Fail Safe Compatibilty Test

There's this old tank top I still wear. How old? Not really sure. Let's put it this way; I've got pictures with it on, circa 1990, and it doesn't look brand new.

It started off jet black, and has faded to light black. It's got more holes in it than the streets of Boston after a snowy winter, when the asphalt has been mangled by plows. All the edges are frayed, and it's ripped halfway up the right side, held together by two big safety pins. And it's got a few bleach stains on it from who knows where. I love it.

I wear that shirt to the gym, to yoga, and out and about. It's not something I would wear on a first date, however. Or so I thought.

At yoga the other day, a striking woman walks by me and says, "I like your yoga mat". She had a good eye for style, because, in the generally austere world of yoga mats, this one was bitchin': it had a cork base, with seven colorful circles riding up the middle, demarking the chakras. "Thank you", I replied, and winked at her. She smiled. Not a bad way to start a class. Later, I saw her in the lobby of the yoga studio, checking out clothing. We started to chat, and I asked her out for coffee (told you I love yoga babes). She accepted.

Over coffee, she asked, with a smile, "Is there story behind that shirt you're wearin'?". It's worthy to note that my tank top had acquired even more distinction by being drenched in sweat. I told her about it, and she laughed. She dug it. We had a honey of a time.

That interaction got me thinking. I have a mile walk home from Westwood Village, which is where my gym and yoga studio are. I walk to and from The Village at least once a day. It's a beautiful jaunt, bordered by UCLA and it's botanical garden on one side and Sorority row on the other (flora over here, fauna over there). I get lots of ideas on these walks, sometimes sketching out entire writings in my head. 

It occurred to me that my infamous tank top has been more than just a trusty garment over the years; it's been a barometer for female compatibility. I thought back to all my girlfriends since I started wearing it (approximating of course, not knowing exactly how long I've had the thing). I realized that, without exception, there's a line that breaks like a perforated Saltine cracker; the women who have had issues with me wearing this ragged piece of clothing, and have proven to be incompatible, are on one side; the women who have dug this shirt, and have proven very compatible, are on the other.

This is not a matter of right or wrong, good or bad. It's a matter of sensibilities, attitudes, and a general approach to life. The women who don't like me wearing this shirt are of the opinion that it looks "tacky". The women who like it will say things like "I dig that shirt because it's so You". And therein lies the compatibility acid test. Compatibly is a complex phenomenon. Which is why it's so exciting to realize that a simple article of clothing can gauge it.

I feel great wearing this shirt. I wear it like I do all clothing; from the inside out. I'm comfortable, feel good, and believe I look great in it. If you're totally on board with that, it says that you're okay with me being me. With me wearing whatever I want. With me being comfortable in my own skin, with my own second skin, and expressing that to the world at large. If you like it, you place a high value on self expression. You don't care too much about what people think of me, or what people think of you being with a guy who would wear a tattered tank top that predates the millennium. This is just one way I express myself, but it translates well across the wide spectrum of self expression.

If you don't dig it, and in fact if you truly hate it, I'm not going to psychoanalyze you; but I am going to say that our sensibilities don't align. Our values don't match up. Our attitudes about self expression and letting it all hang out are quite different. That has been the case, every time.

Expanding my general thesis, I don't go for "preppy" women; their conservative nature, attitudes, and overall approach, along with their conventional lifestyles, are usually reflected in their clothing; and I'm at the other end of the universe. I'm most compatible with women who are unconventional, far from conservative, are wild at heart and wild in spirit, very artistic, with a certain unique flash. I go for women who love how they look in a pair of tight jean shorts, a bikini top, sparkly Chucky Taylor high tops, no make-up, and a baseball cap (with the ponytail pulled through the opening in the back - fuck, I love that look). If a woman feels sexy in that, I'm on board. It's not just skin deep (or clothing deep). You look sexy in that because you feel sexy in that. And if you feel sexy in it, you are sexy. To yourself, and to me. I pick up on that vibe and resonate with your energy. The same is true the other way around. I feel sexy in my battered tank top. If you can feel that, ride my energy with me, then we're on the same wavelength; were vibrating on a similar frequency. We gel. We ignite together.

I'm looking to explore this more, I'm just not sure when. That's all I got for now.

©2017 Clint Piatelli. MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Cut Offs

       Fashion. At once completely superficial and shallow, and at the same time, a window into something about who we are and how we relate to each other. Fashion is at once a statement of our own humanity and of our own individuality. Its fascinating to me.
       So I’m hanging at one of my favorite local watering holes and start talking to a woman who I’m guessing is about fifteen years or so younger than I am. She notices what I’m wearing, and says to me, “Are those cut off jean shorts?” It seemed like a completely rhetorical question. Part of me wanted to reply in a total wise ass way. “No. They’re actually made of human skin, sewn from the hides of my most recent hostage victims. Like in The Silence of The Lambs…..”. But I refrained from that retort. What’s great about having so many creative voices inside you is that at any one moment you have a tremendous range of options from which to chose. In this moment, I went with something a little closer to home as opposed to a voice somewhere out in the stratosphere of my own imagination. But let me say, I’m grateful for those voices out on my cosmic imaginative fringe.
       Anyway, when she asked the redundantly rhetorically rhetoric query that had drippings of contempt, I said “Yes they are.” There was a pause, as if she was somehow surprised by my response. “Those……(longer pause)…..aren’t in” she said, her voice now laced with contempt. I immediately responded, “In What?”. Again, I think she expected some sort of pause after her probing question, because the rapidity of my retort caught her by surprise, as she stammered a bit and eventually came back with “Ah….in style” This time, she practically sneered when she spoke, and her voice was now completely overdosed with contempt .
       Ah yes. Style. How silly of me. Once again, it didn’t take me long to respond, which again surprised her. I’m not sure if she was used to dealing with men far less intelligent and articulate than myself, or if she expected me to be apologetic, or if she believed her questions about fashion and style so daunting to a man that it would render him tongue tied. No matter, but the pace of our conversation clearly flummoxed her. Without skipping a beat, I said “Who’s style? Yours? Madison Avenue’s? Silicon Valley’s? The World At Large?” Like a deer in a set of ten thousand watt halogen headlights, she gazed back at me without any clue how to keep the conversation moving along. So I didn’t wait for her, and provided something else for her to potentially latch onto.
       “Style comes from within. Style has nothing whatsoever to do with what other people think works. Style has absolutely everything to do with what you think works. With what you feels works. For yourself. You rock it form the inside out. Not the other way around. Can you dig it?”
       Another slight pause. “No. Not at all.”, she said. I then thought of my dad, who would abruptly walk away from a conversation (without so much as a good bye or any excuse whatsoever for his departure) from someone who was boorish. Dad would just vamoose from anyone who talked only about themselves, about how much money they made, who effectively carried on a monologue about how great they were without any interest in what he had to say, without any interest in having a true conversation. This woman didn’t qualify as that, but I could tell this was not going to qualify as stimulating conversation. So I said “Have a nice night”, and took off.
       Sometimes life feels like a pleasant long cruise down a straight highway. Sometimes it feels like an exciting formula one race through a thousand curves. And sometimes it feels like a hit and run accident.


©2104 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Professional Re-Purpose-er

“There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask ‘why’... I dream of things that never were, and ask ‘why not?’ .”
                                                 - Robert F. Kennedy

    
       When I look at something as it is, the question always rolling around in the background is “What else could it be. What are the possibilities here?”. I don’t do this just with physical items, but with situations, circumstances, relationships, perhaps even the experience of life itself.
       This is a double edged sword. On the downside, it can make it challenging for me to accept what is. Because a corollary to seeing what things could be is that I naturally see the undercurrents, the subtext, the silent stories. I am drawn to what’s underneath, to what’s below the surface. I tend to swim in the deep part of the ocean, not the shallows.
       A great skill perhaps, but it can also make dealing with reality difficult, and it can frustrate those who do not see what’s underneath, or don’t even care about it. My challenge is to deal with both what is and what could be without dichotomizing. Without polarizing the surface or the depth, the superficial or the more substantial. For this is truly the yin and the yang at work in life. One could not exist without the other; they are both necessary for the existence of each other.
       On the upside, this propensity to ask "What else could it be?" contributes to my standing as a Professional Re-Purpose-er. I repurpose whatever I can. I don’t see things in the box of what they are “supposed” to be, of what they “should” be, of what they are “commonly” known for, or as.  
        It’s an attitude more than a way of thinking. It’s not just a cognitive construct. It’s a way of being in the world. It’s not just about thinking outside the box. It’s about living outside the box.
       You don’t have to be a crazy artist to do this. You can apply it, in small ways, in however it works, into your own life, no matter how traditional or conventional areas of your life are. In upcoming webinars, podcasts, and live presentations, I’ll guide people on how to do this. Here and now, I can give you a glimpse into how it works for me, and maybe provide you with some insight into how it may work for you.
       Over the weekend, I walked by a Victoria's Secret store and saw these very cool ultra sparkly spandex pants pictured in a giant window display. If I had a girlfriend, I would have immediately thought of how great she would look in them. I would buy her a pair, and ask her to try them on for me. If she didn’t like them, or if they weren’t her cup of tea, even for just hanging around the house, no problem. Return them, and get something you like, baby. Oh, but I’m keeping the pair I bought for myself......
       When I saw these pants, my Re-Purpose way of being naturally and immediately asked  the question “What else could this Female Casual Wear be?”. That question was then immediately answered with “Male Halloween Costume”. So in I went, made friends with a few of the female support staff, and walked out with a pair. It was a fun and different experience for everybody. We all made new connections, however brief and transient. The staff made a sale, and I had a pair of killer pants. And when I told them what the pants were for, after I modeled them upon request, they told me they wanted pictures from wherever I spent Halloween. Everybody wins.
       At a wedding I attended, the name and table assignment card holders got re-purposed into giant pieces of bling. With just some imagination and scotch tape, graciously provided by the bar tenders. When I looked at the decorative plastic diamonds, I saw possibilities, not card holders. Then I came up with something that I liked. Something that spoke to me. In so doing, several of the women at the wedding saw what I did, dug it, and wanted some of what I had. So I helped them out. Again, it was fun, it was different, it helped us connect. I created something, and then we created something. That’s what it’s all about for me.  
       Silly examples? Maybe. But this is the raw material, the grist for the mill, of a more creative life; of a life with more fun, more self expression, more connection, more vitality. All, in part, because of Re-Purposing. All because of painting outside the lines. We all have the capacity to engage in this, in a countless variety of ways that suit and benefit our own lives.
       Paint outside the lines today. Somewhere. Somehow. Then tell me about it in the comments section. Let’s create something that wasn’t there before.


©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Boys Can't Wear Purple

       Riding the subway the other day, a little black girl, around eight years old, was staring at me. Little kids stare at me all the time. It’s probably a combination of physical and metaphysical attributes. The way I dress, my use of jewelry, a vibrancy of spirit, my playfulness. Kids intuitively pick up on all that. When I catch a kid staring at me, I always smile back, sometimes say hello, and send out loving and accepting vibes, as if to say “It’s okay to stare”. When kids stare, there’s the presence of fascination, curiosity, and wonder; elements that are in short supply with adults.
       This little girl smiled back and started talking to me, as her parent looked on. She had bright plastic purple Mardi Gras beads on, and said, with a huge smile on her face, “I like purple!”. I responded, “I can see that. I dig your beads.” Then I said, “I like purple too. I’m wearing purple shoes.”. I pointed down at these killer leather Cole Haan’s that I had bought in Phoenix over a year ago. This was the first time I had worn them. She hadn’t noticed my purple shoes until I pointed them out to her. When she looked at them, her mouth went agape. And her response was very telling.
       “Boys can’t wear purple!”, she said. Boys can’t wear purple. Wow. Eight years old. And the indoctrination of acceptable male color schemes is already firmly entrenched.
       This is what we’re all up against whenever we do anything outside the box. Years of socialization, constantly reenforced through the media, through other people’s responses, and through our our thoughts. We get it from all sides, all the time. And we are usually unconscious of it, and just accept it as dogma, without even realizing it. And if we do realize it, we fight an uphill battle with ourselves and with our peers.
       How do we deconstruct all this shit? How do we get to a place where we’re okay with more vibrant self expression, more emotive behavior, more emotional content in our living?
       Well, the first step is realizing it exists, on a very deep level, within ourselves and within our culture. Our awareness of how prevalent and ensconced this strict, judgmental, and limiting way of being is can allow us the opportunity to work with it. The first step is always awareness. Of making what is unconscious, conscious.
       The next step is choosing to take some action. Deciding that this belief system is hindering your vibrancy, creativity, self expression, emotional availability, and aliveness, and that you want to do something about it.
       The actions, the exercises, the new ways of dealing with this, are what I’m working on. Techniques that can help free us from this prison of obsessive unconscious conformity and repressive socialization. It’s taking longer than I thought, but soon I’m going to be doing podcasts, webinar’s, and live presentations that will assist people in breaking down these oppressive walls. I’ll be inspiring people to express themselves more freely, more vibrantly, with more authenticity, more vulnerability, and more aliveness. The book I’m writing works with this too.
       We are feeling beings, capable of so much more expression, vibrancy, and emotional aliveness than we realize. I will guide people on that journey.
       I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s worth repeating here, because it’s so poignant. An ex-girl friend of mine once paid me a compliment of the highest order. She said, “It’s not that Clint thinks outside the box. Clint doesn’t know there is a box”.
       Conformity can be four letter word. So can “box”.  
       Fuck the box.



©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

The Human Bling

        Bling. I like the word. I like what the word means. I like looking at it. I like wearing it. I like bling.
        When I use the word bling in this context, I’m referring to anything really colorful, bright, sparkly, and eye-catching. Everything from inexpensive trinkets to costly, exquisite, one of a kind pieces. To put it another way, I'm not talking about the size or the cost of the wand; I'm talking about the magic in it.
        On a superficial level, it’s as simple as being attracted to shiny, bright, sparkly, colorful objects. I’m drawn to them like a moth to a flame. Everywhere, and in all contexts. Clothing stores. Coffee shops. Nick-nack and jewelry boutiques. Car dealerships. Living rooms. Sometimes I can feel something colorful and shiny before I even see it. My bling radar scans the environment at all times.
        I have never questioned my own masculinity, nor that of another man’s, based on a bling affinity. Heterosexual men drawn to bling, however, are in the minority; it is indeed an uncommon, different aesthetic. But I am uncommon and different, across the board, across the spectrum of life. So this bling thing makes sense.  
        Bling makes a statement. It stands out. Because of how it looks, because of what it represents, because of what it is. It doesn’t have to do anything in particular to be noticed; it gets attention through the power of its colorful and explosive expressiveness. Through its mere existence. Through its mere presence.
        I certainly see some similarities between myself and a piece of bling. And my external bling thing is merely a reflection of an internal phenomenon. My affinity for the physical manifestations of the bright and shiny and sparkly is because I am connected to that which is bright and shiny and sparkly and full of light inside of me. Bling on the outside reflects my bling on the inside.
        But this was not always the case.
        When I was a kid, I was fat. Not obese, but certainly very chubby, with more than a healthy share of insulation. I had to wear the “Husky” line of pants because the regular kind wouldn’t fit me. I had a very poor self image, and never felt attractive. None of the girls liked me, even though I started finding lots of them very cute and desirable as early as eight or nine years old. In essence, I was an invisible kid. I felt invisible, and I acted invisible. I had no bling.
        At some point, late in high school, I began shining. From the inside out. I’ve continued to develop that shine as an adult. It comes from within. If I don’t feel it in here, I can’t express it out there. Not with any authenticity or conviction, anyway.  
        I don’t deny that my early traumatic existence as a fat, invisible kid with a lousy self image has something to do with who I’ve become. Maybe every time I go shirtless, exposing a fit, muscular torso, I’m silently flipping off everyone who ever made fun of me, called me fatso, beat me up because I didn’t fit in, or shunned me because I wasn’t one of the cool kids. If that’s still part of what makes me who I am today, so what? We are all driven to succeed or excel by a multitude of reasons. Show me a person who’s made a lot of money but grew up dirt poor, and tell me that their upbringing doesn’t have something to do with what still drives them today. You drive your Ferrari. I’ll go shirtless. To me, it’s the same thing.
        Through self-reflection, introspection, therapy, meditation, self-help books and seminars, twelve step programs, and countless other modalities, we can awaken to, and become more conscious of, ourselves. If we are conscious of our motivators, aware of the factors that have gone into who and what we are, then we have the capacity for self acceptance and compassion. For ourselves and for others. If we are awake to our own story, we have more capacity for love and truth; we have the awareness to own what’s ours; to shift what no longer serves us; to capitalize on that which makes us unique. In our greatest pain also lies our greatest gifts.  
        And a new superhero identity just came to me.
        Clint Piatelli: The Human Bling.
        I could do worse........

    

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.