Cuckold by Cuff Hole

I went to work wearing a nice dress shirt. Neigh, an awesome dress shirt. It's name brand, so you know I paid for it. A beautiful light blue color with the traditional white buttons. The shirt is non-iron so it never wrinkles. The collar points are kept sharp with the shirt's original collar stays. The shirt is crisp, clean and makes me look stellar...

...or at least it did.

At about 3:00 PM this afternoon I was admiring myself in the mirror when I discovered a massive coffee stain dead center of my awesome shirt. Knowing that I hadn't sipped coffee since the early morning hours hurt the most. Here I was walking around the office, strutting my shit, and just generally acting like a bad ass and all the while I had a giant stain on the front of my shirt.

I looked like a goob. I looked like a complete goob and my coworkers didn't have the heart to say anything to me.

*sigh*
Oh well. The shirt can be washed.

I completed my mirror check and moved to roll up my sleeves when...oh...oh gods, no! A hole. This beautiful blue dress shirt has a hole! It's not a big one, but right there in the cuff, a hole.

No longer an "oh well" moment. Holes can't be washed out. This shirt is destined for the dumpster.

But the cuff hole conundrum got me thinking how many of my garments reach the holiness level. Don't get me wrong...I appreciate fresh threads and believe the clothes can make the man. However, it seems I lack understanding of garment life expectancy.

When I purchase an awesome article of clothing, in my mind, it's awesome FOREVER. Those shorts were $40? Good for seven years. A $10 pair of boxers? Good for a decade. Jeans for $50? They'll last until I outgrow them.

But this cuff hole has me realizing that my standards may not be that of everyone else. I realize the shorts I bought seven years ago are ragged and frayed. I realize the boxers my mom purchased during Back-To-School season 2002 have holes and barely pass as a loin cloth. I realize the denim bought who-knows-when makes me look homeless.

But you know why this doesn't matter? Because I feel like a bad ass in these clothes. All of them. All the clothes I keep. As long as I'm strutting my shit and generally acting like a bad ass, I'll get shit done and be the guy I want to be. Clothes do make the man, so long as the man is comfortable in his clothes. The moment attention is brought to my gooberish appearance, I lose that confidence, that swagger, that charisma. Once I quit strutting the article of clothing has outlived its welcome in my wardrobe.

So, friends, what I ask of you is simple. Please, if you catch a stain on my shirt, a hole in my pants, or any visible fraying threads, don't tell me. No fashion critiquing. No mocking. I don't want to know. Because the minute I'm aware is the instant that I start caring and becomes the moment I'm slightly less awesome.

I don't need a new, blue dress shirt...I need less cuff hole.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf