Free Style

Among all its other claims to fame, New York is a fashion town. There are always fashion trends being set in this town, and it’s evident as you walk the streets here. People spend lots of time and heaps of money to look just right, and to make sure that people know that they look just right. I'm convinced that storefront windows serve a dual purpose -- to show the fashions that a store has for sale, and to give people a reflective surface in which to check themselves out as they walk by.

Sadly, I am not much of a fashionisto. For instance, I have a tendency to wear clothes in a very limited color range. To equate it to nature -- I wear clothes ranging from the color of dirt to the color of shrubs, with a smattering of exotic tree barks interspersed. I occasionally break free of this, but it doesn't happen that often.

I am working on this, though. I have even enlisted the help of some of my friends to help modify my look (thanks again, Katie and Bridget). I am trying to push the envelope, to breach the invisible walls of my comfort zone. To wear things I wouldn't normally wear; sleek styles, colors of consequence.

There is a fashion company that has offices in this building that I work in. You can usually spot the people that work there on the elevator, not only by the button they push but by the heartbreakingly fashionable way they dress. One afternoon, I was on the elevator with someone who worked at this fashion company. She looked good and, clearly knowing this, she glanced with a smile at her reflection on the door (yes, even elevator doors in this town are aids to narcissistic indulgence). Standing right next to her, I decided to see how my reflection looked in apples-to-oranges comparison.

It was then that I realized that my zipper was down. Barn door was wide open. Fly so down it should be popping Zoloft. And it was also at that moment that I was reminded that I had worn my bright red boxers that day.

My reaction was to--as smoothly as possible--cover myself. After leaving the elevator and letting the initial embarrassment pass, though, I realized that I had definitely left my comfort zone. I had made a bold fashion move, and was probably the only person over the age of 7 to make such a move that day in New York. Not only that, but I had accentuated my look with the most noticeable underpants I own. However unwittingly, I had fashion moxie.

You see, I don't just set trends. I set them on fire.