How I Hate Clothes Shopping
Today I went to the mall to find some new clothes, it being a few years since I’ve bought any winter wear. I’m reminded why it’s been so long: there is absolutely nothing good about shopping for clothes. There’s no rhyme or reason to what looks good and what doesn’t; indeed, the only discernible rule is that if one’s a fashion model then one can wear anything, and if one’s not the one might as well give up.
I envy married fellows: a married man can simply say, Darling,
when I return I’d like to have some nice-looking new clothes,
and when he gets back home the Clothes Gnomes have left him a nice new
wardrobe. A man with a girlfriend can go shopping with her; even a guy
with a sister has an advantage. But I am completely forlorn, since my
parents failed to provide me a sister and I have thus far been and utter
failure with the fair sex.
You know, I really loved it back in college when I was wearing coat & tie—yeah, I stuck out like a sore thumb, but I was a happy sore thumb. I understand coat & tie; I can buy shirts and suits and blazers and ties without worry. Maybe I should just write off this experiment in dressing like a normal chap my age, give in and return to my element.
