Fashion saddists

Being clad in exquisite clothing is the ultimate place all of us want to be. We want to walk in a room and have someone question their designer or tailor and there after fire them. We want them to want to shove a blunt object up their boutique attendant’s ass.  We want to look as sleek as a mannequin in a Calvin Klein mall.  So slick the hot secretary we’ve been eyeing will finally ask us for a pen (that is of course, if you can read between the lines and see a green light where your normal minded soul won’t). And we do, like the archetypal urban hippies, manage to strain those necks because heck, it’s imperative for work. It’s the embellishing and nourishing element your image needs for you to finally get that job. For it might define or break your prospects. And for that reason, dressing well tosses an enormous amount of confidence on someone’s personality so we strive to know the latest trends in the fashion world just so we draw such an impression when we live our houses.

But that is before some geezer flags you down and questions you about your straightness with a statement like “ndugu, how do you breathe in that pant.” Amused (of course) you will look at him and twitch one of your eye brows and look around and seeing as there is no one around, you will twitch both your eye brows before asking “me?”

“Yes Richard, who else could it be, you …you, you cissy thing” he will say before ambling off to his office. And you will want to call him names. You will want to do things to his eyes. Pluck them out, shove them further in, or pull them to one side and make him cross-eyed, all the while, with a sharpened fork because, heck, all are plausible options at that point. Your head will get heavier when hordes of profanities ooze in your mind and bellow in unison “USE ME, USE ME”. He might be your boss, your fiancé’s father, the client that is the reason your company is still afloat in business, or someone, someone in position to fire your ass so all these options are rendered null so no, you will leave your tail in the middle of your legs (pun unintended, plus if you didn’t see it, I’m glad) and coil and do nothing.

But you will wonder why. Because the bloody question will stay with you and eat you up, sometimes, even your esteem.

Yet it’s simple, he is just another of those geezers that envy how good your masculine body looks in cloths that accentuate the work of the gym chisel.  He is just another of those fashion sadists. Those who wish they would dress the way you dress but can’t because see, ah, they are a little bloated in their pots so the sight of them in fitting shirts would pass for an advert for car tires (think the Michelin advert/logo). Or because they are geezers and they can’t dress like their sons. Or, still, because their pockets can’t stretch past their local hawker, David, who has them enthralled by the mastery with which he, armed by only his mouth and functioning vocal cords, manages on a daily basis to make the most impetuous of clothes look good in their eyes (these type of smart mouths are so adroit they will convince you into eating food you are allergic to). And like that, he wonders how your clothes make you look so slick yet he looks so dumb in his clothes from David who by the way, at this point, (after about 8 years of doing business together) has a nick name like “designer”. So they will come out to condemn, ever so vehemently, trends like fitting pants and trousers and suits. They will be armed, with tricks, well-argued out insults and seemingly informed stories to tease you. They will tell you of a guy who was eaten by a lion as he couldn’t run because he was in a fpair of fitting pants and suit (really?).

And those sods have types. There is the one who will ask you where you buy the clothes every Monday till the question nags so much you finally take him there, only, he doesn’t buy. He comes back the next Monday clad the same way. In the same kaunda jacket that buggy-ies on for eternity, and you wonder why the hell asked.

Then there is arrogant Thomas at office.  Anything and everything that surpasses what he does is wrong so if you dress so well, you are wrong and disrespectful. And if you are stubborn enough as to do it every day, you risk getting fired.

And the core of this article, that sadist, the geezer who knows it’s a trend but continues rebuking fitting clothes. Yet perched on his desk is an old photo of him in clothes that hug every vein atop his skin. And you wonder (in case you are “wondering”, this article is about “wondering”, so stop “wondering” why I’m over “wondering” and in the course of “wondering”, over using the word “wondering”) why he won’t let you embrace the trends in your youthful years.

But look here all ye ignorantly arrogant sods who spew such blatantly biased quips at fitting dressing, the trends vary with generations and they might be playing the karma cycle. The generation after your youth had the buggy jeans flying and they were and are the in-thing that should follow you to your grave. Embrace it with wide arms and Mickey Mouse smiles. Oh, and at that time, the fittings were for (us the) babies (you know, nappies, diapers et al) so they are following us up to now, so let a brother be.

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