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Three Pillars of the Modern Gentleman
The Well-Dressed Gentleman
The second article in a DIY Gentleman’s Series
by Josh Tyson
Chicago’s far North Side is a hotbed of senior citizen activity, which makes it a fashion runway of sorts that rivals those of Paris and Milan in both its scope and its impact on modern dress.
I’ve got a job these days transporting senior citizens to and from a counseling center in this massive van. I drive all over the North Side, and as far as sharp dressing goes, old men have the lock. They cruise the sidewalks in some of the sharpest poly-blend pants and slickest pearl-snap shirts that you’re liable to find anywhere. This job has led me to realize that the style I’ve long-rocked, and had always chalked up to old Foundation skateboard videos, is actually old-man style. Maybe old-man style is too broad a term to use without a little explanation. I mean thrifty old-man style. Men whose financial lots, in the winter stages of life, have left them only thrift stores and the Marts, K and Wal, as economically viable shopping destinations. These are my fashion icons.
I remember Tentacles of Destruction got me interested in Dickies, and from there it was a slippery slope indeed. Strolling around Wal-Mart with two pairs of seventeen dollar work pants draped over my forearm and realizing that I still had enough money for a few pearl snap plaid shirts, some dress socks and new underwear, things slowly snapped into focus. There’s a better way. And when you’ve got your new gear on, there’s the amusing realization that the skate shoes on your feet cost more than your entire outfit.
One of my pickups is this guy I call Eddie cause his style is sort of riding the early-nineties flannel-tails of Edward Vedder’s. He’s usually poured himself into some baggy cargo shorts with either sweatpants on underneath, or his striped socks–once jerked up to his knees, now falling. He often dons a breezy teal tank top and mesh-back hat on top. Balmy-in-Seattle style. On cold days, an aqua colored Members Only jacket zipped up halfway. The white-belts would kill for that jacket. I’m tempted to take him out for drinks at a hipster bar just to watch them squirm in jealous obloquy. Eddie could hold his own in one of those bars. He’s pretty old, but he’s not turned off to the world of fashion in the least. Just the other day he asked me what I knew about “the gothic people,” as we were driving through the teen-angst epicenter of Chicago. He was curious about their habits, their Satan worshiping, their make-up and most importantly, their dress. He thought they were dangerous so I assured him that they were harmless, hyper-morose web-designers with gloomy taste in music and merlot taste in lip gloss. Eddie seemed pleased. Although he and I have never verbally shared fashion tips, as a pair of well-dressed gentlemen, I think that we both scope one another’s digs each morning as I open the bus doors for him.
Then there’s Donny. I think he’s about sixty-eight. He’s got the hessian park skater style. Or should I say the hessian park skaters have his. The über blue collar flair with the Dickies rainbow, plaid pearl-snaps and white t-shirts in merry rotation. Donny talks like he’s got a fistful of putty in his mouth, and he hand rolls these beefy cigarettes with a sedate, monk-like ease, which he then smokes with a frantic, addict-like fervor. Sometimes when I close my eyes at a stoplight, I can see his old, furrowed brow ease up for a brief moment as he heaves himself into a shrill layback Smith grind in some ancient motel pool. He rides away clean. This pool is in the desert and Donny skates alone, vultures circling over his head. He stops periodically to roll cigarettes and curse the birds, then the light turns green.
This little Belizean man I drive around, Raymond, has my favorite OMS. Snappy polyester dress pants with decorative short-sleeved dress shirts. He usually wears a camouflage “Trout Fever” mesh-back on his head. I like to think that my old man style falls in between Raymond’s and Donny’s. Classy, but a little rugged.
These examples of thrifty old man style can easily be achieved for under fifty dollars each. They can also be mixed and matched. Being a well-dressed gentleman is good citizenship, and good citizens shop second hand. The Marts are evil and stuff, but cannot always be avoided. As long as you shop second hand most of the time, you balance out feeding the occasional buck to the corporate plague.
This job also helped me realize that I have a phobia of old people. Their smells, their senility, the way they chew food, weird shit they’re always doing with their hands, the penny pinching, it all fell under my umbrella of fear. I didn’t fully acknowledge or analyze the phobia until after I’d been offered the job, and at that point I decided that it would be good for me to chill with my trepidation for a while. The problem was, I think I was afraid of getting old. Now I’m more relaxed with the notion of once again wearing diapers and shuffling about looking for my keys. Upshot being, I’ve already got the wardrobe.
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Volume 2, Issue 2 contents |
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