Of Style and Function

Want to read my wife's side of the story? www.montanagert.blogspot.com

My senior year in high school I was voted best dressed. Fact checker, can we confirm that? Yes, that is correct, I, Adidas shirt, 7-days a week in jeans, stay-at-home-dad was the best-dressed man in his class. I was a dapper dandy if ever there was one. Pressed khakis, button downs under sweaters, and an array of spiffy shoes that could at one time have rivaled my wife.

But alas, life took its toll. It started at college, where my stream of disposable income slowed to a trickle. A girlfriend helped slow that trickle to a few drops. By college graduation my style was dated – a good five years behind the trend. But wait, a post-college job would surely save my waning wardrobe. No such luck. Dreams of law school turned to reality, and the little money I had left was going for books and gas [read beer]. By the end of first semester of law school I had become a full-fledged style utilitarian.

Does this shirt go with these shoes? Who cares – at least the shoes are comfortable so that if I need to sprint the eight blocks through St. Paul to get to my class my feet won’t hurt the rest of the day. Are these pants in right now? Probably not, but they’re the only pair you haven’t worn three times without washing.

This trend continued into dating my wife, getting married, and having a child. How I was able to woo my wife with my utilitarian wardrobe escapes me. Perhaps it was my brilliant conversational skills. Or maybe not. But either way she did marry me and I am now a stalwart of the utilitarian style community. Shoes: they better be comfortable – and preferably slip on. Shirts need to not show pit sweat and be cheap enough to not care if they are lost to a baby dinner. Pants are the important element. They need to be dark to not show stains, wrinkle free so they won’t need pressing, and durable so they can be worn and washed, or not washed, many times over.

My utilitarian style reached a pinnacle a few months back. We were visiting my parents in Minnesota in the summer. Showing my utilitarian skill, I packed as few clothes as possible to make the airport shuffle a little easier. This, unfortunately did not include shorts. I thought, I won’t be working out, and really, I can survive anything in jeans.

During the weekend, the family had a party to celebrate a number of birthdays within the family. Being a nice day out, we were all outside in the front yard. My brother and I being who we are, only required a few minutes until we were shooting baskets in the driveway. Both approaching our 30’s, our will to prove our remaining youthful vigor soon turned shooting baskets into playing against each other.

Now my brother and I have a long history of basketball together. Though we were two grades apart and rarely played together organized, we frequently went head-to-head in streetball grudge matches. Yes, there was hard defense played. Yes, there was shoving and maybe even a few punches thrown. Yes, there was frustration, crying, yelling, and cheap shots. And yes, I may have knocked out my brother’s two front teeth. And no, there is no long running tally of the record between us, because the only game that matters is the next time we play.

Being sociable and all, we invited two unwitting youthful family members into our grudge match. The teams were picked, and it was game on. Except for one fact. My brother has been playing basketball in the mornings for several months now, so he definitely had the advantage. And he had shorts and sneakers to my jeans and one remaining pair of stylish Steve Madden street shoes. This won’t do, I couldn’t give up this big an advantage before the game even starts.

I flagged down my dad and asked him for a pair of shorts. My dad did have a pair, but my dad being from the 70’s era basketball, and a good 70 pounds lighter than me, the shorts were… well let me just say they were high and tight. Or better put, these were a well fitting pair of unintentional bike shorts. Style, cool, my wife’s dignity be damned. It’s time to play basketball.

I took my time stretching out near my wife. Maybe this was how I wooed her. My hamstrings were particularly tight, so the toe touches were a must. Finally, it was game on. And what a game it was. Never in the history of basketball or dad’s has a chubby, out-of-shape dad moved so swiftly on the court. It was like I was unhindered by any clothes on the bottom half. The only wind drag was the hair on my legs. I huffed and puffed my way through three games before we all [read I] decided it was time to call it an afternoon.

I’d tell you who won, but as I said, the only game that matters is the next one. But be warned all who would challenge me. There is no length I will not go to in order to hang on to any remaining shred of my formerly great athletic ability. I may look silly, I may embarrass my wife, but if it comes down to style versus function there is no doubt what’s going to win with me.