremely great, you shouldn’t ask these to stretch over your cursed, lumpy body. I’m tired of seeing saddlebags burgeoning beneath lycra. If you want to wear pants, then don’t choose these items, because pants they are not. They are long bicycle shorts masquerading as something other than work-out gear just because they cover your calves. They have no more style or clout as a fashion item just because one can wear an uber-long t-shirt over them and call it a day.
Adults have no good excuse to wear cartoon characters on their clothing and accessories. Leave it to the kids. They have carte blanch because at least they’ll grow out of it. But there’s no good reason a grown woman should idolize something like Tinker Bell to the point of wearing her. She’s a tiny flying seductress–tinier than the fat woman wearing her will ever be– and she’s a little bitch with nothing to say. Nostalgia is understandable, but please don’t wear it on your shirt. If you have all of the Disney paraphernalia at home, leave it there. We don’t need to know about your fetish.
Sweaters and scarves when it’s 90 degrees outside. Your fashion choice is silly because when we look at you all we can imagine is how bad you must smell. I recently saw a grown woman wearing a scarf when it was so hot I was dripping sweat underneath my shirt. That’s like a kid wearing cowboy boots to the swimming pool. Or a frilly Easter dress on the playground when you’re eight. Stop being idealistic about the weather when you get dressed and prepare for reality like an adult.
I’d also appreciate never seeing another man drive around town with no shirt on. If a vehicle is an excuse to bare the chest in public and fair is fair, then I’ll gladly make sure my seat belt strap rests neatly between my tiny naked tits while driving. But something tells us this isn’t right. It isn’t immoral–it’s just pointless. Don’t flirt with nudity just because you can. Don’t do anything halfway. I once spoke to a nudist who told me that he’d make the 40 mile drive back from the nudist colony completely naked. I don’t have to understand why he did this, but I respect his solidarity. If you’re gonna do something, really do it. But don’t brandish your tiny nipples and mangled armpit hair out your open car window like you live five minutes from the beach.
Pimp chains, grills, and other items associated with hip-hop culture. Here’s the deal. When it comes down to it, whatever you are wearing is giant costume jewelry. We all think little girls with plastic tiaras and beaded necklaces are cute. They’re playing dress-up–pretending to be royalty. But they deserve all the credit. They know they’re pretending. So why do men leave the house in fake dress-up accessories? You tell me.
Leaving stickers on the hat. If you haven’t seen this yet, fret not. Your eyes remain blessed. What would be an understandable experiment in third grade is inexcusable once you are old enough to get into a strip club. Just come home and remove all the tags and stickers like everyone else. We don’t care where you bought it. Enough said.
Designer purses. Now I’m a fan of good design. Some purses are specimens of some of the greatest utilitarian design. Just downright graceful. But I have a problem appreciating the fact that someone paid over a grand for a purse. Have we lost our minds? Appreciate the design. Not the price. Save for a car or for retirement or help a cause. But please control yourself when you purchase something that holds your checkbook and tampons because if you pay an exorbitant amount for it, the first thing you impress me with is not your sense of fashion. It’s your sense of emptiness.
People that easily fall prey to fashion fads need to question themselves. It scares me that people are willing to sacrifice something as valuable as their personal dignity just to fit in. It’s an extreme form of denial and cognitive laziness. What else would they be willing to do on a whim? What else would they allow to happen to themselves? Wake up. Grow up. Stop playing dress-up.
Behind every great book adaptation is a forgettable first try. — By Ryan Covey