At Least Short Shorts Are Out.
We are a family of fashion statements. The collective statement we make to the fashon world, if I may take this opportunity to articulate, is “Yucck!”
My individual statement is usually that I just got out of bed, so give me a break. My daughter's says “mind your own business”. My son, named Ihoma, arrives at his basketball pre-pre-game warm up and his statement is that he couldn't be bothered to match his socks. Either that or that his dad did not get out of bed in time to start up the bobcat to help him move his laundry pile around to find a matching pair. He cant drive yet or I would just have him do it.
My son, Ihoma's basketball team, the “Flaming Pimentos” so named by Morticia, the coaches mother who keeps the stats from her perch atop a portable bar stool, cares not for fashion. And my son is their hero/spokeschild. Thanks to him they are all showing up looking like Madonna would look it she was a he and had worse taste & a sports fixation.
Morticia boldly chides my Ihoma when he comes in looking like an eighty's hobo or a refuge from the garment district. I appreciate her efforts, but it doesn't last long enough to have a lasting effect. By halftime she is sloshed enough that she spends most of her time waving her mystery drink and not sliding off the stool.
One of my son's socks today was red and the other was decidedly not red. His team colors are blue and orange. Morticia's bar stool is olive green. You do the math.
How do I, as a male parent, instill a sense of fashion responsibility in children who are concerned only for comfort and accessibility? Color means nothing. Texture, less than nothing. Patterns Its a circus. How to I get them to choose linen or wool over terrycloth? Ones prom dress should be chosen on style and fit and color should compliment the skin tone and mood of the evening, and not chosen cause its fluffy and soft – unless one is a Muppet.
Case in point. For her first dance, the lovely beaded satin bolero style jacket we bought for her was a little loose for my daughters taste. So, she improvised and wore it over her brown and orange “Farm Boy's Make Better Breakfasts” tee shirts. Two of them. And a cameo hunting vest.
At home, my son Ihoma wears the same shirt for weeks until I hide it or cut it into rags. Once a month, when his mother forces him to shower, I don a hazmat suit and clear out his laundry. For him its not what he wears as much as that he wears it until it glows and walks on its own.
Why can't my son dress like that nice looking kid there on the other team? He sits there on the bench in socks that match his outfit, and his bag matches the trim on his shorts and socks and his shoes are clean and he sits there on the bench with a straight back proud of how he has looked this whole game sitting there on the bench while making fun of the other kid. His hair is combed and he is pointing at the little kid with old shoes calling him names and sticking his foot out...Hey schmuck! Stop tripping people or my kid is gonna smack you up one side and down the other! Yeah you with the nice shorts and fashionable haircut!
Okay,maybe I should stop worrying about the sundress/stretchy pants/muck rubbers combination worn to church. That the "fashion" is "no fashion" is gonna have to be okay from now on. And if that well dressed punk kid doesn't stop picking on the little dude I'm gonna...
"Ihoma! Take the rest of your fashion challenged friends over there and show that punk how to be polite!"