Of course, the reason I don't care nearly as much as I did is that I'm married now, with kids. It's all I can do these days to leave the house with matching socks.
There's no need to impress anyone with style and dating advice from Esquire.
I drew in my beloved with my cosmopolitan charm and natty apparel, got her to say "yes" and "I do," and once the honeymoon was over, the honeymoon was over. I could finally relax.
I've got about six shirts in my rotation that are suitable for work, dinner out, weddings and funerals. If my weight holds or, better, improves, I shouldn't need any new pants.
I'm firmly entrenched in middle management; I don't need to worry about business lunches. I don't need to look sharp as much as be sharp.
Don't get me wrong. I do intend to be neat. And, while sticking with the classics never hurts, I suspect I'll try to keep the wardrobe fresh and close enough to up-to-date.
It occurs to me, though, that this attitude adjustment may simply reflect a settling into a middle class middle age. I've been blessed with a beautiful, healthy family and a steady job that I enjoy.
Maybe what I'm feeling is not so much a lack of concern about being comfortably attired as maybe, after almost 50 years, finally getting comfortable in my own skin.
Contact writer Philip Maramba at phi...@dailymail.com or 304-348-1248.