There’s no accounting for personal style. Not that I have it all going on, Lord knows I’m a mess, especially right now (which I’ll get to someday in future blogs). But in the case of some (not all) middle-aged dudes trying to find themselves, someone ought to remind them that a 25-year-old mentality does not look so hot wrapped in a 55-year-old body.
Case in point yesterday a 50-something white guy pulls up next to me at a red light, driving some sort of sporty, vintage convertible with the top down. Okay, fine. I get it. He’s finally able to afford the car he’s always wanted as a kid, so why should he deny himself such a treasure now? I’m totally onboard with that. Heck, I’m still holding out hope of someday living in an East Village apartment just like Monica’s on the TV show Friends, and being able to afford it on the equivalent of what she made as a cook in some dive in Hell’s Kitchen. (Hey, don’t burst my bubble. It can happen.)
But here’s where it gets weird. Read the rest of this entry »