As I move through my sixties, I’ve found myself reflecting a lot on how my male friends and mentors have helped shape me, and how older men passed on their values and ideas about manhood. Some did it through long lecture. Others my their daily example. Either way this information was always translated by an intense subjectivity that gave the lessons both their flavor and flaws.
Looking back I think a lot of times I wasn’t interacting with these men alone, but with their avatars — their projections of themselves and not necessarily who they really were. Since men are notoriously reluctant to expose their inner life to others, you always have to be aware that the man you’ve talking to, or observing, has put tremendous effort into creating an convincing one or two dimensional version of themselves for public consumption. If you meet a man who seems limited and emotional flat-lined, best believe they are not as simple as they seem. In the company of men, information about private passions, secret fears and concealed vulnerabilities are rarely revealed and, if when they are, its usually done with great reluctance and often under duress.
In the history of American men, the current generation of social media sharing is very much an anomaly. I grew up meeting many stoic men of my grandparent’s generation and the more open cohort who came of age in the ‘60 and ‘70s. The men of my generation I hung with, who matured in the ‘80s and ‘90s, but it was mostly the language of commerce, athletic obsession, military life or creative expression. Often their inner lives were an undiscovered country they, at least openly, rarely visited. Considering the self-righteous, yet self-centered hot takes that liter today’s social media, revealing a lot of short sighted, clueless thinking, we’re probably lucky our grandparents didn’t have to deal with Twitter while toiling in the American century.
One way that even the most closed dudes express the unexpressed is through their gear. It’s a way to separate yourself from the average Jamals. Of course many men slavishly follow fashion and dress I thrall to trends, sacrificing any hopes of establishing an personal identity. It’s more satisfying, and definitely more important, to be willing to discover your personal style amid the vast sea of sartorial choices. Most men are part of a tribe defined either by geography, generation or economics, and they dress according to that tribe’s codes of inclusion.
Yet, within those tribal codes, there are always men who manifest personal style in arrange their footwear, pant, shirt, hair and head gear. Willfully being out of step with fashion, being determined not to be trapped by what’s “hot,” is as strong a signature of comfort in your personal identity as you’ll find. Even the emotionally inarticulate can speak in this way. Moreover, if you live long enough and treat your gear with respect, your clothing choices will come back in style at least once, and sometimes twice, in your lifetime.
At various times I’ve embraced fedoras and news boy caps, though I often acquiesce to the utility of the baseball cap. In my fifties, I fell back in love with my childhood crush, the suede Puma and still get a thrill rocking them. They were the sneakers I didn’t have the daring to wear when I was thirteen. Pumas were, in my mind, for the cool kids. Now they’re so retro, they actually feel new. Moreover there is a white ‘Clyde’ version named after New York Knicks great Walt ‘Clyde’ Frazier that I proudly own two pairs of (one autographed!) It’s not an rebellious or radical choice, but it speaks to who I was and what I so value now — classic material in an age of disposable style and thought.
GO KNICKS!