OLD CLOTHES
When I was a child, I wore the clothes my mother bought for me.
As a teenager, I chose to wear clothes like the other kids.
In college, my clothes were standard campus attire: Levi’s and a wrinkled corduroy sports coat.
As an architect, I conformed to the accepted office uniform: Sports coat, Dockers pants, with a neck tie on an ironed shirt and shined shoes. I hated wearing neck ties and polishing shoes.
Teaching Architecture in Saudi Arabia offered an opportunity to wear more casual clothes. It was too hot there for a sports jacket. A short-sleeve dress shirt and “sun tan” pants were the accepted attire.
Now I am retired. I quit buying clothes, except I still buy socks and underwear. I wear the clothes I have accumulated over the years. I wear them until they fall apart. Holes in the knees, frayed collars, and stains; all are acceptable now. I call them “work clothes,” however, I don’t limit them to doing chores or household repairs. I prefer to wear them all the time.
I have a spiritual connection with my old clothes. They have served my life well. Like them, my body is showing wear and scars from a lifetime of use. Events like the time I ran a circular saw across my leg, gashing it and my new levis are shared by this man and his clothing.
Old clothes and old men are both made of fragile material. Old dry skin and old thin fabric are both easily torn. Old clothes provide psychic comfort. They are associated with enjoyable times,: such as tending the garden, picking fruit, or doing projects around the house.
Style and expectations of others mean little to me anymore. Comfort and serviceability are what really matter. Perhaps my preference for old clothes is that old clothes allow me to be who I am. They convey to others that I am not pretending to be anything more than an old man enjoying what is left of his life in comfortable old clothes.
Copyright October 2022 by Theodore “Tod” Lundy, Architect