Saturday, August 20, 2005
Is that a cardigan?
Sometimes, we have to take a course of action based not on choice but a lack of choice. We may not be able to choose between A or B, or this path or that. Making choices can be painful, especially when each potential ‘suitor’ is so closely matched. Not having two things to choose from takes away the decision-making aspect, so the painful experience of deliberation, heart-string tugging and the like are gone.
The other day, I came to the realisation that I had either lost all of my jumpers, or they were in the wash. It was cold outside; there was potential for rain. The day just didn’t permit the casual wearing of a t-shirt, no, more warmth was required if I was to avoid becoming a human ice-sculpture.
My dilemma began there: out of my vast collection of clothes, the only slightly warm thing I had to wear was a brown female cardigan. A cardigan. My heart began pumping uncontrollably, my mind was awash with anxiety, and my body was seizing up with the anticipation of this seemingly unavoidable destiny. I was to wear a man cardigan to university that day, and go against any traditional sense of masculinity, and face head-on my sometimes-shaky self-esteem.
I managed to think happy thoughts about beer and waterfalls, and quickly don my brown garment of pain. I jumped on my bike and rode to uni. There was something nice about the unbuttoned option, with the wind in my face, and the man cardigan trailing behind me in the breeze like a super hero’s cape. Definitely not like Super Man, more like a Not Quite a Man Man. I got to uni, quickly took off the man cardigan, rolled it up and squashed it up in my bag. The t-shirt was sufficient for sitting inside, but by the time the lecture had finished and we were outside, I realised due to the intense need for warmth, my secret wouldn’t remain so for much longer. I pulled up the flap on my satchel-bag, slid a hand in, and whipped it out, in one smooth easy motion. Then I pulled the man cardigan out. Actually I pulled just the man cardigan out.
I put it on. I announced to my friends that I had just put a cardigan on, a brown cardigan. The cardigan used to be a girl’s, and right now I, a man was wearing it. They turned around, and I waited with nervous anticipation. Would they approve? Would they think I was gutsy for trying to turn the fashion world up on its head? No, the world isn’t that forgiving.
Instead they laughed and asked what the hell I was doing. I needed excuses fast, which wasn’t too hard, as I didn’t have any other warm clothes to wear. I tried to justify my cardigan though, quickly reeling off theories of changing fashion norms, the fact that I was trying to make a statement, through brown female clothing. Alas, my argument wasn’t strong, and their laughter and jokes dwarfed my small cardigan like the Eiffel Tower (Paris is the centre for fashion I’ve heard).
I tried two methods of wearing it too, the first being the buttoned-up, old-style Italian look, and the unbuttoned casual, going for a walk armed with loads of mojo look. The latter version of the man cardigan gained higher approval, however when I talk about approval, to my friends, it wasn’t really approval but the agreeance upon the lesser of two evils.
After all this, I didn’t care as it didn’t change who I was, just how I looked, and that surely doesn’t matter. Well I think it does to be honest, and although I don’t quite agree with it, I can’t escape it.
The Man Cardigan, or Mandigan was born that day, worn by a young guy, trying to be hip, trying to be different – daring even. That day showed however, that to look manly, cardigans don’t have much currency, in fact due to fashion hyper inflation, I’ll need a wheelbarrow full of Mandigan Dollars to buy some coolness, and next week, probably a trailer full.
That is the tale of the Mandigan, and I am a proud man.
The other day, I came to the realisation that I had either lost all of my jumpers, or they were in the wash. It was cold outside; there was potential for rain. The day just didn’t permit the casual wearing of a t-shirt, no, more warmth was required if I was to avoid becoming a human ice-sculpture.
My dilemma began there: out of my vast collection of clothes, the only slightly warm thing I had to wear was a brown female cardigan. A cardigan. My heart began pumping uncontrollably, my mind was awash with anxiety, and my body was seizing up with the anticipation of this seemingly unavoidable destiny. I was to wear a man cardigan to university that day, and go against any traditional sense of masculinity, and face head-on my sometimes-shaky self-esteem.
I managed to think happy thoughts about beer and waterfalls, and quickly don my brown garment of pain. I jumped on my bike and rode to uni. There was something nice about the unbuttoned option, with the wind in my face, and the man cardigan trailing behind me in the breeze like a super hero’s cape. Definitely not like Super Man, more like a Not Quite a Man Man. I got to uni, quickly took off the man cardigan, rolled it up and squashed it up in my bag. The t-shirt was sufficient for sitting inside, but by the time the lecture had finished and we were outside, I realised due to the intense need for warmth, my secret wouldn’t remain so for much longer. I pulled up the flap on my satchel-bag, slid a hand in, and whipped it out, in one smooth easy motion. Then I pulled the man cardigan out. Actually I pulled just the man cardigan out.
I put it on. I announced to my friends that I had just put a cardigan on, a brown cardigan. The cardigan used to be a girl’s, and right now I, a man was wearing it. They turned around, and I waited with nervous anticipation. Would they approve? Would they think I was gutsy for trying to turn the fashion world up on its head? No, the world isn’t that forgiving.
Instead they laughed and asked what the hell I was doing. I needed excuses fast, which wasn’t too hard, as I didn’t have any other warm clothes to wear. I tried to justify my cardigan though, quickly reeling off theories of changing fashion norms, the fact that I was trying to make a statement, through brown female clothing. Alas, my argument wasn’t strong, and their laughter and jokes dwarfed my small cardigan like the Eiffel Tower (Paris is the centre for fashion I’ve heard).
I tried two methods of wearing it too, the first being the buttoned-up, old-style Italian look, and the unbuttoned casual, going for a walk armed with loads of mojo look. The latter version of the man cardigan gained higher approval, however when I talk about approval, to my friends, it wasn’t really approval but the agreeance upon the lesser of two evils.
After all this, I didn’t care as it didn’t change who I was, just how I looked, and that surely doesn’t matter. Well I think it does to be honest, and although I don’t quite agree with it, I can’t escape it.
The Man Cardigan, or Mandigan was born that day, worn by a young guy, trying to be hip, trying to be different – daring even. That day showed however, that to look manly, cardigans don’t have much currency, in fact due to fashion hyper inflation, I’ll need a wheelbarrow full of Mandigan Dollars to buy some coolness, and next week, probably a trailer full.
That is the tale of the Mandigan, and I am a proud man.
