Somewhere in the back of a rack of clothes is a suit. Sport jackets, pants, dress shirts; ditto. I donated most of the stuff years ago. As an anthropologist, I was not what you’d call a high-impact dresser. Once my government job disappeared, my next act was working part-time at UPS while running a small videography business and as a marine woodcarver. I didn’t need sartorial excellence in any of these occupations.
Visiting a sawmill to watch timber become slabs and boards did not require a suit. Likewise, as a small business owner, I wasn’t planning on dressing for promotion. I’d have to plan on laughing at myself; I do that anyway.
So the sartorial accent, so to speak, around my shop is very basic. My uniform of the day consists of lightweight dock pants and a dark-colored, long-sleeved T-shirt or Henley. These items become adorned with woodchips or shavings. Coffee stains and varnish provide accents.
This mode of attire is so persistent that when my oldest son married, he and his fiancee required me to submit what I’d be wearing for the service in advance. Otherwise, they were confident I’d absentmindedly show up fresh from the shop.
Ok, I sometimes dress for success with brightly patterned Hawaiian shirts or bold Indonesian prints. After all, a bit of variety is nice.