Style

A fashion plate? Definitely not. I go to LL Bean or Orvis for sweaters and long-sleeved T-shirts. For decency, I wear dock pants and jeans. And yes, I could be more careful out in the shop about what spills on the accouterments.

Now, in the back of the closet are a few refugees from stylish days when I wore raw silk jackets, sharp-looking attire, and had a professional appearance. Not anymore. I last wore a suit for my oldest son’s wedding. My wife feared I might appear in shop clothes covered in wood chips. I fooled her!

What’s the meaning behind this lack of couture—this casual disregard for fashion? Simple: No one I care for judges me on style, appearance, or the elegance of my attire. If I want to appear organized, I might avoid loud color clashes between my long-sleeve t-shirt and the color of my dock pants. Dressing up means going into the closet and pulling out one of my louder Hawaiian shirts. I’ll top this off with a ratty leather sailor hat, a beret, or a well-worn felt fedora.
The next time you walk down the street in a coastal town in New England and see a weathered-looking bum in mismatched attire, it could be me.

Be nice, and say hello!