Men don’t know how to dress. Sometimes they are inappropriate, donning gray, slush-colored t-shirts to go to the bar. They are unstylish too, often blissfully unaware: Sneakers with khakis that are too short, revealing their freshly laundered Champion socks. A tell-tale sign that a man has no concept of style or fashion or common sense is if he refuses to wear a coat. A t-shirt and jeans will suffice in February’s icy air, though his teeth chatter and hands turn red from the cold. There’s no such thing as frostbite, damnit! Coats are unnecessary, unassuming, not masculine. Be assured, he will wear one eventually — at least in front of mother. Sometimes, you can’t help but wonder who their mothers are. Blame the mom, or, as the French would say, cherchez les femmes for teaching her son that sweatpants are acceptable attire for English class, or that swim trunks are practical gym shorts. She avoids teaching him how to dress himself properly for selfish reasons. If he does not have style, he will not marry and, in turn, devote himself entirely to his mother. Damn her for being so selfish.
I dress up to go to the gym. Black spandex, red sports bra, and an ipod band strapped around my arm. It takes a lot to impress the belly-baring, treadmill-toned crowd. They are dedicated, unfaltering gym rats who worship weights, channel Buddha, and mark their territory each day. How to join this elite tribe? Your scores have to be high-two miles on the bike is no match for the spinning devotee; conversation skills are essential. No grunting when lifting weights; you’re cool, strong enough to chat with your neighbor. Your heart isn’t about your emotions; it’s about how fast you can train your body to run at a low heart rate. Toned tummies and bike shorts aren’t suited to only tease men-that’s an added bonus. Women dress to impress other women; envy is the ultimate gown.