It wasn’t until I graduated from law school and began my Bar Admission Articles with Messrs. Macdonald, Affleck Barrs &c that I recall having taken any particular notice of or interest in apparel. The one exception of memory is at law school when I purchased a light cotton shirt known popularly as a Joe Cocker shirt – long sleeved, collarless neck, 3-button. Other than that modest focus (and the full-length racoon coat my mother gave me), clothing was then strictly utilitarian. Like most students I hadn’t the money or time to preoccupy myself with costume of any description.
But the practice of law changed that. At the law firm on Sparks Street I was acquainted with Palette Taylor, a mom-and-pop business conveniently located nearby on the 2nd floor of a narrow red brick building on Sparks Street adjacent the Royal Bank of Canada. Palette (I believe that was his family name) was of East European heritage. He and his wife worked together, assiduously performing their art of tailoring and sewing. Within a short time I was wearing 3-piece suits of soft woollen fabric, dark blue or charcoal grey. My father gave me his late father’s Ponchelon & Frères gold pocket watch and chain with Masonic fob attached. I subsequently changed the fob to a gold rotating clasp of semi-precious stones (probably bloodstone and amber). I ultimately gave the watch and chain to my niece and goddaughter when, not long after retirement, I began my precipitous descent from formal apparel. No more tailored suits or custom ordered shirts. Everything was back to cheap and comfortable.
What did survive was collateral apparel; that is, stuff that was appropriate to the climate. For ten years after my retirement (my partner had already retired years before) we wintered in sub-tropical climes. Accordingly we of necessity learned to alter our costumes from snowbound climes to Palmetto ferns and palm trees. So particular were we in this alteration that we learned to develop routines appropriate for the extremes (cold and heat) and in-between (moderate compromise). Because we have always driven to and from our destination by automobile, this meant, for example, when returning home, we translated from shorts and short-sleeved shirts to long pants (or sweatpants) and long-sleeved shirts with sweater (cardigan or jersey).
If I am completely honest about this sartorial transformation, much of it was accelerated by my commensurate enlargement. Part of my retirement routine had been driving my automobile about the countryside. During that convention I unwittingly discovered Antrim Truck Stop. There I unearthed carrot cake, lathered with thick, sweet vanilla icing. As I like to quip, “One’s teeth began to rot when the fork was about here…!”
The corollary of this indulgence was the indisputable irrelevance of my remaining formal wardrobe. The cashmere sports jackets and matching flannel trousers were utterly useless. Sweaters which were less than XL (or progressively XXL) were history. So-called dress shoes were redundant, as were dress socks, dress shirts and suspenders. All of it went to the local thrift shop. There was no point imagining that “one day” (such as for funerals or weddings) I might have need of such apparel (which in any case would never fit).
By design I am now reduced to wearing almost the same thing every day. I have adopted a routine wash cycle to keep things rotating until they dissolve. Everything I have looks the same, basically white or black. Whatever shoes I prefer have also been duplicated for similar convenience; as have my pullovers, smalls, socks and spectacles. The motivation is transparency and comfort.
Surrounding the alteration was the effect of downsizing from a large home to a small apartment. Choice became the critical factor, affecting everything, not only furnishings, accessories and artwork but also jewellery. It was a metaphorical return to the womb; the remodelling of erstwhile complication to current simplicity. In the process the synthesis of agreeability insinuated the whole; namely, whatever was no longer compatible with the rest was abandoned. Cuff links for example. Or ostentatious rings. Or long-forgotten ornaments in that drawer that I never opened. I literally boiled down some materials to a new expression, removing myself from the disturbing to the reconcilable.
In every respect this diminished, sterilized state of possessions identified the currency of my being. So many things were now beyond interest or necessity. Commensurately insurance premiums plummeted. The entire retail facade evaporated. Shopping and malls were a thing of the past. Meanwhile on-line purchases replaced the now foreign exigencies. We had even commissioned the construction and installation of a tombstone at Auld Kirk cemetery! All was now in readiness for departure. Superfluity had been reduced to commonality. All that remained of my former extravagance was a possible hint of piercing of my left earlobe when I was 21 years old. I had instructed that the rings and gold chain were to be removed before my incineration. Dressing for the occasion is thus superfluous.