Another fashion note, this one sparked by my following bicyclists down Market Street and reinforced by a recent observation from my Dutch friend Mark.
In the old days, nobody could have been more utterly unconcerned with his underwear than the average straight man. Underwear was something your mother bought in bulk for you, the cheapest brand available, and under ideal circumstances the tattered remnants of the last set she bought lasted until you were married and your bride took over the duty of getting your undergarments.
Times have changed, and if the straight men i see in San Francisco are at all typical, they are now selecting their underwear with the attention to detail previously exercised only by gay underwear fetishists. Well, see, for the first time in history, men’s underwear shows, since fashion now decrees that the waistband with its designer logo plus an inch or two of the brightly patterned fabric be displayed above the belt, which is now cinched on the upper slopes of the buttocks.
Me, i’m still parting my hair on the side. And there’s nothing i can do about that because i have a Tiger Barber, an ethnic Chinese from Vietnam who is not long to be denied what she knows is best for my hair.
