Mismatched
I drive through downtown on my way home every night. Since it's frequently late when I make the drive, it's not unusual that I pass handfuls of bar-hoppers, movie-goers, late-night snackers and sundry other passers-by.
Tonight I passed three men turning the corner to stop at, I assume, Hannah's, the dark, loud bar where a fire is waiting to happen.
One of the men wore a sideways cap, long white t-shirt and those obscenely baggy pants that women everywhere swoon over. One of the other men had on a sharp-looking blue blazer and jeans. Very Hugh Grant.
This is how it is.
You pick your friends, not their clothes. One night you spend two hours conjuring the perfect outfit and meet up with the group of sweat-pant clad girls you used to call your friends. Next time you slip into your ripped jeans, black fleece and dirty blue tennis shoes and flop into the booth next to your pals who apparently robbed a Gucci shop in preparation for the evening. You're now competing against the peddler you meet on the corner for "outfit most deserving of sympathy."
Blissful incongruity.
Tonight I passed three men turning the corner to stop at, I assume, Hannah's, the dark, loud bar where a fire is waiting to happen.
One of the men wore a sideways cap, long white t-shirt and those obscenely baggy pants that women everywhere swoon over. One of the other men had on a sharp-looking blue blazer and jeans. Very Hugh Grant.
This is how it is.
You pick your friends, not their clothes. One night you spend two hours conjuring the perfect outfit and meet up with the group of sweat-pant clad girls you used to call your friends. Next time you slip into your ripped jeans, black fleece and dirty blue tennis shoes and flop into the booth next to your pals who apparently robbed a Gucci shop in preparation for the evening. You're now competing against the peddler you meet on the corner for "outfit most deserving of sympathy."
Blissful incongruity.
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2 Comments:
I am constantly entertained by the "fashion" that is nothing more or less than California prison wear. No belts. One-size-fits-all pants. No shoelaces. Stocking cap over the ears or ball cap perched sideways. To which my general response is "pull up your pants, turn your hat around and get a job."
Friday, December 23, 2005
I've heard it opined that it was in fact prison garb that inspired those baggy pants. And nothing is sexier than prison garb.
Friday, December 23, 2005
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