I remember when I used to fold my Jimmy Z’s into a neat line, with a raised knot, right above obnoxiously thick white socks. You know, it was the 80’s and “the fold” plagued playgrounds from one valley to the next. I didn’t shave a line in my head, but I did wake up and place the fold on each leg.
It was origami with my pant leg, and I’m afraid that even at that young age I was well aware that my fashion statement came at a cost: it accentuated my slender ankles. I guess the fold was my heels. It was fashion first, and it was a statement. I wore blue Vans with a white streak and my friends could see my kicks, but only because my hem was wrapped up into a neat package. Was it vanity? Maybe. But there had to be something more than that, because I was in elementary school (crazy assumption that you can’t be vain in third grade). Maybe I just wanted to fit in. I didn’t want my calves to stand out in the sand box, and as a price I’d show my skinny ankles.
Or maybe I wanted to be fashion forward. No. That’s not me. Odds are I didn’t know what the bloody hell I was doing. But I put that fold in my pants. And when the fold wouldn’t hold, I would staple it. It’s true. Dad had a shoehorn, and I used an awesome staple remover to help me get undressed.
There was something more to fashion in that sandbox. Whatever that something was, I need to remember it on Monday when I pull a suit, shirt, and tie from my wardrobe. Just maybe I should wear that paisley knot my wife keeps hinting at. Just maybe I should make a statement, even if I don’t know why. Otherwise, I’m just another grown kid on his way to work trying to fit in.