Why I Don't Buy Clothes

I have never been known for my sartorial aplomb, unless you count the several years as a graduate student when I shopped for clothes at an army surplus store and wore exclusively used khaki slacks and flannel shirts; the look was described by one of my English major comrades as “tubercular lumber jack.” My reasons for clothing myself come essentially from necessity: (1) warmth (it’s uncomfortable under about 80 degrees to be bare naked, and deadly under about 30, wind chill or no); and (2) law (society tends to frown upon public display of skin, particularly by someone in his 60s, with gray hair and not in especially good shape; I have six-pack abs, but they are formed by consuming actual six packs, not resembling them). I have a wool jacket (a gift) that’s 30+ years old that I still wear. I buy two pairs of jeans every two years, and because they usually last at least three years before becoming fishing or gardening garb, I always have a rotation of four to six pair to make it through a week or two. I’ve owned two suits in my life, both bought from occasion (funeral and wedding), the second because the first no longer fit around my six-pack abs. I have underwear with holes, and I don’t worry about what the emergency attendants will think if I get in an accident because they should be thinking about a lot more important things in that moment.

Today, back in my Kansas home, I found myself in something of a need — well, truth be told, more of a desire — to buy a sweatshirt (from the University of Kansas, my double alma mater) and a t-shirt (from Pittsburg State University, “Home of the Gorillas,” as far as I can determine, the only college in the country with a simian as a mascot, a distinction I find appealing). I’d been directed to a store that purportedly carried sports apparel from all area sports teams (the “area” ranging apparently from Green Bay and Chicago to the north, Dallas and New Orleans to the south, Boston and New York to the east, and Los Angeles and San Francisco to the west), and I must admit I was impressed when I entered the crowded racks of crowded t-shirts, sweatshirts, jackets, and countless number of other sports affiliated accoutrement. (I wonder how a store that featured schools’ academic paraphernalia — chemistry Bunsen burners, music stands, math algorithms, literature metaphors — would do? No I don’t.) I wound my way through the store, and was successful in finding both a KU sweatshirt (easy, given there were scores of options) and a PSU t-shirt (a bit more limited, given only two options). Pleased with my accomplishment, I headed to the cash register, placed my purchases on the counter, and pulled out my credit card. The clerk scanned the items and announced the total — $75 ($39.95 for the sweatshirt, $29.95 for the t-shirt, the tax rounding it off to a neat $75). What?! $75 for a sweatshirt and a t-shirt? I didn’t say that. I remained calm, as if this were a regular transaction for me, not wanting to betray my naiveté when it comes to all matters of clothing purchase, signed the receipt, grabbed my plastic bag of precious shirts, and reciprocated the clerk’s order to “Have a nice day!” I already am.