dress accordingly

I was coming out of the shower at the gym the other day when a guy walked in from the workout room.

“Hey, Eric. How ya doin, man?”

“Fine,” I replied.

“Lookin great, man. But I have to tell ya, you really should start dressing your age.”

I laughed as if he were cracking a joke and quickly began talking to the guy with the locker next to mine. I prayed the jock who had been working out wouldn’t continue with his tacky insinuations. 

He didn’t.

But my inner critic picked up on the remark and hasn’t given me any peace of mind since.

What on earth did the guy mean, I should start dressing my age? After all, I’d been naked when the suggestion came my way. 

Maybe he was referring to my training togs. I’d moved out of basic gray sweat pants, tennis shoes, and a t-shirt just after I came to Europe, fifty years ago, and started experimenting with color. Which pleased my soul, but maybe not his?

Or, was it my street clothes? There, again, I’d done everything possible to keep people from thinking I was a rough-hewn American just after I got my first paycheck at the Lido. I was the first on my block to get houndstooth bell-bottom pants back then, and it’s been uphill all the way.

As far as my training clothes were concerned, I had to admit, with the advent of yoga pants and stretchy butterfly soft materials, I’d more or less fallen back into the habit of wearing colorful tights and lightweight mesh tank tops to train in. Was there an age limit on wearing designer sweatpants, comfort fitting gym wear and slogan t-shirts I hadn’t heard about?

I certainly didn’t feel I was overboard with my street clothes either. Though I steered clear of blue jeans and khaki pants, I also didn’t care that much for the sedate greens and grays most German men over the age of 40 wore. I felt it my duty to give the nation a bit more color. I’ll admit, the skin-tight pants that hit the market when the fashion industry finally discovered elasticity in men’s trousers took a bit getting used to. But tight jeans weren’t anything new. I’d worn them in the seventies, albeit with a lot more gas in the gut than today. Aside from that, why shouldn’t a man wear a little color in his shirts? After all, I was no nine to fiver and had no one to impress in the business world. As an artist, free spirit and outlander, I feel it my duty to get as much color into the drab German streets as possible.

So, maybe I do go overboard in the fashion department, but is fashion only reserved for the young. How old is too old anyway?

Should I dress my chronological age or my biological age? In numbers, I’m almost 70, yet the doctor tells me a have the constitution of a 50-year-old. Add to that, my spirit is singing out something like 25.

Or, should I remain faithful to the culture in which one was brought up and dress according? There’s certainly no way that I want to walk down the street looking like a German man of my age. But even as an American, I have to consider West Coast style and East Coast style, about as far apart as my head and my heart. 

I’m confused.

Which is bound to be the case when one follows another’s advice about what clothes suit a certain age group.

To give the guy credit though, I often wonder if it is my inner critic that is looking in the mirror when I’m dressed and ready to go out or my inner child. What would make the child happy would cause considerable upset for the adult. Whenever my inner child is happy, my inner adult starts to get nervous. On the other side: my inner adult makes my inner child want to gag.

Also to consider: a normal 70-year-old man who has worn nothing but a suit and tie since he got out of college would obviously dress differently than an artist of the same age. That’s also my dilemma. Would the cleft be as wide if both were gay?

Do old yoga teachers dress differently than young ones?

Funny how a random comment can make you think.

But, I am no lion, and certainly don’t want to cause any waves. Still, it’s important that I have the courage to be true to myself.

Ho, hum.