Fashion Police


I know that fashions have to change. That is a hard thing for a Neanderthal like me to say, but, even if I am a guy, I do understand these things. What is hard for me to understand is what is considered fashion nowadays.

The other day I was in a store and it seemed that everyone was wearing sweat suits. Are these not one step removed from pyjamas? I can see their need to be changed into when you hit the gym. (Oops, Fitness Centre, don’t want to be politically incorrect now, do we?) But do you really have to wear them on your way there? My guess would be NO. The gym, fitness centre, whatever, supplies you with a locker room where you take off your street duds, change into your sweats, do your routine, shower, and then change back again into your street duds. You are paying for this people, why not use the facility? I can see how they’d be comfortable lounging around the house. It’s like being in your jammies all day. But, please, get dressed when the meter man shows up. He’ll get jealous that you’re more comfortable than he is. And you being comfortable shows an appalling lack of respect to all those around you, whether that is the meter reader, the guy next to you in aisle 5 of the SooperSaver, your doctor and lawyer, and your employer.

I know that sweats are the only thing some people can get into any more, but trust me on this, they certainly don’t have to be two sizes too small for you. Give us all a break and if your sweats are too tight, stay home. We don’t want to see you.

Bicycle shorts are just as bad. Every man on Earth has heard the dreaded words, “Do These pants make my ass look fat?” The answer here is almost, invariably, “Yes.” But this would be the wrong answer. It should be, “No, your ass really is fat. Go put on something suitable.” And many men will attend the funeral of the brave soul who utters those words. My question is: Why would anyone, male or female, stuff a size 82 butt into a size 2 pair of bicycle shorts and think they look ‘hot’? Me, I just go puke and wash my eyes to erase the image.

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to visit a Caribbean island for vacation. I was having a ball until one day I took advantage of the pool and ended up being put off my feed for the rest of the week. (The food was good, too. I wish I could have eaten more of it)

Bright and early one day, I parked myself in a chaise-lounge, book, sun screen, towel, cigarettes and a drink all within easy reaching distance, and settled in for a day of soaking up Ol’ Sol. Then, the foreigners hit. (I know, I was a foreigner too, but I was closer to the island where I came from than they were) Anyway, after discarding their bathrobes, I was treated to the spectacle of 300 lb. men wearing Speedo’s. (Try to get a mental visual of this) Women can’t find thongs that looked so pitifully tiny as these things between the mens legs. I have a spare tire (some would say a full sized spare), but these guys had me beat seven ways to Sunday. They frolicked and cavorted and made believe they were the sexiest things to walk the face of the Earth. The women were no better. Two hundred and fifty pounds of rollicking fun stuffed into a bikini that would fall off your basic, anorexic Hollywood movie star.

I went to puke and wash my eyes out.

Where are the fashion police when you really, really need them?

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