The Politics of Dress

While waiting for a student I tutor in English, I thought about a particular person I rode by on my bike while passing through the park on my way home from work last night. From there my mind generally began to wander and I decided to draw some pictures instead of actually doing anything productive. I drew one of Mommy, which doesn't do her any justice, one of Number Five, her sister, which does her great justice, and one of the person I rode by last night - only because the way he dressed got me to thinking about why people dress the way they do. And then I immediately understood why, and will tell you - after you look at my kuso zuga.

Mommy

Number Five

A quick note about Number Five, who I'm convinced is the reincarnation (next to Mommy's husband) of some Buddha somewhere in time. Anyway, Number Five always comes to work wearing her hair in a bun, and only once have I seen it let down, and let me tell you, hers is the most beautiful/black/shiny hair I've ever set eyes on; staring at her hair is like looking into the abyss, and we all know what happens when we do that. In fact, I'm pretty sure her hair is made out of the same kind of mythical obsidian the Aztec Jaguar Warriors used to embed in the sides of their wooden swords.

Lost Member of Some Lost/Lame Straight-edge Band ("the Person")

So, something to ponder. Why do people wear seemingly uncomfortable clothes, say, at nine o'clock at night when the temperature is a cool 6 degrees? Granted, it wasn't that cold during the day; but anyway, why dress like a rockstar, if you aren't a rockstar? I bet if you saw a Rolling Stone on a Sunday cutting their hedge they'd be in the cherriest of pairs of jogging pants. Sure, you can't tell from my crude photo, but his clothes were pretty tight, his v-neck t-shirt pretty turquoise and worn through, his indigo jeans, even tighter, his hair very Francis Ng alas any movie Francis Ng has more or less been in.
Well, I know exactly why, and you know exactly why too. It just seems so unnecessary to put yourself through so much bunk when you can wear something equally nice and comfortable, as well as well-fitted, yet tasteful. Oh, who am I to talk? My clothes are so worn in you'd think I was at least some kind of unkempt Ronin in my past life, or at least a kung fu master. But hey, for all I know, Straight-edge Guy could have been the most comfortable he's ever been, feeling safe and secured by the tight jeans that hugged his otherwise tiny . . . ankles?

As for the rest of my day, it was pretty eventful; I went out for some Korean, got schooled in pool, and was lucky enough to urinate in a university bathroom who's stalls told me something about cake and which contained wads of bloody tissue where soap should have been (for pee's sake!). That really was the cherry on a fantastic evening. Anyway, all this and more on the next enthralling installment of CYMB. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a common cold to shake.

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