Me: I care. I like fabric. I enjoy pattern, texture, color. He: oblivious.
Me: enjoy getting new things to wear. Even a new pair of socks can make my pulse race. He: does not enjoy new things to wear.
Me: happy to give away the clothes I no longer wear. He: “going through his closet” is tantamount to asking him to participate in a primitive form of torture.
Me: acutely aware when something seems hopelessly out of style. He: will not admit there’ s a category called “out of style.”
Me: wears something new at the first opportunity. He: A new article of clothing usually will die in his drawer or closet. It’s shunned as a pariah, avoided as long as possible and when possible, forever.
Me: Shopping =Fun. He: The last activity in life he would chose to do. never. Nada.
Me: I know what I like and what I’m looking for when I shop. He: no idea.
I’ve become increasingly aware of what feels age appropriate to wear. Comfort rules. Ruffles, short hemlines, shorts and puffy sleeves are out. High heels are out.
My husband never has had to cross that line. He’s always dressed as he damn pleased with nary a concern, as far as I could tell, whether or not his attire might or might not appeal to the opposite sex. He never dresses to please me. Sometimes I think he underdresses just to annoy me. Some of it is about comfort, but I think a large part of it is about familiarity. Nothing in his mind could feel better than wearing a t-shirt he’s had for a minimum of six years. It’s clean in the sense of being freshly washed, but not in the reality of being stain free.
I think, when it comes to clothing, I’ve had a lot more fun in my life ! (And I can name a lot more colors!)