Clothes Make The Man

What I should do is to pick five outfits and label them. One for each day of the week. To wear at the job. I spend too much time on sartorial choices. Though most people spend more. Before bed, I go to the closet. Wonder what I wore yesterday, forget what I’ve worn today, unsure what to wear tomorrow. How much easier to have a Wednesday outfit. Labeled. A tag sewn in the back of the pants, the tail of the shirt. This is what I’ll do, I think, in the clear-headed morning. When everything is possible. But by afternoon, I revise this. I see the flaws. I’ll be wearing an olive oil stain, wrinkles, the wrong tie choking me. Saturday I’ll wear Thursday’s shirt and Monday’s pants. I’ll forget to wash Wednesday’s outfit. Thinking all this, I’m anxious about it already. The wreck of the system. All my old irresponsibilities. I’m the screw up I’ve always been. No matter the outfit. Without having even begun. Standing at the closet, I stop planning. I take down a blue oxford and jeans. I imagine one of my students: you wore that two days ago. I smile and close the closet. It’s alright, I tell the mirror. Same outfit, different man.