Sorry Sir, You Must Have the Shoulders of a 13-Year-Old Girl or Bike Messenger in Order To Purchase That Shirt

Buying a shirt is hard. Especially for a guy in his 30s. The high end of the 30s.

If you enjoy the pseudo-sport of golf, there is an abundance of clothes to fit your low-impact lifestyle. Every department store on earth has that perfect pair of pleated Dockers and prosaic blue golf shirt you’ve been eyeing up. Go for it, big guy. Your man-boobs will look just as good as your dough-filled idol, Phil Mickelson.

Enough golf talk. I still need a shirt or two and I’m coming up empty as I stroll through this spirit-sucking, giant stale-air factory known as the mall.

Let’s take a deep breath and hit some stores, shall we?

I don’t play croquet or sail in Annapolis or have a straw boater to go with these silly Tucker Carson ensembles, so J. Crew is a no go. Also, the $68 cargo shorts are a good indicator that the store hates me.

Lord & Taylor’s has basically two choices: Tommy Bahama brand for retirees and Jimmy Buffett fans, and at the opposite end of the spectrum, Calvin Klein. Since I’ll never retire or acquire a leather-like tan, Tommy Bahama is out.

My complete lack of gold jewelry and fear of selling or doing drugs in a bathroom at a seedy dance club precludes me from wearing clothes befitting a certain profile, so, sorry Calvin, you’re out too.

Where else, where else…

Abercrombie & Fitch, American Eagle and the other Axe-Body-Spray-smelling stores with all the shirtless lads is way out of my demo, so no need to even walk through those doors. Let’s stop for a pretzel and regroup. Maybe pop in Spencer’s Gifts and see if they still have those penis barbells. Always fun.

Macy’s: Nautica? Tommy Hilfiger? Too many colors, too hip hop. Polo? Too whitebread.

Bloomingdales? Saks? Nordstrom’s? Nope, I don’t rob banks. Don’t have that kind of scratch.

What about the Gap Stores? Here’s a quick breakdown:

Old Navy: I bought a shirt from there once for about $6 and it evaporated on me while I was wearing it a few hours later, a tad cheap.

Gap: Still can’t get those dancing khaki ads out of my “I’ll hate this company forever” mindset.

Banana Republic: “Cool! That shirt I like is on the sale rack. Originally $89.95, now $63.95, fucking awesome, at that price I’ll buy three in three different sizes in case my weight or height fluctuates.”

I might be sounding like a prima donna at this point. Probably, but I know what I like (shirts that bring out my sickly bloodshot pretty blue eyes) and don’t like (anything with a logo).

Locating basic clothes with a touch of fine tailoring and smart color is difficult. I’m not looking for a particular style, because I don’t have a look, so it makes shopping that much more difficult,

Watching me motor down the road in my head-turning 2000 Passat Wagon, you’d think I’d go for the soccer dad look. Wrong ‘em boyo. “Life is Good!” Is it really? Not if I’m wearing that weathered peach, dork drop cloth on my torso.

Other options: Earth Guy! Nope. Camping is both scary and boring all wrapped up into one mosquito-bitten weekend, so REI/EMS/Eddie Bauer outdoorsman gear and Boy Scout uniforms are not for me.

I’m a beach guy, grew at the shore and like the casual nature of the clothes, but wearing Surf gear all the time just says, “Dude, I’m just a big kid who calls in sick any day there’s waves. That’s just me, bro. Don’t try to change me…um, you got some weed?” I’ll pass.

I also don’t want seem like I am something I’m not, like the hip guy in the ironic tee, the way-too-snug sweater or the fake western shirt with pearl buttons. Okay, maybe the last one. I do know about 4 country songs, so I’m not really posing.

I went into Urban Outfitters because they’ll have some affordable stuff and a brand or two that I like, usually placed out of the way on the bottom shelf under a display of Mad Libs books or Slinkys (we get it, you’re kitschy, it’s an mini etch-a-sketch, whoopee).

After trying on a couple of promising shirts and looking in the mirror, my hopes of looking semi-hip at a good price were dashed. Why? Well, let’s ask the designers or buyers or whomever the hell makes these oddly-proportioned clothes.

“Dear dummy, you’re “Large” size shirts have a 12-inch span from shoulder to shoulder. Is this a mistake? Was the quality control team being flogged for taking a 30-second lunch break at the Indonesian sweatshop? If not, what the fuck are you doing? A Wawa classic could barely fit lengthwise in one of these. Yes, manorexics like Scott Weiland or a Jonas Brother would look utterly divine in one of these, hot, I dare say. But I’m not in Man Man or a gay porn male model, so could you please spare a bit more fabric around the top and respect the shoulders? Normal chaps need to look fabulous too.”

I don’t think I need to remind anyone just how great shoulders are. They’re a big help when lifting things and probably the best repository for other peoples’ tears. And this should go without saying, but shrugging would be about 96% more difficult without them.

Listen, I’m not a big guy (nose only): average build with average-guy shoulders (says so on my myspace). But, when I put on one of these body clingers or any of the American Apparel t-shirts, I feel uncomfortable, like a mini pale Hulk who will burst through the poorly stitched shoulders at the slightest stretch of the arm (usually reaching for the Pecan Sandies at the very back of the fridge). I guess what I’m trying to say is, the shirts are a bit confining.

So, it looks like no new stylin’ shirts for this old fella, unless I get a shoulder reduction… or one of those body narrowing operations I saw advertised in Philly Style Monthly Magazine. That would be pretty sweet.

Please let me know if you’re a designer who wants to send me some awesome duds. By now, if you’re still reading this asinine rant, you should know what I like. Make it work!

Tags: clothing • fashion • humor • men's fashion • shirts • style • t-shirts • Urban Outfitters