Clothes

I have been thinking about clothes, and how much they matter… so here are a few little anecdotes about why, especially in New York City, the clothes make the man….

I took a friend who is new to the city to a party over the weekend. It was just a casual thing at some people’s house in Brooklyn, so when he asked if he should change out of his jean shorts and t-shirt, I said no. But then on Monday a friend who was at the party said something like “He was cute, but I could tell he wasn’t from New York because he was wearing jean shorts.” I had to laugh, but she was right. No guy in his mid 20s in New York really wears jean shorts.

Last night I was in my favorite independent bookstore in the city, on Carmine in the West Village. It carries random stuff and is cheap. Plus the last two times I was there I found random Richard Brautigan books that I had been meaning to read, at discount prices! Anyhow, so I was in there yesterday, still in my work get-up, which was a houndstooth (?) pencil skirt, sandles, and a red sleeveless sweater. The woman behind the counter had peroxide blond hair in braids (imagine a yodler). She was not wearing lederhosen or anything, but instead some black clothes that were rather nondescript. It may have been overalls? Anyhow, as I was paying she said, “Pretty sweater.” To which I of course said, “Thank you.” She added that she liked the “jet beading” around the neck… I had to ask her to repeat herself since I was too distracted trying to read her tattoos on her elbows. I decided that they read “KISS” and “THIS” (in the KISS band font) on the left and right elbow, respectively. I was a little confused by her compliment since her own appearance was quite dissimilar to mine.

Another recent incident reminded me that all New Yorkers are fashion critics. I live in Harlem, and as one of the few white people on my block, I kinda stand out. One night I was leaving my apartment and walked past a group of people standing (as groups of people tend to do in my ‘hood) outside my building. As I walked away from them, I heard one girl say, “Look at that girl trying to dress ‘black.’” I didn’t realize my jean skirt, halter top, and salvation army shawl was expressly a “black” outfit. Must have been the shawl, but thinking about it, a year ago when shawls weren’t trendy, the girl might have said, “Look at that girl trying to dress ‘old lady.’”

One final clothing incident: Back when the weather was first changing from winter to summer (you know there is no spring in New York), I was heading to (coincidentally) a party in Brooklyn (the first of two parties I have been to in Brooklyn). As I was navigating the subway there, I noticed flocks of young girls prancing around in those miniskirts that are all the rage right now. When I met my friend on the train, also en route to the party, we started chatting about these girls. He commented that on Monday the “Missed Connections” section of craigslist would be filled with ads of the “A train at 10:30 Saturday. You: wearing a pink miniskirt and tank top. You were with your friends but were looking at me. Me: short, fat, ugly, smelly old man wearing jeans and a t-shirt with paint splatters on it. Coffee? Drinks? Email me!” nature.