Ordinarily, I try to avoid making rash statements, but today I am publicly announcing I fully intend to be the best-dressed male English teacher at Kennebunk High School this year.
There. I said it.
I’m not interested in becoming a modern-day Beau Brummell, and not just because the British dandy ”“ credited by many with having established the standard by which well-dressed men are judged ”“ died penniless and insane in 1840. George Bryan Brummell’s typical ensemble included a tailored dark suit, full-length trousers and an intricately-knotted cravat, which was the forerunner to today’s necktie. He claimed it took him five hours to get dressed, and he reputedly had his boots polished with champagne. When asked what it should cost to keep a single man decently clothed, Beau Brummell reputedly responded that if the economy was good, 800 pounds or so ought to do it. The average salary for a British craftsman at the time was approximately one pound per week.
It takes me about a minute to get dressed. I can’t tie a necktie, let alone a cravat. And while there are few absolutes in life, I believe I can safely say I shall never polish a pair of boots, be they mine or anyone else’s, with even the cheapest available brand of champagne. From a 21st century perspective, it would seem Beau Brummell wasn’t just another fop; he was a vain, entitled, arrogant, self-centered one.
I have long considered myself the anti-clotheshorse. I detest spending money on items of which I’ve already got a sufficient supply, like expensive, previously unworn garments.
But recently my spouse did something which revealed my previously undiscovered inner fashion plate. Returning from a shopping adventure, she proudly announced she had just bought me three new pairs of pants and three new shirts. And before I could even begin protesting, she said, “I’m buying you new pants once every 10 years whether you need them or not.”
At her insistence, I tried the stuff on, and had to grudgingly acknowledge that it all fit perfectly.
The only new clothing I’ve bought in the past two decades or so is sneakers, and that’s only when I could find a pair of size 14s for under $30 that weren’t adorned with sequins or any Sesame Street character(s). My two favorite pairs of work pants both came from a Goodwill outlet. But my reluctance to spend hard-earned dollars on contemporary apparel isn’t simply because I’m a cheap, stingy, tight-fisted, penny-pinching miser.
That’s only part of the reason.
I believe in purchasing needs, but not wants. So why would I buy new pants if the ones I’ve been wearing for 20 years still fit, and are reasonably free of holes? The same goes for shirts, although here’s a tip for guys who want to limit their clothing expenditures but not be seen as cheapskates: NEVER buy anything with a date printed on it!
Whenever I wear my cool golf shirt from the 2000 Sydney Olympics that a friend brought back for me, everyone knows it’s 11 years old. And I recently heard some snide comments from a couple of associates the day I wore my 1991 Dodger Dash T-shirt, which I picked up back in my road racing days after completing a 5K run in Vero Beach, Fla. I guess it was a good thing I had chosen that particular shirt rather than the one I got at the 1988 Pequot Turkey Day 5-Miler in Fairfield, Conn. (I rarely wear the shirt I received at the 1982 Old Mill Run in Peotone, Ill.; that one’s gotten a little threadbare.)
Socks and undergarments are a slightly different story. Every couple of years or so my wife comes back from a shopping spree, and miraculously new hose, boxers and briefs appear in my dresser drawer shortly thereafter. Oddly, this often coincides with the permanent disappearance of several pairs of my most comfortable undershorts, the hole-ravaged kind we used to call “wedgie-proof” back when I was in high school. I have a couple of suspects in these periodic underwear pogroms, but so far have been unable to catch the perpetrator(s).
In reality, I love that my wife cares enough about me to keep me appropriately attired. And even better, the shirts look great, and the pants are neither too tight nor too loose. I’m generally not given to braggadocio, but after trying on my new threads I feel certain I will be the spiffiest-looking dude in my department this coming year. Besides, since I am once again the only male member of the Kennebunk High School English Department I feel reasonably safe in making this claim.
Now I just have to hope none of my jealous female colleagues brings in a male student teacher. Or even worse, one who knows how to tie a cravat.
— Andy Young teaches in Kennebunk and lives in Cumberland.
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