Bringing up Brother.....A Tale of Style

I guess I'd consider myself quasi-stylish. I mean, it's not like I'm cutting edge-latest labels to hit the streets-just got back from Bryant Park last week" fashionable. But I'd like to think I can hold my own out there. I prefer Polished over Bohemian, put-together before practical....I guess to put it into a designer perspective...I'm a little more JCrew, a little less Betsey Johnson.

Now my dear brother is 4 years my senior but in fashion years, sometimes he seems to fall 10 years my junior.  While he cleans up better than most guys I know, his skewed idea of "dressed-up" is jeans with any shirt that doesn't have writing sprawled across the front.  One time, years back, I came home from college to find him sitting at our parents kitchen table, donning his Naval Academy "dress whites".  I teared up on spot. Not because of the honor and dignity that this uniform symbolized....but more so because I had never seen a crisper pleat in my life. I wanted to meet the man that ironed his pants and ask him to marry me.  Now a good part of my preppy persona is not my fault.  They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and our mother just so happens to put the "class" in Classic.  On any given day, she looks like she stepped fresh out of a Talbot’s catalog. She came from the era of khaki and Keds and she threw us into the back of that wagon the moment we met her. Our dad’s not too far off this path either. He used to sport monogrammed Lacoste sweaters in college (the reason, our mom tells us now, that she first fell for him) and I have still yet to see the man EVER wear a shirt without a collar. I'm serious. No T-shirts for this guy. I'm not kidding. He cuts the grass in Cutter & Buck Polos, circa 1995.

Speaking of the good ol’ 90's...turns out Don Henley wasn't the only thing cheesy about this decade. This also marks the wonderful era that gives way to the infamous "portrait". That’s right folks...I’m talking about the WHOLE family (aunts, uncles, cousins...Nanie and Pop-Pop too) actually stood on the steps of a historic building in my collegiate hometown (there were pillars) to pose for a photo in matching white shorts and navy polos. I swear to God. You can't make this shit up.

Anyways.... my point is that I don't envy my brother. He has been stuck with a fashion-obsessed mother-sister combo for 30 whole years. That's 360 months of latest trends, must-have seasonal selections, and a whole lot of us talking about nothing at all. I must say he has been a trooper.  There are times when he attempts to rebel from our gentle guidance.  One faux paus has been permanently branded into my memory, despite my constant attempts to black it out. It was one of our family’s most favorite times of year: college football season.  We have been tailgating with aggressive passion for the past 30 plus years at the university in our hometown.  While the team might be 1-AA, our tailgates our nothing short of A plus.  My mom spends Monday through Friday preparing, my dad is sent on countless "errands" the whole week prior, and my brother and I now do our best to make it into town for at least one home game each year.  Last year all of our schedules allowed for us to convene for the single best game of the year. Homecoming.  It was a crisp, fall morning in early November as well all bustled around the house, trying to get out the door and to the stadium. My mom and I were clad in our freshest denim and must-have boots for the season. Dad was vigorously ironing, putting the final touches on his striped oxford. Friends were arriving to carpool, all sporting their fall favorites as well.  Then there was brother.  He bounced down the stairs and rounded his way into the kitchen, where I almost choked on my pumpkin latte.  His jeans were from a decade I wasn't present for and they were torn in several places. (Not in a rock star meets hipster way), but instead it looked as if they had been washed over 1000 times and possibly slept in the night before.)  The jeans were paired with a black hooded sweatshirt with a skull and cross bones displayed on the back.  I think the front might have mentioned some sort of "Bike Week" extravaganza that I am sure he didn't attend and there were noticeable stains on the arms, despite the black color.  With one hand I covered my mothers eyes and fought back the urge to slap him across the face with my other. It was as if the cheer just escaped the room. My spirit for all things fall and football was lost.  I begged him to change but he refused.  So onwards we went, 3 human beings and our one alien offspring.  Believe me, I always put up a fight.  But sometimes you just can't win.

But despite moments like this, where he has a momentary lapse in judgment and sheer decency, he has developed a style all his own.  And I can respect that. While I may get on him for his lack of de rigueur, he is privileged to have acquired our mom's gene of "wearing anything well". He can rock Chuck Taylors and corduroy with the same swagger as he can a three-piece suit. So while I get on him when he's wearing his favorite royal blue polo from Goodwill (it has the name "Charlie" stitched in white lettering over the left breast pocket for Gods sake); the reason for my lecturing seems fair. Why should someone settle for simple when they're meant to be smashing?

-Bird