I like white socks

I've never been considered a snappy dresser in my time. In fact, it stuns my wife when I'm in a clothing store with her and I’m actually able to pick out a shirt or pair of pants that she thinks would look good on me. It just seems as if that is part of my brain that had it’s factory setting soldered in the off position when I was born. I just don’t get it. If I want to wear white socks with brown shoes, what’s the big deal? Who’s getting hurt when I decide to wear a t-shirt and flannel pants in public? Apparently according to my wife and a few of my friends, everyone is being affected by my appalling lack of style.

What ever happened to the world of “if it feels good, do it?”

I think it all began when I was a child and would ask my mother questions such as, “Do my clothes rhyme?” At that point they should have seen that I was crying out for help. Find the 70’s version of Queer Eye for the Sesame Street fan and get them to Mt. Horeb, WI. Stat!

Ever since then, I’ve had to go shopping with someone. Whether it be a friend, my mother, or my wife, I’m never allowed to go out and buy clothes without supervision. Picture a prisoner in the orange jumpsuit and shackles being led around by a guard and you’ve pretty much got the image of what it looks like when I’m out clothes shopping. Minus the shackles, of course.

Get me in a tux though, and I’m a Midwestern-balding-30 year old James Bond.

Tuxedos have just always clicked for me. I think it’s because the whole outfit has a plan. Everything just makes sense. There is a Point A to Point B progression with the whole outfit. Plus, they have those holes in the pants pockets that allow you to straighten your shirt without having to unbutton your pants. To me, I think that was the single greatest innovation in clothing history. You can put your hands in your pockets and people don’t think you’re playing with yourself. Brilliant!

One of my friends once told me, when she noticed that I was wearing white socks with my dress shoes, that people in Spain would laugh at me if they saw that. I had never had an interest in going to Madrid until that point, but now I know when I get there that I’ll be the American proudly strutting around in my jean shorts and a t-shirt walking up to every Spanish citizen and waiting for them to point and giggle. Nothing makes me feel better than a cheap laugh, even at my expense.