I owned a super cool pair of green Costco workout shorts in the early 90’s.
I know, you probably had a pair, too. Elastic waist, inner drawstring, a lateral vee cut mid-thigh, all woven together in a fire-retardant poly-fiber blend. Yours may have been blue, black, red, or whatever spectrum of discount color you chose. Either way, I understand. You looked bad ass in them.
I don’t have a digital record of these gems and I likely do not possess an old photo laying inside some weathered shoebox buried under a pile of mix tapes and Sony Betamaxes to prove my point. If this sounds unfamiliar, you’ll just have to take my word for how damn nice these gyms shorts looked and felt. They were cooler than a mullet.
This purchase occurred before I met my wife.
I’m certain of this because she strongly disapproved of them, which negates the possibility of them entering my marital wardrobe post wedding day. Full disclosure, I think she hated them. Maybe green triggered a subconscious PTSD memory. Maybe the fabric caused physical discomfort or tactile irritation when sorting laundry. Or maybe it was their length.
Through the late 80’s and early 90’s society granted fashion tolerance for mid thigh shorts. This I believe to be an irrefutable fact. By the mid 90’s the male short’s hemline lengthened to the top of the knee. This seemed an oxymoron as nothing appeared short to my discerning eyes. Why would I fancy fabric touching my knees? Shorts are for hot weather. Less fabric, the greater the airflow on the skin, the greater the summer comfort level. Yet another irrefutable fact.
This fashion switch baffled me. I understood the departure from the silly 80’s nonsense and readily accepted the grunge rock apparel of the early 90’s. No more glam rock BS and hairband eccentricities. Plaid flannel rose in popularity, which played right into my dresser drawer options. But man capris? Now I was the outsider, jeered and mocked for my quadricep exposing and hamstring flashing choices.
My wife said those green shorts made me look like a participant in a gay pride parade.
In the 90’s those only existed in San Fransisco, as far as I knew. 24/7 news was just catching on. Mainstream social media was about a decade away. I still read a physical newspaper that smeared black ink on my fingertips. The self-important, incessantly posting masses were largely silent, leaving us to rely on a few major corporations to broadcast the news of the day. I had no idea that hemlines and rainbows represented sexual preference.
But on the bright side, I was clearly ahead of my time, foretelling of a near future rich in diversity and social justice. Surely I was a visionary, the populous’s prophetic voice. Unfortunately my short’s defense sounded more like a pathetic voice. On a practical note I thought about booking a surprise flight for my wife and I to the Golden Gate city just to get one more justifiable wear out of old greenie before the heterosexual fashion police banished them into the rag bin.
Ironically, now I’m told my shorts are too long.
Seriously? That rag bin got dumped decades ago. At this point, I think I’m too old to give a damn about what’s in vogue. Still, I’d like to find some shorter shorts. Nothing drastic, but a few inches would be nice. Although I’ve been falsely shamed into thinking I must hide my legs along with a decent portion of my knees. Time is so funny, fickle, and, well, forever.
But nobody knows history if it’s not recorded somehow and somewhere, which is why I write this blog. All stories in this collection are dad shorts. Just brief scribblings about my life, relayed to my children so they might better understand the causal effect of my rusty, spinning, cognitive wheels and my overall goofdom. Yes, this includes clothing.
And maybe a perspective that time is cyclical. Everything old comes back around again, one way or another. Maybe one day my kids will catch themselves sounding or acting like their dear old dad. That’s high humor to an old fart like me. Irrefutably.