Getting Shirty

You may (or may not) remember a post about vanity a couple of weeks ago. It was kind of in response to being surrounded by folk at work who are quite a bit younger than me. There are others my sort of age, but in my corner I've got almost a decade on the nearest, and while it might not seem like much, there are certain shared experiences that are missing. It makes you realise you're almost of a different generation.

But while it makes me feel old from time to time, and my dodgy knee reminds me of it frequently, I also reasoned that what some might term vanity, which for me is simply wanting to take some pride in how I look, means I've not quite given in yet to being old and without a care. Obviously having no cares may be pretty liberating, but for the time being.... This also tied in with discussions I had with one of the young guard, who has sadly since left the company, about actually liking dressing well for work. It delineated work from home, it made you feel good. 

And so around the time of the last vanity post, a little before that, I'd ordered a made-to-measure shirt. It's not much more than an off-the-peg from one of the fancier chains, though probably involves a few more airmiles as it was stitched together in New York. But the thought of it made me feel good. I'd chosen the fabric, chosen the cut (based on 11 separate measurements - I think next one will be nipped in a little more at the waist, though the fit is superb), the style of collar, and cuffs, the accents inside both... I have a shirt that fits my long arms. That isn't a tent. A work shirt with a little bit of fun. A shirt that, granted, needs a wash and an iron before heading out into the wild.

The jeans and belt were other extravagances, but they made me happy. Is that putting material pleasure before the true meaning of happiness? Well yes. In the same way that I'm happy when I get a new bike, or get a new camera. It's all the same thing. Is that vanity? Well yes, but while I've got all of my own hair, fitness and a toned arse, I'm going to make the most of it. Colour me shallow.