My wife buys me designer jeans. They are nice and I enjoy getting surprises from her. My problem is, I don’t have the ideal body to pull it off. My body is a cross somewhere between Jack Black and an Orc. Not your typical model slim and I’m a far cry and several hundreds of miles from obtaining the Isaiah Mustafa or Dwayne “Rock” Johnson physique I’ve always wanted.
Shopping for jeans or any type of clothing to fit comfortably is quite a task in this era where jeans are classified as rigid, skinny or stretch and where guys look more and more like Dolce & Gabbana or Armani models, I just want something that isn’t about to rip when I sit down or bend over to pick up the Twinkie I dropped on the way to the couch.
The same can be said of mens shirt styles. Everything is tight and revealing. Thought that may be attractive on females (and yes, some men for the ladies), but when you’re a forty-something trying to throw on the same pin-stripped, fitted shirt like those Abercrombie and Fitch dudes you end up looking more like an overstuffed knapsack full of muffins.
I come from a fashion history of bright lavalava’s, gaudy aloha shirts and baggy shorts. My mom’s first criteria was to look clean and whatever you where, make sure that its appropriate for the occasion. I confess, my wife still dresses me most of the time because I don’t have the fashion sense of someone who can afford to look like David Beckham or Adrien Brody.
So give me a pair of old Levi’s with holes in the back pockets and well-worn marks down the front. I’d rather look like a bum and feel like a million bucks. I may not look stylish and I’m not going to get my picture taken by the paparazzi, but I can eat a lot more nachos and popcorn at the movies without having to unbutton my pants.