*

Clothes don’t make the man. The man makes the clothes. And that matters.

“What butt?”

That’s what my partner Rebecca said when I asked her to take a picture of my behind.

I didn’t want to ask my friend John. He’s got the opposite problem.

I’m taking a three-day photography workshop at our local college. Most of the other students are women my age. Tomorrow, we are taking portraits of a photo partner. Maybe that wouldn’t be a good idea.

And my 31-year-old- son’s backside is even smaller.

So I’m stuck with me for the photo op.

You see the problem, don’t you?

My normal-sized photography instructor says a picture is worth 1000 words. I’m putting his theory into practice.

Did you know men lose 5% of muscle mass every decade after 35? (source)

That’s 20% for me thus far. For my keister, that’s .20 X 0 = 0.

Soon my fanny will be in negative numbers.

Why does this matter?

*

In Fall 2022, Rebecca wanted to take this photo of me from her grandson Elan’s Bar Mitzvah. I look presentable, don’t I?

Yes, that’s a Jerry Garcia tie. Thank you for noticing. I’ve got a little collection.

I never listened to Garcia’s Grateful Dead. I don’t like Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. But I love the funkiness of Jerry’s ties.

I wore a tie daily when I started teaching at Luther College in 1985. During that first year, at least five men across campus, including two in my department, Political Science, asked why a tie. At first, I was surprised by the question. Then, irritated.

In the first faculty meeting, I looked across a room of 150 faculty, 70% men. Ten years from retirement, Harland Nelson in the English Department sported a bow tie. And a couple of guys from Accounting looked like business executives. And me.

College faculty are as vulnerable to peer pressure as any other group. Eventually, some of these people would decide my tenure fate. My concession to the informal dress police eventually became the Garcia tie that debuted in 1992.

As you glimpsed, I still wear Garcia’s five years after retirement.

I like to look good. And this desire is fueled by an incident that occurred 50 years ago.

*

My best college buddy, Barrie, was married in 1972. I attended the wedding but was not one of the groomsmen because when arrangements were made months earlier, we expected I would be in basic training with a low draft number. Why that didn’t happen is a story for another time.

I came to Barrie and Mary Ann’s summer ceremony bummed at not being integral to the action and dressed in a ratty ill-fitting sport coat. My girlfriend, Donna, was a bridesmaid, so I sat alone in the steamy church feeling sorry for myself. And vowing never, ever to be underdressed again.

So ties tend to my higher torso. And shirts usually fit, especially now that my aging muscle mass has dropped from a medium to a trim size with a better sleeve fit on this 5’7″ frame.

The problem is the lower torso. Doesn’t this look like an x-ray of me?

If I wear pants with my actual waist size, 34″, it looks like I have a tail. But a slim fit, stretch fabric, 32″ waist pant that sits just above my hips swaddles my backside without cutting off circulation.

So the low-rise jean look in the first photo seems the optimal solution to my disproportioned torsos.

Should clothes matter to the older man?

I have a friend, Harland. He’s the bow-tied, Professor of English I mentioned above. Harland just turned 98. He lost his wife, Corinne, three years ago. He lives in an Assisted Care apartment and still drives his Prius to Thursday breakfasts with other retired faculty. For formal occasions, I still see him clad in a bow tie. But his everyday uniform is a button-down Oxford shirt and khakis.

The uniform fits the man. “That’s Harland,” I think when I see him.

During my first years as a college professor, I was stubborn about my Jerry Garcia ties because it was a look I chose. I didn’t know Harland at the time, but I assumed, as the only bow-tier, he had faced the same pushback from some of his peers. Yet, he persisted. As did I.

My ego has now traveled south in retirement, lodged in my bottom. After experimentation, I finally found a reasonable solution for my aging body.

It ain’t pretty, but it’s mine.