While the Fuse Burns, the Flex Matters

A Few Words about the Examined Life (Dressed)

I’ve more than a few things to say about living the examined life, it’s my actual real-world job to talk about people who’ve urged us and have had the audacity to speak their minds.  In my case such examination extends to subjects as trivial as jeans, boots, or the rest of our flex.

I’m clothed in opinions, unhesitating in offering my own but unlikely to comment on yours unless there are very good reasons. When you’re lucky you get to think more about what you like and why you like it.

With time to opine about the aesthetic horrors of clothes too tight or too loose, the way that boot last fits or looks, and if I’ll live long enough to enjoy what I already have, I write too because I need to.  It helps that I type fast, sleep little, and obsess over nearly everything.  What gets you through the night?  I wonder about that too.

I have never been shy about living in the material world despite having spent my life studying the professional recluse, those looking for Enlightenment and those so disenchanted with the world that introversion is their only recourse short of self-destruction.

My interest in self-examination and the “spiritual life” fostered my personal proclivities to withdraw and brought me back into worldliness. It’s taken a lifetime to realize that I’m not religious enough to attempt professional detachment just to survive the world’s outrageous fortunes.  Better to enjoy what I can before it gets worse and be grateful because I still can.

I suppose others take more comfort in their religion. Lord knows I tried but let’s call that another dodged bullet, as far as I and the good Lord are both concerned.  If he’s got any real opinions about boots or selvedge, I’ll entertain those, but the rest will have to wait. So back to stuff, even if it’s mere transience and vanity. One never outlives one’s vanity.

Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun

I grew up in the suburban middle class but there wasn't much in the family budget for extravagance, and family fun was not really on our docket save for a few days down the Shore during summer.  Still, growing up in the shadow of New York City gave me plenty to love that was cool: music, art, books, and clothes were all part of that world.

George’s admonitions notwithstanding---give a listen to the 1973 Apple Records release, Living in the Material World, a fine follow up to the magisterial work of All Things Must Past:

Senses never gratified
Only swelling like a tide
That could drown me in the
Material world

… Got a lot of work to do
Try to get a message through
And get back out of this material world

I watch a lot of YouTube reviews and read plenty more.  I’m curious about items that trigger, nowadays more electric cars, “rugged” boots, selvedge denim, and the ancillary curiosities that might distract from more productive work.  I’m rarely influenced to make an actual purchase, at least at the behest of the good videographer or IG influencer.

Most of these reviewers sensibly focus on practical use and affordability, and some will stray into the eclectic or expensive though keen not to lose their audience. (I’m not that guy.) They mention the comments that take them down, particularly those who argue against anything that isn’t a bargain.

How many times do they disclaim their own interests or preferences saying “…then there are those who say how could you ever spend x on jeans or a pair of boots…”  That’s tacit acknowledgment the reviewer wants approval but has tastes he fears to admit wholly.  Cool on that because it can be hard to be honest.

I understand a reviewer’s trepidations. Some need (and who wouldn't like) the income, others genuinely prefer and eschew costly items.  It’s all good with me because I’m in it for what I like and mildly curious in what others’ like because they’re not me.

I, that am curtail’d of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature,
Deformed, unfinish’d, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up –
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them…

When differences in taste arise, I’m inclined to applaud.  I like it when folks like things I don’t.  It makes the world a more interesting place.  I can always look away if I’m feeling all snooty about things not to my taste, which is more than a lot but it’s (sometimes good to be) honest.  After all there’s nothing really at stake with luxury goods.

If you’re reducing life to mere utility that’s boring, vulgar, uninteresting, lazy, and likely lame. It might also be because you care about other stuff (perhaps more important) or you have plenty more to worry about.  Judgment need not be reserved; it needs only context for caveat and exception.

To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,

I’m not surprised when serious work boot guys who, you know, work for a living don’t care about their jeans, revert to an easy uniform, and declare they don’t care a fig about the rest of their flex.  I heard this declared openly on a recent boot podcast from an excellent PNW maker in the voices of those makers.  That’s cool but they aren’t less the Cretan (apologies to real Cretans).  I don’t mean to offend.  Really. 

I have several good friends who care about denim but have no interest in boots (or any footwear), some dig boots but almost nothing else. Still they are Cretans albeit likeable ones.  There’s no offense against anything but taste (and maybe not that either).

Maybe they have a serious job, kids (enough to make any sane man pretend to care about everything but himself), or just a hard life and stuff that matters way more.  To say there are more important things to care about than nice boots isn’t merely obvious it’s inapposite.

Most guys I know have enough time and money to spend 20 more minutes figuring out a bit more about themselves and, dare I say, their aesthetic lives.  But some don’t or don’t want to and some are too embarrassed, and most don’t know how.

I’m not likely to tell my pals to their faces they could use a makeover, ‘cause that would be rude even if it’s true.  Folks should love life and when it’s about little more than taste, there’s room not to care.  But you have the option to make your own case, at least for yourself, take it.

I enjoy those with strong opinions, especially opinions I don’t share, even those who fancy themselves (or actually function as) influencers.  I’m bemused, not often swayed, lean into my confirmation biases (why not?), and try to keep an open mind.

I’m not inclined to take my cues from influencers, trends, or effective advertisers.  Okay, effect advertisers.  But they’re likely pushing well-worn buttons.  Maybe this is because I’m old and cranky? Maybe it’s because I dress for myself, rarely leave my farm, and am little more than another self-absorbed aesthetic recluse?

I’ve been in this game since the 1960s, I’ve trended, fashioned my way into folly, and could sell stock in buyer’s remorse if ever the IPO.  It’s indulgent, maudlin, and uninteresting to say that I’ll be dead soon or drinking from a straw and wearing Velcro sneakers, and make those reasons to no longer care.  But for now, I still care.

I’m keen to be “appropriate,” which means by din of age, context, and need. There are lots of cool things I think I’m too old to wear and I reject the notion that “pulling it off” is somehow just a matter of confidence or some other claim to autonomy.

I don’t want to look too much like an old man or or trying to look like someone half my age.  I dislike making a spectacle of myself in public and who wants to embarrass friends, wife, or the children too much?  I think there is age-appropriate, work-appropriate dress, even sitting around by yerself appropriate dress. In fact, I think “appropriate” is something everyone might do better thinking about more.

I wouldn’t say I’m not open to new or different, I would say most of what I prefer flexes into the familiar.  Not much is more obnoxious than a Boomer telling you ‘been there, done that,’ but when I sound like that it’s because your yum might be my yuck.

Being non-judgmental is nonsense since not-judging is a judgment, a choice you might keep to yourself, and one I am inclined to make.  Not having an open opinion particularly about your tastes is good manners.  Arguments should be reserved for things like politics and religion when (not always) poor judgments have real consequences.

There are often ample less expensive alternatives to the things I like best and money matters even if you’ve got it or are willing to spend.  I’m at the point in my life where there are no green bananas, I don’t want compromises unless they’re the imperative, and when it comes to these sorts of things, I’m rarely inclined to give in.

Not being wealthy and darn close to just living on the meager retirement, it’s not like money doesn’t matter but price is always the last thing I consider.  I try not to look at the price until I’ve really made the aesthetic judgment.  Then of course price often is the determining factor. Much of what I prefer I can’t afford.  So it goes. 

Sometimes I save assiduously and hope it’s still there when I can afford it, other times I make the virtual purchase without interest in the actual, plenty of room in life for admiration from afar, or simply surrender to the financial facts. 

In our small market, heritage world it’s so often a snooze/lose proposition. That’s a shame, and there’s sometimes the used market.  Life isn’t about getting what you want all the time, now is it?

Plane landing here:

My flex in clothes is like the rest of my life.  I’m just working out who I am, who I wish I were, who I want to be.  You’re never done doing this until you don’t really know who you are any longer.  I’m not sure I want to live that long. 

Living with yourself is hard, whether you’re paying much attention to anything, much less your clothes.  But I can’t imagine not paying attention to paying attention, though clearly some guys just have no ducks to give. (<- Nod to family programming here.)  I wonder what they do with their own dark nights of the soul. I have one of those at least six nights a week.

I’ve never understood the live unexamined unless you just honestly don’t have the chance and then that’s a damn shame all around.  Any guy my age has more regrets and losses than victories no matter how “successful.”

We’re all inclined to overstate our contentment when what we should say is we’re grateful, lucky, and blessed just to be alive at all, so let’s get on with making more life.