My Sense of Style (Or Lack Thereof)

I've noticed something over the past year or so, and I can't quite decided whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. No, it's not the fact I've grown up to possess these devilishly good looks or an impressive set of muscles (largely because I am not blessed with either), but in fact, that I as I've grown up I have seemed to inherit something from my father. His sense of style (if you could call it that!).

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I was ever stylish in the first place (except, perhaps, when I was a really young child and wore the snazziest purple waistcoat imaginable to my cousin Alexandra's Christening) but at least I was a bit rebellious or different with what I wore. Up until college, my mother insisted that she owned my hair because I couldn't be trusted with it, and although growing it excessively long from the age of fourteen to sixteen was probably a good indicator that this was, in fact true, it did not excuse her for giving me a buzz-cut for the first few years of my teenage life. Two wrongs don't make a right, Mum, and surely even you could not ignore that I was never able to grow hair on my head properly!

Moving on from the positive and negative poles my hair managed (or occasionally did not manage) to reach, and my sense of clothing style wasn't much better. If a robber ever broke into my house, he'd probably have been discovered by his uncontrollable laughter as he rifled through the piles of spinach green pullovers and bland black Snape-Tops that filled my wardrobes and drawers. I was a boring sod when it came to clothing myself - I didn't want to risk looking like an idiot, so I went for looking like an idiot instead. Shrewd, me.

As it was, I looked like a hippie who occasionally came out without his hair (again, thanks mum). So as I grew older, I started to swap pullovers and long-sleeved tops for button up shirts of all colours and materials - denim, when the occasion called for it (double denim never has an excuse to be worn, but I subjected people to it regardless!) The problem was that I couldn't stop. I soon found myself buying sweaters and waistcoats to wear over my shirts, trousers to add a sense of uniformity and proper shoes. I didn't want to 'look cool' anymore - I wanted to look smart. My hair began to recede to a reasonable lengthy (gradually) and I ditched dealer jackets for nice coats. I was slowly becoming my Dad. I don't mean splitting up with my wife and ordering a fishing license, of course. But I remember the sweaters my Dad used to wear (and still does), and the polo shirts on summers days and I think to myself: "John, you're looking like your Dad today!) In fact, I even tuck my shirt in, to which people tell me (and now myself) I dress like my Dad! Is this a bad thing? Maybe. But what would you rather see; a long-haired John with a fringe down to his top lip and a scraggy black pullover, or a nice and smart-looking John, who looks a bit old fashioned but you wouldn't mind going out in public with*? I know which version of me I prefer!

* This is assuming you want to be seen in public with me anyroad!