This summer as we dined at The Mint
in Lewistown I almost dropped my
Manhattan. That's because a long, lean,
tall, and devastating cowboy strolled
by our table. Resplendent in his straw
stetson, skin tight wranglers, worn
boots, and appropriately tight tee, he
was quite a sight to behold. Then...
he took his hat off. And like the walls
of Jericho, suddenly my every fantasy
crumbled before my very eyes. You see,
underneath his toque was hiding a rather
unattractive, balding, middle aged man.
There's a reason that a Brigadier
General's chest is covered with
ribbons and medals. While an
indication of stellar service and
bravery, all that stuff is certain
to defer attention from one's belly.
Uniforms are among the greatest
works of tomfoolery. Much like
a Gibson Girl's corset, entombing
a mound of flab in an aggressively
tailored straight jacket transforms
any man into a Greek God. And
subtly instills a sense of power.
In my Mother's day, every woman wore
a girdle to hide life's ebb and flow. Not
only did it constrain any errant flesh, it
forced one to sit up straight. There has
been many a time that I've manned up
and put on some "Manx." Encased in
an elastic prison, one easily achieves a
svelte silhouette. However that plus the
decrease in oxygen intake and increase
of manly sweat does not create a pretty
picture. Hence one quickly figures out
that man-o-pause and Spandex are not
a viable vehicle to battle one's bulge.
At times I find our culture of literally
letting it all hang out rather baffling.
With all of the tools available to help
display a better outlook, why do most
prefer to show it all? What is meant
to support is meant to be hidden. Yet
boldly displayed Spandex and Lycra
are responsible for fashion's greatest
crimes. A tight tube top on the wrong
lass can appear like a rubber band on
a rotten tomato. Something is about
to blow at any time and one thing is
certain - it won't be pretty.
At this point in life I'll do whatever
is necessary to hide nature's evil
advances. One remnant of my prior
fashion foibles are skinny jeans. A
fat male equivalent of jeggings.
Which I try to balance with quite
roomy sweaters or open sport coats
a la ponchos or caftans. All in the
hope of hiding my over indulgence
in a surreptitious veil of cashmere.
Hence this urban cowboy will try
to keep it skinny - as long as they
continue to make the XXXLarge.