Of the Ilk

Michael is of the ilk that clothes don’t matter, if you care about your clothes, you should be ashamed of yourself. I attribute this extremism to a few things: a) the farmer’s mentality that is all up in his blood; his dad was raised on a farm in Funks Grove, IL where a lone pair of coveralls was enough to get the land tilled in time to ring the cowbell. b) the years after grad school living in Islamorada, FL where it was perfectly acceptable to go talk business in Kino Sandals and a shirt donning palm trees. c) Little Lanky Michael Brown in the 80s and 90s did not come to class wearing the latest anything. If that (truly) bothered him at the time, I wouldn’t know, because today it is only referenced with pride. I should also mention that he is 100% colorblind, a guy who sees most things, both literally and figuratively, in black and white, a familial trait inherited from his mother’s father. Sometimes, when I feel like choking myself up, I will stop to think of Michael in a colorless world, unable to appreciate the green of my eyes, the blue of the sky, the red of the radish. That is, until he says something like: “I think I can get away with owning 2 shirts.” This statement brings fury and depression to my door. No, you cannot get away with that, I think. While I know the self-effacing t-shirt is a go-to wardrobe item for most men, I imagine most men like to at least rotate through a decent selection of them. Plus, the t-shirt you wear to the gym is not the same as the t-shirt you don’t wear to the gym. Am I right? To my disadvantage, I failed to marry someone who believes in adhering to what the wife says and wants. I suppose that’s fair considering I’m not going to just do what the husband wants either, but in this case, I really think he should consider wearing wear more than just 2 shirts. When we first started dating in ‘08, he had just returned to Brooklyn from Islamorada, and I couldn’t get him to stop wearing shirts with fish on them. But at this point, I would die for the return of the fish shirts, because those shirts at least boasted a collar. What I’d give to see a collar again, and not a shirt featuring sweat-wicking or odor-reducing fibers. With color-limited vision, I imagine Michael knows his limitations when it comes to dressing himself and/or buying new clothes, which is why, as his wife, I am happy to dress him. Sadly, he won’t allow for that. What makes this difficult is that we’re talking about an attractive man who can wear just about anything and still look good. He’s like a paper doll cutout I am forced to set aside while I stare longingly at the templates for hats and pants. Let me dress you, Michael Brown!