I walked down the street, thinking about the clothes I was wearing: a
clean white shirt, a tie, khaki pants, and comfortable black sneakers. A
uniform, without a doubt -- the style of the young professionals who were
transforming the old German soul of my neighborhood. Already the
Schwartzwalder Metzgerei had closed, already fleece vests tied their dogs to
parking meters in front of the new Starbucks.
I walked past, seeing myself reflected in the windows, looking out, tie
flapping in the unseasonably warm March wind. And it all hung on that tie.
I had hoped that this thin ribbon of fabric would signal something important
about myself. Did it? Was it the O. Henry ending to my outfit, revealing
to passing bystanders the ironic stance at the core of my whole outlook?
Did this decidedly non-stylish and obviously camp tie signal something
important about myself? Or were these faceless people shuffing past seeing
it as a feeble gesture of rebellion? The last bubbles of a yuppie, sinking
into comfortable middle age.
clean white shirt, a tie, khaki pants, and comfortable black sneakers. A
uniform, without a doubt -- the style of the young professionals who were
transforming the old German soul of my neighborhood. Already the
Schwartzwalder Metzgerei had closed, already fleece vests tied their dogs to
parking meters in front of the new Starbucks.
I walked past, seeing myself reflected in the windows, looking out, tie
flapping in the unseasonably warm March wind. And it all hung on that tie.
I had hoped that this thin ribbon of fabric would signal something important
about myself. Did it? Was it the O. Henry ending to my outfit, revealing
to passing bystanders the ironic stance at the core of my whole outlook?
Did this decidedly non-stylish and obviously camp tie signal something
important about myself? Or were these faceless people shuffing past seeing
it as a feeble gesture of rebellion? The last bubbles of a yuppie, sinking
into comfortable middle age.