It was a dark and khaki time
“You looked like a wanker!”, exclaimed my unemployed/unemployable rock star friend as he tried not to choke on his piri-piri prawns during lunch. He couldn’t stop himself from either laughing or eating which inevitably lead to the choking. But yet still he laughed and gasped as he forced spicy tomato prawns down his mocking pie hole. Whilst I desperately wanted him to shut the fuck up I also didn’t want him to choke to death and his last words to be, “You looked like a wanker!”
As he chortled along to the vision of sobriety and acceptableness that he had rolling around his brain that was Manuel T Waiter in the late 1990’s I considered that if he was to die I would tell people, when asked, that his final words had been for me to have the entirety of his record and cd collection. Ha, who is the wanker now then laughing boy?!
“Fucking chinos! You waaaaanker!”, he was out of prawns now but not mocking insults. Tears rolled down his face.
But as much as I may try to deny it I did indeed look like a total wanker for a period towards the end of the 1990’s. It was a dark and khaki time filled with sensible shirts, appropriate footwear and as much as it shames me to say it, chinos.
From Gap.
With matching blue Oxford shirt.
Not cool. Not cool at all.
My unemployed rock star friend was both accurate and succinct when he characterised me as being a wanker. But in my defense I was married with a child and I assumed this is what I needed to be wearing. Combats, t-shirts extolling the virtues of sleazy stoner rock bands and white high tops were all ditched in favour of the sensible ensemble of the sensible. That is to say, the dull. I had sold my alternative rock soul just to join the aspiring middle classes and everybody new it. It still shames me to this day.
I’ve never really cracked the clothes thing, that is to say I’ve never ever looked cool nor comfortable either in anything other than white shirt and dickie bow. And if I am being honest the last time I wore anything that was remotely interesting or cool or crazy was in the pre-chino years when I was a little gothlet and still trying to find my place on the social pecking order of teenage society. I am sure that my black on black ensemble had me close to the top echelons of our multicultural group of indie kids, goths, metallers, nerds, freaks, hipsters and altar boys. Heh.
Clothes are such a giant pain in my wardrobe sized ass – from choosing them to buying them to wearing them out – it’s all just a crashing bore. I seem to get it wrong on a very regular basis. Take Sunday for example. Off I popped to the chippy to purchase a lazy Sunday dinner of standard cod and chips for me and a chicken bites meal for Little Miss Manuel. I went dressed in a rather sober blue shirt and sweater combo only to find that every other chap in the queue was wearing three quarter length shorts, t-shirt with a sports motif and the ever-so hideous flip flops. Flip flops? In the chippy? And they weren’t on holiday? Well I can tell you dear reader I nearly fainted right there and then.
Are these people not catholic? Have they not learned to hide their shame? Shame in this case being feet, which are of course the epitome of shameful body parts and are filthy and sweaty and shouldn’t be exposed in such a way by anybody let alone by men in their forties who should really know better. I am very much against the flip flopping footwear of the so called modern man. Get yer boots on yer not on a family value two week holiday to an unnamed Balearic island resort.
Sake.
I don’t want to come across as one of those predictably bellicose and tiresome old men who see everything modern or different as a plot against them, specifically them, but seriously flip flops are for holidays and cardigans are for the old. Well they were, but not anymore, not these days, oh no not now. Cardigans are wore in an ironic fashion by all the young hipsters, well they were when I started writing this but this will probably have changed by the time I finish. I wear a cardigan and I look like an old duffer in need of a cup of coco and a bed bath where as some spritely youthful fucker with a beard like Grizzly Adams and a shirt stolen from his mother looks every bit as cool as Jimmy Dean. And that’s another thing, the Jimmy dean look. I tried that, once, I looked like a fat Simon Cowell. Nice.
Like most musical, arty and Romanian people my unemployed/unemployable rock star friend gets his sartorial wear from so called vintage clothes shops. They were called Oxfam in my day but what do I know and they weren’t seen as very cool places to get your gear from either. I went, once, to the more highly regarded vintage clothes shop in town. It was most disagreeable I can tell you. It smelt of old, nothing old in particular more just old as a concept. When I complained to my chum about this smell he assured me that I was smelling clothes with history, clothes with character and individuality. Which was odd as all I could smell was pish and death. Let me tell you the only back story I want my clothes to have is about how it made it all the way from the seven year old who stitched it together to the Grizzly Adams look-a-like in his ma’s blouse who popped it into a bag.
For the record I haven’t wore chinos since my divorce. But that’s not to say my wardrobe became anymore voguish from that point as there was the desperately embarrassing months where I dressed like an American skater, long loopy key chain and everything. This only stopped when I caught a look at myself in the window of skater dude shop extraordinaire, Cult Clothing. It was all I could do not to have a breakdown right there and then. As my unemployed/unemployable rock star friend would have put it, I looked like a wanker!
So it’s all corduroy and twill shirts these days with me and if it’s a bit parky out I pop on a lovely wool cardigan and fetch a cup of coco from the kitchen.
Oh the irony…
I was just thinking about how if I ever get a real job that it means I won’t be able to show up to work in shorts, t-shirt and sandals anymore. Maybe I DON’T want to graduate after all.
Native Minnow: unless of course you get a job as a professional sports star. Is there any chance of that?
I always thought Dave Barry had it right, and their slogan should be: “Dockers, for the bigger-butted man.”
Seriously, though, I feel your pain. 1991, the first Lollapalooza, and I was knocked up, seriously knocked up. What to wear? Well, the only thing I could find to fit in to was a baby-blue and white gingham checked jumper (over here that’s a sleeveless dress you wear over a shirt). Yeah. It’s hard to be cool while wearing that, even if it is accompanied by greasy Docs, a nose ring, multiple other piercings, and blood red hair. It really didn’t help that I came down with a bladder infection midway through the concert and had to rush to use the Men’s every 10 minutes, which made me look even less cool.
Still, all in all, I was far cooler than Trent Reznor, who had to go on just after noon, in broad fucking daylight, wearing all black and trying to look moody in the hot Southern California summer, 95 degrees it was, with his smoke effects machine not showing up at all in that glaring sunlight. Kind of like turning over a rock and watching the grubs exposed to the sunlight, so it was.
When the Spouse Sparrow first came over here, he absolutely refused to wear shorts or flip-flops, said it wasn’t proper, yada yada. A few summers later, after dealing with 110+ degree heat, ta-da, he discovered the joys of going around half-naked.
Just think, when you get to be in God’s waiting room, you will still be cooler than all those wankers in old people’s homes who have neck tattoos and pierced eyebrows. They’ll have to train the nurses on how to take care of geezer nipple piercings, and when the old dears get their sponge baths, the aids will be making fun of their Green Day tattoos. So take heart, hey?
“he discovered the joys of going around half-naked” boke boke vomit vomit at the very thought of it…..
I bought some doc martins recently….they do a sensible/comfortable range for the older punk/goth…..which is nice of them
I cling onto casual tops from way back. I still have a Renaissance Cruises shirt I am wearing right now from 1995. My wife likes me to look presentable once in a while so she will urge me to get something new. Probably excluding shoes I spend about $100 a year on clothes from underwear to pants. So what I have ages well that is for sure.
you’ve put it in perspective… i’ve always been annoyed that women are under such societal pressure to be ‘trendy’. i ignore it, but it annoys me… always thought you blokes had it easier. guess there’s some ‘misery loves company’ in this one. does it help to wear a hat?
Truth. You speak truth.
Having to wear khaki-colored Catholic school uniforms (in the tropics) seriously messed up all chances I had of developing any fashion sense at all.
Most of the time I can only aspire to the level of wanker.
steve: $100 a year? a year? how do you do it? i spend twice that on sock and hankies!!
daisyfae: hats? don’t talk to me about hats. no matter what hat i wear i always end up looking like a fat sweaty deviant……always gets me a seat on the bus though….heh
sugarpie: heh……that made me laugh….
I am wearing chinos today and I’m still in a band, harrah!
oh god. If it makes you feel better, I’ve just remembered I also did the long loopy key chain thing for a bit, despite never having been either a skater or American.
Woolly cardigans and corduroy for the win!! that’s what everybody in this house wears nowadays, even the baby. Frankly I’m massively relieved to be out of that phase of my life where you are expected to wear strappy uncomfortable things and pointy heeled shoes. At my age it is sort of acceptable to wear lightweight summer jumpers, which can only be an awesome thing….
”Which was odd as all I could smell was pish and death.”
Damn you Manuel. I laughed out loud at that and now everyone thinks I’m plotting something
Manuel, look around you. There’s many others “off page”. Cords, chinos, denim, just a bloody roundabout. V-neck, crew neck, cardy, polo, it’s subjective as to whether someone’s on pulse, lagging or being an ironic trendsetter.
As long as you’re not walking around at the minute sporting one white glove.
For a minute I thought your last line was, “Oh, the ironing…”
I’ve been known to wear jumbo cords and a golf cardy on a cold winters neet. But then again, I’ve also been known to drink the entire contents of the slops barrel in the Lovat Bar.
There’s just no accounting for other peoples tastes.
Anto: yes well, I’ve heard your band……..hehehe
rubbishknitter: “relieved to be out of that phase of my life where you are expected to wear strappy uncomfortable things and pointy heeled shoes” Oh god me too!
white rabbit: I bet you shop in these places eh? It’s all first name terms in the rusty zip hehehehehe
BBB: no but our head chef does…for some reason or another..it’s lead to much amusement in the last few weeks…..
Sweary: yes and now it’s too late to change it damn it!
Jimmy: jumbo cords eh…..ah, soon my friend soon…..!
I hate the slappy racket flip flops make with people shuffling around. I want to yell pick up your fucking feet already.
Also, I may have a dozen cardigan sweaters.
Medbh: do you wear them in an ironic fashion eh?
You know that is about it.A couple of months ago I bought some shorts and a bathing suit and some socks for work.Okay maybe a $150. That will be it till next year.Ha
I MAY have a few items of clothing from a second hand shop yes but I’m sadly amongst the Topshop crowd. I assure you though I don’t dress like the staff members and my hair is not back combed and poofy. When in comes to clothes I don’t know what the hell I’m doing