I am not now nor have I ever been a fashionista.
I take full advantage of the simpler clothing choices afforded my gender. I have both colors of shirts for work – blue and white – and if I feel really bold, I might opt for stripes.
My wardrobe can be summed up in the phrase “Dad chic.”
Jerry Seinfeld has a great bit observing that all dads’ casual wardrobe is made up of the clothes of the last good year of their lives. As evidence, Carla had to force me to get rid of my baggy ‘90s jeans, and she completely purged my closet of pleated pants, which I’m sure will make a comeback now.
I’m a coat-and-tie guy by day and dress pants, cotton oxford and hoodie by night. I’m really not picky about what I wear. Most nights I’m still in my work clothes, minus the jacket and tie, for lounging around the house. I have this ritual of coming in, taking off and hanging up my tie and suit coat or blazer and putting on a zip up hoodie. I need the outer layer because my aging internal thermostat tells me that the household thermostat set to 72 is too cold. Rather than complain, I layer up with the hoodie. It’s quite a look.
One evening early this summer while changing into my eveningwear, I caught myself singing a little tune… “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor…” That was the moment I realized I have become Mr. Rogers, only with a zip up hoodie instead of a cardigan.
What’s interesting about the hoodie, though, is that it belonged to my 14 year-old. He outgrew it a couple of years ago, and when I saw it in the closet which serves as the Goodwill donation waiting room, I was inspired to try it on. It fit perfectly and was super cozy. It’s perfect for TV watching, and it’s charcoal gray. It goes with literally everything.
We have been documenting Carlton’s ascent to physical supremacy over the course of the past few years. First he grew taller than his oldest brother. Then he passed his middle brother. This summer, he passed me.
It was more startling than alarming, and I am beginning to see some benefits. At the beginning of the summer, I spotted a pair of Sperry’s heading to the “too small” pile and thought they looked my size. Sure enough, they were an exact fit. Carlton bought them at a thrift store, and now they complete my summer yachting ensemble beautifully. But it’s hard to ignore that my casual wardrobe has devolved into my 14-year-old’s castoffs from thrift stores.
As the oldest of three boys, I grew up rarely having to experience hand-me-downs. We still tease my youngest brother, Lyle, about the time he saw me in a shirt that he was wearing at that moment and said, “Hey, Lance is wearing my shirt.”
It may have been harder growing up to confront the reality that your wardrobe once belonged to an older sibling, but I really have no shame in admitting my fashion choices are now pre-selected from Carlton’s out-grown, thrifted items. It’s the ultimate in recycling.
We recently began the arduous task of cleaning out the hall closet again, and as I have moved Carlton’s rejects from Barron’s upstairs bedroom to Harris’ upstairs bedroom depending on who was coming home that weekend, I keep noticing pieces I think I could fit into.
I’m not embarrassed to wear Carlton’s hand-me-ups, but I haven’t considered that he might be embarrassed to see me in them.
But he’ll just have to get used to it. After all, it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor…
New South Essays 