Clothes Through The Ages

In my teens I shopped at J. Crews. I was young enough that flashy colors were a proud personal statement rather than a statement about mental health.

In my 20s I wandered into Banana Republic and squeezed into some painfully tight jeans, which went great with the vodka drink in my hand at parties, but not so good for my sperm count. Form trumped function.

In my 30s I ordered most of my wardrobe from Eddie Bauer, with cuts and fits that effectively hide an expanding waist line. The line between function and form began to blur.

When I turned 40 I made a pact to not buy any more clothes from anywhere. Unless, of course, it comes from the Land's End catalog. But mostly I use the catalog to start a flame in the fire place, in front of which I spend most of my time with my wife and dog and a bottle of Grenache. Pure function.

I have two suites, one in black and the other in Navy. I have worn them to several weddings and one job interview, and will probably wear one of them to a funeral of one of my own parents. I hope the annual number of occasions requiring me wearing a suite does not exceed the number of suites I in my closet.

The greatest feeling of lightness is not from finishing a homework, breaking up an unhealthy relationship, finishing a test, graduating from college, passing a road-side sobriety test, paying off college loans, quitting a job, getting fired from a job, meeting a tough deadline, finishing a project, buying the wife the exact diamond she wants for the 5-year anniversary, refusing a tempting affair, or surviving an air flight that had a major mechanical problem, thinking that you'll never see your wife again. The greatest feeling of lightness comes when you haul eight trash bags of old clothes to the local Goodwill.

Where will my clothes come from in my 50s? Will I live long enough to see 50, or will I be buried in one of my suites?