Freeze, Mister! You're busted.

I wonder what would happen if somebody died and made me a member of the Fashion Police.  I do not imagine myself as a male fashionista  (or would it be, “fashionisto?).  Once I saw a guy on Main Street wearing black wing tips, black socks, plaid shorts and a multi-colored tank top and I thought to myself, “I want to be that guy.”  I do have a pretty good sense of color, however, and I wear black clergy shirts because black is more slimming.

There are some things as a male Fashion Police officer that attract my attentions.  Mind you, I am only a rookie.  I am not ready to investigate the Wal-Martians.  That is the email that a friend send someone with those bizarre individuals spotted at Wal-Mart.  We don’t want to look at them but there is a macabre sense that forces us to scroll through those pictures.  There are not enough latex gloves in the world for the Fashion Police to investigate those fashion offenders.  I certainly am not prepared to bust any of those perpetrators.  (Did I actually use the word “bust” to describe the Wal-Martians.)

We male Fashion Police still have our task cut out for us.  There are not as many sagging delinquents but still there have been sightings of young men with their pants hanging half-staff and their boxers in full sight.  Some of those gentlemen got the word from some dudes with street cred that this fashion statement originated in prison exercise yards.  They learned that in prison it advertises er, umm, dare I say, availability and preference.  That might be enough for those guys to start wearing their pants like Urkel.  (Remember him?)  We Fashion Police just sit back and say, “Wait until those young bucks hit middle-age and their bellies naturally push down their pants and their butts have flattened out and can’t prevent those britches from falling around their ankles.  It’s karma.

I think there is something in the Fashion Code about basketball shorts.  I thought those things were called shorts because they were short.  My sister wore something like that in the 60’s.  Then, they were called culottes.  If some guy ever trips on the hem of his basketball shorts maybe the Fashion Police will start flashing our badges and writing citations.

One final sighting that the Fashion Police might place under suspicion is the t-shirt under the t-shirt. Isn’t that redundant?  I can understand a rash guard or an athletic shirt or a tank top under a t-shirt perhaps but I simply cannot understand the double t-shirt look.  Being the macho sort of guy that I am, that look would not be comfortable.  A little chest hair can show.  Biceps do not have to be big and rippling.  The ratty, white t-shirt worn under another t-shirt just does not complement the ensemble.

Gentlemen, it’s time to “cowboy up.”  Don’t let those hoity-toity fashion couture dictators like Kohl’s,  JCPenney and Sears push you around.  Go to Farm and Fleet for your wardrobe like you want to.  Rip the sleeves off if it makes you feel better.  Button only the buttons you want to button.  Make a statement.  Be yourself!

Let the Fashion Police say about you, “Move along, folks.  There’s nothing to see here.”