My retirement uniform consists of blue or gray jeans and a long or short-sleeved Columbia shirt, depending on the weather.  I do have some “fashionable” team socks to go with my standard issue, casual Ecco shoes.  Columbia is based here in Portland so discount prices are prevalent, especially at their employee store.  I go there once or twice a year to stock up on running gear and dry-fit shirts. They’re comfortable  just like retirement.

I don’t pick out clothes the night before as I did during the working years, to be as debonair as possible.  It was an evening ritual that once included ironing, steaming, shoe-shining, and lint removal.  Sunday nights were particularly important, making that transition from the casual weekend to the work week, and it usually involved some planning ahead.   Suits, ties, suspenders, cuff-links, starched French-cuff shirts, pocket scarves, briefs, collar stays, socks, and shoes.  I never wore a t-shirt under my dress shirts, but there was a time when tie-bars and collar-bars were part of the look.  I was one of those Mad Men, perhaps stuck in the past!  It was like putting on an armor suit in preparation for battle.  Without it, my Achilles heel and average IQ would be dangerously exposed.  (see post #74:  Sharp Dressed Man.)

Dry cleaning bills have dropped dramatically in retirement, and I usually try to save on laundry, now exclusively my responsibility, by wearing the same Columbia shirt the next morning to do my run.  The “Running Uniform” also includes a pair of Nike shorts that I bought in quantity at the Nike outlet in Austin.    I see the disappointment in the friendly couple that runs the dry cleaning business in our neighborhood, as I show up every couple of weeks with a half-full or half-empty, depending on your particular perspective, dry cleaning bag.  They see me run by every morning, and I feel a certain responsibility to keep them in business.

Nike, Columbia, Under Armour, Adidas – they’re all now have shoe-design divisions here in Portland to help you with your retirement uniform. Nike owns Converse, and Adidas owns Reebok, while Columbia owns Mountain Hardware.  Mizuno is also expanding.  There are lots of deals on shoes, clothing, and accessories to fit any retirement budget.  This should help keep retirement wardrobes up- to-date, and destroy any misconceptions involving out-of-style Senior fashion.  The only problem is that we’ll all look the same, perhaps sporting different brands on our wrinkled bodies.

When it comes to Date Night and other special occasions, I always try to put on a collared shirt.  This is primarily to avoid criticism from my wife. I don’t really think anyone else cares!  She likes a crisp white shirt and maybe a sport coat, but my look below the belt is typically always the same.   Only on two occasions since abandoning the work force, have I worn a sport coat.  I added the tie only in Paris, but my friends never saw it.  I did put on  a suit and tie for one of my wife’s business events, and fortunately there was no one present that I knew to question my intentions.  She thought I looked handsome and that’s all that matters!  Like a rebel, I did have a pair of Cubs Stance socks hidden underneath my slacks, and helped divert her attention from this atrocity by wearing my polished Ecco business shoes.  After the event, I sent my suit and shirt to the cleaners, even though they didn’t really need it.  Their doors are thankfully still open!

Uniforms define who we are.  In my life, I’ve worn a Cub Scout uniform, band/choir uniform, little-league baseball uniform, softball uniforms, and the aforementioned business uniform.  My parents did buy me a Boy Scout uniform from my Grandmother who ran that particular department at our hometown J.C. Penney store.  However, I’m not sure if I really ever got to wear it!  During our first camp out, as we were making that manly transition from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts, all of us Webelos (abbreviation for WE‘ll Be LOyal Scouts) were gathered around the campfire, as the older scouts told ghost stories.  It was the story of “The Hand,” a tale about an Indian who lost his hand in battle.  His bloody, five-digits were rumored to still crawl about the woods where we were camped for the night.  At the climax of the story, an older scout would reach out and grab the back of a younger scout’s neck.  I think I jumped about ten feet in the air, and feel pretty sure that I had to bury my underwear.  I did use an official Boy Scout shovel! Needless to say, all of us Webelos were scared to death of potential nightmares, and huddled bravely together in one tent.  All of us had our brand new Boy Scout knives and flashlights (from J.C. Penney) posed for any possible attack by “The Hand.”  To this day, I question the mentality of that “experienced” elder who foolishly stuck his arm and hand under the tent to further scare us.  I believe he was stabbed at least 25 times, and screamed until the ambulance finally arrived.  We immediately packed up camp and never had another Boy Scout meeting!  The uniform might have been returned, but the knife was held as evidence.

I was fortunate not to attend a school that required a true uniform.  It probably would have made getting ready easier in the morning, but the thought of wearing the same thing every day would have only added to the boredom of the classroom.  My “College Uniform” was probably similar to my “Retirement Uniform,” except the blue jeans were ripped and patched, and the t-shirt was undoubtedly wrinkled cotton.  The thought reminds me of the Johnny Cash lyrics, “Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes, And found my cleanest dirty shirt.”  I did brand myself with Sigma Chi Fraternity merchandise and Albion College or Indiana University wear.  Maybe an occasional Elkhart Blue Blazers or Chicago White Sox t-shirt?  There also might have been a Grateful Dead or Humble Pie concert T in the rotation?  I also don’t remember wearing a suit or tie until the job interview process started.

I also never had a job that required a uniform.  I worked for an irrigation company where the full-time employees wore uniforms, but as strictly summer help I was not worthy, and never once felt envious.  Smart ass, stuck-up college kid!  I think it’s important for people who do service work to wear a uniform of identification, especially those who work in and around residential neighborhoods.  Medical professionals wear scrubs, a type of uniform, that are constantly maintained for sanitary purposes.  Scrubs are maybe the most credible type of uniform, perhaps with the exceptions of Police, Fire, and Military uniforms.

I did sell men’s suits, clothing and accessories in Austin, Texas.  The suit and tie that I wore everyday felt like a uniform.  I mention Texas because only lawyers, bankers, and maybe accountants wear suits and ties in that excessive heat.  Selling a suit to a Texan is a lot like selling a refrigerator to an Eskimo (I know I’ve used this unoriginal and overused  analogy before in Post #74).   At least I felt like an attorney or financial expert as I walked to work, but was certainly put in my place as I sold them clothing.  I did have to wear a gold name plate with my name engraved to show that I at least had a few weeks of experience.  It attached magnetically, so as not to disturb the quality of the suit.  I did question the quality of many of the suits that I was charged to unload at a 3 for 1 price.  When I finally got back to a job grade that I felt was slightly above retail, I sold many of these same lawyers and financial experts advertising, and continued to show-off my vast collection of suits and accessories in the process.

I am watching the NBA draft as I’m writing this, and the Philadelphia 76ers just selected Markelle Fultz from the U.W. Huskies as the #1 overall pick.  He was sporting a bow tie and custom suit as he approached the podium to accept his official team hat.  In his interview, he modestly showed-off the appropriate-purple, silk lining of his jacket.  It was tastefully decorated with images from photographs of his family and basketball memories throughout high school and college.  I thought it was very cool step before accepting his 76er uniform that will identify him on the court.  The closest I could come in matching that coat was a jacket that I had custom-made in Hong Kong years ago.  It was a grey silk sport coat with a flashy patterned red silk lining.  I haven’t worn it in years, but can’t yet bear to give it away.  It hangs useless on a hanger in my closet, but ready for my next Halloween event should I choose to wear it inside-out.  I also once owned a corduroy jacket, made in Mexico, with a memorable Spanish designed lining.  It might have looked good with my patchwork-style, bleeding Madras golf pants that I got my Senior year of high school.  They should have only been worn on the golf course!

Most all of the suits and sport coats in my closet were gladly donated to Goodwill, my first stop following retirement.  It felt good to pass them along to those still stuck in the workforce.  Portlandians tend to dress very casually, when in reality they should probably layer-up with the suits and vests still popular in the colder climates.  The uniform here is plaid with a hooded puffy jacket from Columbia.  An umbrella should be part of the uniform, but locals stubbornly refuse to use them.  This Pearl Jam style persists no matter what profession you are in or the event you are attending.  I think that all men have really taken a step-back in appearance, and am still fascinated with the Gatsby era.  It is a pain in the butt to get formally ready in the morning, with a lot of thought put in the night before.  I’ve been there, done that, and never want to do it again!