The coolness of wearing wrinkles
I don’t remember when or where, but sometime back I heard that wrinkles were the new cool. It was some new trend that the kids were shiznitty about. I could usually care less about the latest trends followed by the kids, but this one got my attention. Mainly because I’m a very wrinkly sort of guy.
I know the phrase “new cool” is old and busted but I don’t care. I live about three years behind the coolness curve. By the time I pick up on it, it’s already dorky and geeky and stale. But that’s just the way I roll.
There is no way in hell you’ll catch me spending the time to take my clothes from the dryer and iron them. No way. So I just wear the wrinkles and tell myself that is the new cool. I’m happy with that.
I’ve since been informed that I must have been mistaken. Either wrinkles were never really the new cool or that trend has long since gone bye bye. Too damn bad. I’m enjoying the wrinkles.
I was thinking about this and the need to conform. I’m no rugged individualist but on the other hand, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything simply to conform, either. If I don’t want to spend time ironing my clothes then I’m not going to, and I don’t care how others may perceive me when they see the wrinkles.
I think a line from a Joan Jett song about sums it up for me:
I don’t give a damn about my bad reputation!
I don’t give a damn about my wild masturbation!
Ooops. I improvised a bit there. Most of you are probably screaming at your monitors right now, “TMI! TMI!” (The few of you who aren’t — call me!) Heh.
Fashion? Bleh. The only thing that concerns me about fashion is: Is it comfortable? If it isn’t comfortable or serve some sort of function (like an extra pocket) then I have no time for it. I can’t believe all the fashion shows on TV. I mean, seriously. Who really cares about any of that crap?