Style is largely subjective. Aside from white leather, pleather, real fur, and Crocs, right?

 

Wrong. As one celebrity said- “One woman’s leopard print is another woman’s poison”. (OK I totally just made that up.)

So, I’ve been a serial monogamist like, foreeeeveeeer. Being in 3 “biggy” relationships from the age of 15 to 30, I’ve been somewhat sheltered, you could say. Sheltered from all the men with bad hair, gold neckchains, canary yellow sports cars and polyester running shorts. Yep. Until now.

Being single has taught me a sh*tload about men’s fashion. Well, at least, *my* opinion of men’s fashion.

 

Cape Town is supposed to be like, super creative awesomely stylish, right?

Its one thing to show solidarity to your country by rocking a green Bok’s jersey. But every weekend whether it’s summer or winter? Nuh-uh.

 

And the shoes!!! Oh dear God don’t get me started on the shoes. I didn’t think I was this judgemental, but those clunky tractor-soled shoes?? The ones that a million used car salesmen around South Africa wear?? If a man wore those on our first date, I’d feign illness, go home, and change my phone number.

I’m totally down with clothes that don’t look brand new. The worn-in, comfy look is fab. Or daft, if he happens to be wearing a 3 piece acid-tie-dyed denim outfit (that looks so ‘distressed’ it must’ve witnessed a war). Or bizarrely uneasy on the eye if its “worn in linen”- so worn he looks like he slept in it for a week. In a small box.

 

Also… It wasn’t the candles on the cake that made me feel my age last birthday. It was realising, despite my interest in keeping up to date with trends, I’m wayyyyy too old to condone men wearing jeans so tight and CLEARLY the wrong size, that an 8 year old should be wearing them. Don’t get me wrong, I love a tight(-ish) jean pant on a man. Just, not so tight that I can see what religion he is, and not so low that I can see whether he manscapes or not. Shudder. It’s enough to make me lose my lunch.

 

However, in saying that, it takes serious balls for a straight man to carry off fluoro and silk (just, not together, please). I respect someone who has enough chutzpah to wear his Dad’s 70’s snakeskin boots and order a latte with sprinkles and still be comfortable in his sexuality.

 

One of my male friends who is straight as an arrow came in to visit me at work recently. He wears tweed, is covered in tattoos, is grey, and wears more jewellery than most women I know. My 73 year old colleague came to my office to let me know I had a visitor. “Someone’s here to see you,” she said. In reply to my perplexed look she said “You know- tall, dresses funny, obviously a dandy…” while she walked away and muttered to herself “…they just don’t make them like they used to.”

 

Thank heavens for that- Brylcream and braces can’t be very uncomfortable.

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