Who Are You Wearing?

        A few weeks ago, I was at a club in Boston called Oliver’s, which is part of The Cask And Flagon, in Kenmore Square. I was there to catch a friend’s band. When I walked into the place at about 9 PM, the doorman took one look at me and said “Are you with the band?”. Well technically, no, I wasn’t. I knew the guys in the band, but I wasn’t in the band, or a part of it’s mechanics, like manager, sound man, groupie, or band plumber. But I instinctively said “Yes”, and he stamped my hand and pointed me towards the stage.
        It suddenly occurred to me how much information we convey non-verbally to people without realizing it. My overall package of jeans, T-shirt, long leather jacket, fingerless gloves, earrings, and black wool hat must have screamed “musician:rocker” to the guy at the door before I ever opened my mouth.
        I sat at the bar at The Cask And Flagon because I had some time to kill before the band went on. While there, I started to pay particularly close attention to what people were wearing, and what it might say about them. I was looking for clues about people in how they dressed and in how they carried themselves. I sort of played personality detective, using nothing more that dress and non-verbal cues to deduce certain things. I didn’t take it seriously. I treated it like a game.
        After a while of doing this, I reasoned that certain sides of people become more or less emphasized based on what they wear. For example, would you act a little differently in a club if you were dressed in a suit as opposed to a T-shirt and jeans? Probably. You would probably carry yourself differently as well.
        Then I took it a step further and asked why that would be. Maybe it isn’t that way for some people. And I guess that’s the point. Can the essence of who you are be expressed and shine through, no matter what you wear? If, for example, I were wearing something I didn’t like, somebody would probably be able to see that. I would most likely carry myself differently than I would if I thought I looked kick ass. Some of me would therefore probably get lost in the translation.
        I don’t think this has anything to do with how shallow or deep somebody is. It may, however, have something to do with vanity. I consider myself a very deep person, and anybody who knows me well would say the same thing. That doesn’t mean, though, that I’m not concerned with shallow things like appearance. I make no bones about it: I want to look good. I want to be in great shape, and possess what most would consider a beautiful body. I want people to think I’m handsome, attractive, sexy, etc. So I put time and effort into taking care of myself.
        My standards for myself are much higher than they are for anybody else. Just because I want to look a certain way doesn’t mean I care about what people I love look like, because I don’t. I want them to be happy with themselves, whatever that means to them. I certainly don’t love anybody more or less depending on how they look.
        I am, however, more attracted to a woman who takes care of herself. Who works out and has, what I consider, a nice body. And a face can definitely launch a thousand of my ships. All in her direction.
        It would be a colossal mistake, however, to assume that I’m therefore shallow; that that’s all there is to me. It’s wrong to assume that there’s nothing else beneath the surface of me (or anybody else for that matter) just because I care a lot about what I look like. In some frank and honest discussions with friends, I’ve been told that some people who don’t know me assume that because of how dedicated I am to fitness, and the importance I place on how I look, that I must be a shallow, egotistical, rock-jock who doesn’t have a lot on the ball intellectually, and that I’m probably about as deep as a puddle.
        What’s fascinating to me is that I rarely make such sweeping assumptions about people based on how they look. So sometimes I have a hard time understanding why anybody else would. Like with the whole sparkly shirt thing, I ask “What’s the big deal?”. If a person is concerned with their appearance, that doesn’t necessarily say anything about what the rest of them is about. It’s just one piece of the very big, fantastic, intriguing puzzle of who they are. Maybe it’s a bigger piece for some people than for others, but you wouldn’t discover that until you got to know the person, would you?
        I do realize, however, where vanity can trip me up and cause me lots of problems. And I will readily admit that sometimes, I let it. If I don’t think I look good, it can screw with my head, my self image, and even my self worth. That’s not good. That’s me paying way too much attention to my ego. That’s me inhabiting the space of my lower self. My critical, judgmental, beat-the-crap-out-of-me self that I still struggle with.
        I believe that it’s possible for me to take care of myself the best I can, to look as good as I can, but not succumb to the pitfalls of vanity and ego. I can do it sometimes. I don’t believe it’s an all or nothing type of deal. I don’t buy that just because you’re so evolved and enlightened that you can look past appearance, it automatically means that you yourself don’t want to look killer. I want both. I want Enlightenment. AND a rockin’ bod.
        It comes down to the value I place on my own appearance. It comes down to self love. I can want to look a certain way. I can work at it and feel good about it. But I can love myself whether I look that way or not. I don’t have to hinge any sense of self worth based on what kind of shape I’m in.
        I don’t know how to do that yet. That doesn’t mean I’m shallow. It means I’m human. It means I’m flawed. It means I’ve got work to do.
        So I’m aware of this inner conflict. I’m conscious of the struggle, and I work on it. I work on myself; Body, Mind, Heart, Spirit, and the integration of those into a more whole self. I want to love myself the way I am, but always be growing. I want to be peaceful and content with myself, but always aspire to becoming more enlightened, more spiritual. Closer to my true self and closer to my higher power. I want to stay grounded, which is a lot harder for me than soaring. I can fly just fine. It’s keeping myself on the ground that I have have a hard time with.

Taken from the daily quote at www.yogawithjohn.com :

"he who sees all beings in the self and the self in all beings, henceforth has no more distress."
— Isha Upanishad

“Bingo.”
- Clint

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and the appearance of Wrongs) Reserved.

Pushing The Shimmering Shirt Envelope

        In Burlington Vermont, I came across a clothing store that contained the best selection of explosively colorful shirts I had ever seen. For men. This excited me, because when it comes to fashion, let’s face it, women have it all over guys. They can wear virtually anything, even a tie, and not get looked at like they’re from another planet. The range of colors, patterns, designs, and styles that women can wear give them vastly more choices.
        This seems somewhat unfair. Men are up against very entrenched and long standing tradition if they want to expand their fashion horizons and dress unconventionally. I’m not suggesting that guys start wearing skirts or anything. But I challenge the accepted parameters because they make no sense at all to me.
        The way I dress occasionally startles people. Especially if they have relatively narrow minds when it comes to men’s fashion. In extreme cases, what I wear can even provoke hostility, usually of the passive aggressive nature. My choice of clothing can disturb extremely critical and judgmental people who don’t see the value and beauty of diversity. And it can sometimes even confuse extremely conservative people about my sexual preference. But such are the risks you run when you dress the way you want and don’t pay attention to conformity, established norms, convention, or what other’s find fashionable. Or acceptable.
        Maybe it’s shocking to see a man wearing a sparkly purple shirt. But to me, what’s far more shocking is for anyone to assume that, because of the shirt I wear, I prefer having a guy’s dick in my mouth instead of a warm, succulent boob. As far as I’m concerned, the jump from conventional oxford to unconventional purple satin is nothing compared to the quantum leap one must make in assuming that I prefer “love-stick” over “love-cave” based solely on my clothing. Society’s arcane and prosaic limitations on masculinity and sexuality are what’s absurd. Not the damn shirt.
        As a musician, dressing differently often comes with the territory. Although I know plenty of musicians with a rather conservative fashion sense, I know plenty, like myself, who push the envelope. Those of us on the fringe don’t make a distinction between what we would wear on stage and what we would wear almost anywhere else. Maybe to us, all the world really is a stage.
        I know I have a different way of looking at things. But is it so crazy to expand one’s horizon regarding what a man can wear? An ex-girlfriend paid me the greatest of compliments when she said, “It’s not that Clint thinks outside the box. Clint doesn’t know there is a box.”. I couldn’t have said it better myself.
        If you’re honestly not into colorful and expressive clothing, then you’re not into it. There’s certainly no foul there. But have you ever asked yourself why? Is it because it’s just not your bag? Or do you actually like flashy clothing, and don’t wear it because you’re afraid of what people would think? Is it because colorful clothing would attract too much attention to yourself, and that makes you uncomfortable?
        And if that is you, all I’m saying is try to break free of those self-imposed limitations. Express yourself more fully through what you wear. Clothing is such an easy and functional way to exercise your uniqueness. Take advantage of it. Dressing exactly the way you want is loads of fun. And it’s a simple yet effective way of helping you own yourself. It’s a step in the process of fully being you.
        It’s astounding to me how much attention I receive whenever I wear one of my favorite shirts. Does a part of me wear it to get attention? Sure. But it’s much bigger than that. If I didn’t love what I was wearing, and did it only to turn heads, then I wouldn’t be comfortable in it. And I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. But I love what I have on, and it shows. I’m not just comfortable in flamboyant attire. I’m energized by it. I become as electric as the shirt I’m wearing. Or, closer to the truth, the shirt I’m wearing becomes an outward manifestation of how I feel.
        But c’mon, man. It’s just a shirt. I search myself, and for the life of me, I honestly can’t see what the big deal is. Apparently, I’m in the minority. Which is fine. Perplexing, but fine.
        When all is said and done, I am my own fashion statement. And that’s how I’d like everyone to be. Maybe that’s my unconventional convention.

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a closet full of Wrong Shirts) Reserved.

Full Tilt Halloween

©2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and Wrongs) Reserved.

My Sparkly Belt

       I’ve got this sparkly belt. The kind you get at those teeny-bopper earring and accessory shops at the mall. In fact, that’s where I bought mine. It’s leather, has a simple silver buckle, and it’s covered in those highly reflective, prismatic sparkles. It was cheap too. I think it cost me about fourteen bucks.
        When I first saw the belt, I didn’t think of it in terms of masculine or feminine. To me, it was just shiny and bright and sparkling and colorful. I’m drawn to such items, whether it be clothing or cars or music equipment or whatever else. Bright, shiny, colorful things always grab my attention. They excite me, stir something in me, give me joy. Just because they’re shiny and colorful and bright. Very much like a child who finds a shiny marble. It’s an automatic, pre-cognitive, visceral response. I can’t help it. Nor do I want to.
        In one of my first blogs, I talked about wearing clothing that reflects who you are on the inside. If you do this, then you look good in those clothes, regardless of what the clothes are. There is nothing in my wardrobe that better exemplifies this point than this cheap, sparkly belt that was designed to be worn by teenage girls.
        I can pull this belt off. Because I like it. Because I’m not self conscious about it. Because I connect to things that are sparkly and bright. So therefore this silly little belt reflects something that’s alive in me. If any of that wasn’t true, I’d look uncomfortable wearing that belt, and I wouldn’t be able to get away with it, so to speak. If you put me in a pair of khakis with a sweater, you would see a man at odds with himself. The way somebody else might be if they wore that belt.
        It’s got nothing to do with masculinity or femininity. Those are subjective labels that vary from person to person. I don’t find the belt feminine. I don’t look at it and go “That’s girly”. Somebody else might, and that’s fine. I look at the belt and go “That’s cool. I like that belt”. And that’s all I need to buy it. And to wear it.
        I haven’t worn this belt in over two years. I wasn’t even aware of that until this morning when I looked at it, grabbed it, and decided to wear it. The moment I threaded it through my jeans, an epiphany revealed itself to me. The last time I wore the belt was just before my dad died. Then I realized that when he passed away, something bright and shiny and colorful inside of me went away too. Just like he did.
        That something has been missing from my life since then. This past summer, when I experienced a great opening of my heart, that something started to make it’s way back to me. Through the last several months, that bright and shiny and sparkly and colorful something inside of me has been rediscovered. A major reason for that is because I’ve finally allowed myself to grieve the death of my dad, feel that pain, and thus invite this bright and sparkly something back. Pain was blocking this shiny something, and most of the other light in my life, from reaching me. Letting go of the darkness has opened me up to light again. I’m wearing the belt now because of what’s inside me again. Something bright and shiny and colorful.
        Who would have ever thought that a cheap sparkly belt made for teenage girls could teach a man so much?

© 2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a colorful amount of Wrongs) Reserved.

Dress Without Repress

        Have you ever wondered why you look great in certain outfits but in others you could haunt a house? Women probably have, but not many men give this question much thought. I have. And like everything else, it’s an inside job.
        If what you’re wearing reflects who you are on the inside, you look like a million bucks. Regardless of what you have on. You feel great wearing what’s you, and you exude a palpable ease and confidence.
        Put me in a pair of khakis. Really nice ones that fit great and that are ironed. Better yet, pleated. Add any pair of shoes that go with khakis and make them brown. Give me a collared shirt with an insignia over the left or right nipple. What do you have? A Nightmare. The kind that makes you wake up sweating and screaming for your teddy bear. Why? Because those clothes have absolutely nothing to do with what’s inside of me.
        Years ago, when I was young and foolish, I would let my girlfriends “dress me”. After the torture session, they would stand back and say “You look so nice!”.  I would stand there mortified, my head flush with blood, dreading being seen in public donning this clown outfit. Which is exactly what it felt like. Because in their quest to fashionably domesticate me, they were choosing only what they liked, with precious little regard for what I liked. They would mutate my style so drastically that it wasn’t remotely me anymore. And isn't love about letting someone be themselves, fashion sense (or senseless) and all, and loving them precisely for that?
        I’m not saying that women can’t help their men dress. It’s actually fun when they do. Sometimes even necessary. But it’s only a good trip when women work with their man, not against him. Guys, if you have to wear a monkey suit, then choose your monkey. Make it a suit you’re totally into. Make it, for example, a purple suit that’s professionally tailored. I have a suit like that. Love it. If the event is so conservative that a purple suit would get you arrested (there are events this stuffy, although I’ve thankfully never been to one), then go with something that’s still you within the parameters of the occasion. In every situation, there are options available that don't completely compromise who you are and what you want to wear.
        Male or female, it’s true that if you’re secure enough with who you are, you can wear anything and feel okay. But I’m not talking about feeling okay. Life is too short to settle for feeling “okay” when you can feel “Kick Ass”.
        So dress as yourself, whatever that means, always. If the event warrants a wig and spandex pants, like say a “Rock Star” Party, then by all means gentlemen, start your engines. Don’t let woman have all the fun. Always Dress to Kick Ass. For me, sometimes that means a long leather coat, jeans, and a t-shirt. Or maybe black vinyl pants and a shirt covered in tiny red mirrors. Another favorite are shorts and a flannel shirt (my current attire). Better yet, shorts and no shirt (my usual attire). It doesn’t matter. If it’s you, really you, it’s hot. Now excuse me while I get naked. That’s what feels like me at the moment. I’m taking a shower. Outside. No stall. No neighbors within three hundred feet. Looking out at the ocean. Now THAT kicks ass.

© 2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and Wrongs) Reserved

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