I have never conformed to the whims of fashion. I never saw the point to buying a new wardrobe every season. I don’t think I need to jump just because some weird looking guy in Paris tells me to wear green pants, with a plaid shirt. The only time you could say I follow fashion is when I’m in the park behind a cute female jogger. But this usually ends quickly with a talk from a not-so friendly ranger. But enough about that, let’s move on.

The thing is, it’s worse for women. There seems to be unwritten rule that they can never be seen in the same outfit twice, or their head will explode.  Guys buy the correct pair of jeans and just wear them every day for the next hundred years. As far as trends go, these days, the worse a guy’s jeans look, the better. I was once in southern California and caught a cold. Then I sneezed and accidentally blew snot all over my pants. Six people asked me where they could get a pair just like them, before I made it to a restroom to clean it off. I guess gross was in that year.

Another thing with women: as fashion changes, so do their figures. I was watching this show a while ago, and these designers were saying girls with hips were no longer in style. I don’t know a lot about clothes, but everybody has to have hips. Like the song says, “… The thigh bone is connected to the hip bone. Oh, hear the word of the Lord.” If the Lord says it, you can bank on it. Everybody has hips. Otherwise your legs wouldn’t attach. And how can you be an empowered woman if you can’t walk anywhere because your legs just fell off. Of course, if a lady’s legs did fall off, and the girl was carrying them upside-down, that would give a whole new meaning to the word high heels. 

Then there was another person who stated clearly that large breasts were out. Excuse me if I’m wrong, but aren’t large chests always pointing out. I’ve been noticing women for several years, and have never seen any of them breathe in so hard that the sucked their breasts in. That would leave two gaping holes just under their shoulders. I’m not really very observant but I think I’d notice that. I’ve always believed the fashion industry was supposed to make people more attractive. Well, I really don’t think I’d be attracted to a woman with two gaping holes in her chest, stumbling around while trying to keep her legs from falling off. I’m just saying. Then again, maybe I should watch a runway show and find out how they do it before I make a judgement.

And don’t even get me started about the whole color thing. Did you know there are twenty-nine thousand officially registered shades of pink? Well, there are. And you better know what shade you are wearing, or the fashion police will come down on you hard. They may even take away your girl card and you’ll be forced to be a guy for the rest of your life. While this may be appealing for some, I’m sure it’s not for everybody. If I were you, I’d stick with blue. There are only fifty-seven shades of that. But I digress.

The reason I started talking about all this is the fact that I just found out that I am the pinnacle of Hollywood men’s fashion and I never knew it. I was in a doctor’s office last week and the only magazine they had was some major entertainment publication. As I thumbed through it, I noticed all the guys are bald or have short hair. They all look scruffy with a day’s beard growth. Lastly, they are all wearing white tee shirts, jeans, and some vest. This look was pioneered in the 1950’s by Ed Norton in The Honeymooners series. Ahhh, the New York sewer system never looked so grand

Now, look at me. I am both bald and have short hair. The top is bald and the short hair goes around the sides. Already I am double trouble. Next, I hate to shave. I am always walking around with facial stubble unless I’m going somewhere. Lastly, I’ve got lots of white shirts in my underwear drawer. In fact, I’m smarter than those Hollywood types. I checked some of their area stores and WOW! A white tee shirt costs a hundred-fifty bucks. I buy mine from Walmart and get three for fifteen.

I just bet, if I walked down a random road in any Los Angeles suburb, people would turn their heads. Then they’d smile and ask themselves, “Who is that guy?” after that they’d invariably ask, “What kind of wierdo walks anywhere in LA? He must be crazy.” Hey, remember they noticed my elegance first.

Of course, I could do this now but probably not next year. Style changes so fast. Those tees and vests look great today, but you can bet they’ll be selling in the thrift store for $6.99 tomorrow. A great example of this is my shoes. I wear Converse High Tops, still with the signature of Chuck Taylor himself. Yes, I do, purple ones. I started wearing them when I was five or six. Back then everybody wore them. Then in the late eighties, leather athletic shoes became very popular, and I was chastised for my choice in footwear. In the nineties high-tops resurfaced in the counter culture. I was acclaimed for being a rebel and a trend-setter. Same shoes different day. In the two-thousands Converse went underground. Most everyone admitted to having a pair but to wear them in public was sacrilege. Me and my foot covers were once again shunned.

These days, I’m not quite sure where I stand. I don’t see the old sneakers much, but at least once a week some one tells me how much they like my purple shoes. I do question whether mature most folks like the high-tops or the purple. But the millennials go crazy over them. They tell me how great mine are. Next, we have to discuss theirs and the cool ones their best friend has with the red stitching.

 Yep, I’ve been in and out of fashion four times and haven’t changed a bit. I guess the song is right, “Everything old is new again.” That reminds me of another weird trend of late. I call it Thrift Store Chic. All of a sudden, Goodwill outlets are cooler than Abercrombie & Finch. Young folks are flocking to second-hand shops to pick up the latest in last century’s styles. When I was younger, I laughed at the stuff in my grandmother’s attic. Now I’m making a fortune selling it on Ebay. Who’d a thunk it?

So, in conclusion. Ooh, I like saying that. It sounds like I know what I’m talking about. Which I don’t. But then again neither do those strange looking guys in Paris and Milan. They’re just guessing, and people are just stupid enough to believe everything they say.

Does anyone know how I can get a job like that?