Don't match, just don't clash

The World has gone mad,
It’s left me quite sad.

I find it most abominable,
more than a little improbable,
that not a long time ago,
I knew what clothes to forgo.
Yesterday I knew what to wear,
But now that question’s up in the air.

The question is a poignant one.
Grueling, not easily done.
In this world of several passions,
how does one fashion his fashions?
I took a small gander,
and saw over yonder,
dear Marc Jacobs in a dress of lace.
I’d copy him but really I lack the grace.
I’d feel a mess, a downright disgrace.
More power to him though, he’s got great taste.

I turned to my Scottish Brother kilted on the hill,
But this too was incapable of fitting the bill.
My legs felt remarkably bare.
My pores stood, constricting my hairs.
The wool was far too scratchy,
It made my nethers itchy.
I scratched until I could feel no more,
My buttocks were red, my scrotum sore.

I turned again to the Arabian knights,
Their garments were quite ill suited for the night.
One night In winter I wore them out for a bite.
But I ended up bitten by the bitter cold.
I hear you ask, why no gloves or thermals?
They made the get up look quite abysmal.

Even though I had failed not once but thrice.
I was quite determined to get it right.
I looked at men in the middle ages
And found them more dapper than the mages.

Clad in a shirt, doublet and hose,
I wandered the streets, quite verbose.
All I got were funny looks and glances.
Some even asked if I was dandy.

I decided then and there most discreetly
No odd items of clothing would ever grace me.
I stuck with the plain Bob and Spencer,
And even shopped at Marks and Spencer.
But this disagreed with my attitude
I lost my muchness, my amplitude.
I thought to myself, “Surely there has to be a way
To be individual without appearing gay.”

An idea struck me like a gong,
I knew that I couldn’t be wrong,
I picked up a blazer of rust,
It made the sales girl sick with lust,
I paired this with a bicycle of yellow,
Aren’t I quite the fashionable fellow?
I pulled on some shorts of pink,
Even brighter than the sink.
To silence the conservatives,
I did something unobtrusive
I slipped on a shirt of white,
I dare say I looked quite bright.
For the shoes, I didn’t think at all,
I bought velvet loafers from the mall.

It turned out that all I needed to know,

About looking like a chap in the know,

Was too ignore all thoughts of matching,

While somehow preventing clashing

I developed a mantra,

to steer me clear of all fashion palavers

Don’t match, just don’t clash.

Happy days,

1 comment:

Matildaschild said...

LOVE! Absotively, Posolutely correct!

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