Clothes Make the Man

You’ve all heard the phrase, “the clothes make the man.” Well, I’m assuming you have. Could be one of those things that if you’re over the age of (insert some rude number here) you’ve heard the phrase. Oh, whatever. Get on with this. Just remember, this is MY therapy session, not yours. And I’m not pointing fingers at you, I’m just working out personal issues in a public forum, because that is, apparently, the going thing lately. Anyhoo.

I like clothes. I’m no “clothes horse,” mind you, but I do like articles of clothing that fit well, are made of nice materials, are the right colors and styles for my skin tone and body shape, and stand up to the washer and dryer. If you come into my house, you have to be strong enough to survive the perils of the machines with no questions asked. There is no negotiating this. Put on your seatbelt, you’re goin’ in. Best of luck to ya.

My Mama and Daddy always made, slash taught, my sister and me to dress appropriately. (should I have said “taught, slash made…?”) We never left the house looking like a “ho,” (sorry for the reference, Mom and Dad, but you were right in your stance) because that wasn’t proper or acceptable. No short skirts, no low cut tops, nothing skin tight. Respectable was the goal. I probably wander out of that realm now a little more than my Mama would like me to, but I really do still have limits. And I don’t just have “ho” limits, I also have developed “appropriate place” requirements for myself. 

Now before we trot along any further, let me just remind you and your eyeballs that this is my therapy session and not yours. No offense, but I don’t really care what you wear. Well, except for that one big gal in the gym who wears a “real,” tiny, spandex bra to work out, and is one one millionth of a fraction of a centimeter away from full-on nipple-gate because she doesn’t wear any kind of shirt over that not-a-workout-bra bra. But, I digress into a rabbit hole not worth mad-hattering down. So, back to me and my therapy session and the reason why I’m paying you all this money to listen to me. Oh, what? You didn’t get your check in the mail yet? I’m sure it’s on its way.

In the last 10, 15, 20 years (time flies and I’ve lost track), I’ve spent an extraordinary amount of time in workout apparel. There’s nothing wrong with workout apparel. Did you hear me say that? Nothing wrong with it. But, what I realized was, for me, I was not my best self when I wore it all the time as a matter of practice. And I seemed to be wearing it all the time any more.

But something changed in me, oh, about five years ago. My perspective changed, my priorities changed, my outlook changed, my feelings toward myself changed. It was a bit of an “ah-ha” moment.

When I was in barbering school, I had a classmate called Richard. We all called him “Mr. Richard” because he was a bit older than us, both chronologically and in his soul. He was a science teacher by day, barber by night, and gaining his licensure so that he could legitimately build a brand and create products. He was awesome and so fun, and wore men’s low-cut boots with heels because he was short. Always in dress slacks and shirt and tie because it was night school and we were all coming from work. But enough of that. That’s a whole ‘nother story.

One night in class, we were all cutting hair and sharing conversation and cutting the fool as we always did, and somehow the conversation turned. There weren’t too many of us females in the class, remember, this is barbering night school (again, whole ‘nother story) but the conversation turned to women and makeup and such. Then he dropped the most profound profoundness on us. And it has stuck with me for 30 years. My paraphrase of his observation is this: you ladies go to great lengths to look good when you leave the house. Hair, makeup, clothes. You put it all on for others all day long, but then when you come home you immediately strip it all off and look like a disheveled mess for your husband. Trust me, he notices that you look good for others all day, and look like trailer park for him at home. You should make an effort to look good for him and in front of him while you’re at home with him.

Whoa.

Now look, that doesn’t mean your person at home should never see you looking rough. That’s not what Mr. Richard nor I are saying at all. But, more of a food-for-thought kind of thing. And, he was right.

All that to say, I took that principle and applied it to more than just my face. I applied it to my whole self, top to bottom. I realized I was living in workout wear, not presenting myself at my best, which in turn made me feel not my best about myself. My husband deserves to see me wearing the clothes he bought me, with a little makeup on, and my hair having been attempted. At least for a few hours when I get home after work. Oh, it all gets stripped off well before bed time, but I want him to know that I appreciate the effort he makes to buy me cute outfits, and that my priority is him, not others out in the world.

Is any of this making sense?!?!

As with most everything, it’s a delicate balance. But if I’m going to tip the scales one way or the other, I’d rather be heavy in favor of being dolled up for my husband to enjoy. I mean, after all, that is how we attract our guys, right? Let’s not always be in bait-and-switch mode.

I rarely, if ever, go out in public in workout wear anymore, and certainly not to work. It’s for the gym, and that’s where it’ll stay, in my life. You do you, Boo, and it won’t make me think anything about you other than how fabulous you are. But for me, I need to be “dressed” and somewhat put together – both for my best foot forward, and for my husband’s pleasure.

And just so y’all know I’m not all hoity toity. It’s has taken me about four days to finish writing this (holiday take-down, and the like) and just yesterday, January 1, I started the year by making a run to the dumpster to dump all the New Year’s Eve fireworks trash, and run by The Lawyer’s office to pick up something for him – in my pajamas.