OK, I admit it. Deep within me is
a primal spirit that drives my need
to lead. While I'm not a pioneer,
I do love being the first to be first.
Whether that need is driven by
impatience or a desire to be seen
I honestly can't say. I do know that
this desire to excel manifests itself
most strongly in the fashion arena.
If it's in fashion, it's in my closet!
As a young man that meant wearing
things I had no business wearing long
before anybody except a select few
were willing to walk out of the house
in them. As a young man I proudly
purchased many "Leisure" or "Safari"
suits. I strutted my stuff around town
in high heeled platform shoes and skin
tight purple tie died hip huggers. All I
wanted was to look as much like Greg
Brady or Davy Jones as was possible!
That alone explains why I was beaten
up on the way home from school!
Upon coming out of the closet, I quickly
filled my closet with the latest and most
sexiest male fashions. For years I was a
devout Gucci acolyte. Tom Ford inspired
me to unbutton down to my navel and to
wear pants so tight I could barely move
in them. After Tom suggested that going
commando made one five pounds thinner,
any sense of mystery was gone forever!
Later when Thom Browne took pants to
Capri lengths, I followed. When jackets
shrank to doll like scale, I attempted to
squeeze my ample proportions into them.
My beloved is the most elegant of
gentlemen. He knows what looks
good on his body and very carefully
embraces fashion trends when they
are appropriate. While fashionable,
Frank has never looked foolish in
any way. Whereas I have bravely
gone where few went and probably
none should have gone. I admit that
even I was a bit unnerved at times
as I walked into the office in chiffon
tanks, peasant tops, and other risque
gear that should have stayed at home!
As I have aged, my fashion proclivities
have most certainly been tempered. In
some ways I'm fortunate in that my once
svelte physique has expanded to a point
that careful consideration is required.
This new found caution actually is a true
blessing in disguise. It forces me to stop,
pause, and look in the mirror before I
exit the apartment. That and my quite
candid partner keep me in check. He has
been known at times to refuse to exit our
abode prior to a change in my attire. In
retrospect, thank God he stopped me!
With maturity (and in my case girth)
comes the confidence to pick and
choose what's best for me. While it's
certain that I will always want to be
deemed fashionable, I no longer feel
the need to wear whatever somebody
else dictates. Instead I act as my own
curator, carefully editing my options.
I'm certain that even if I should lose
fifty pounds, I will never again don
most of my fashion archive. As the
fashion gurus say, if you are able to
remember a trend, never wear it.
