While shopping in Banana Republic yesterday--
(pause until the cries of DIE YUPPIE SCUM die down)
--I overheard the staff person asking a customer, “And do you intend to wear the shirt untucked or tucked in?”
The customer replied “Tucked in,” and a brief pause ensued and then the staff person said “I see.”
I wasn’t surprised by the staff person’s question and I wasn’t surprised by his patronizing follow through. I read in the Times a while back that keeping shirttails flying is the new trend. There’s even a major designer who refuses to wear his shirts tucked in. It’s a way for young men to separate themselves from an older generation, demonstrating their hipness and edge.
I don’t like keeping my shirts untucked. It’s not tidy. And you say, oh, well, you’re just revealing your lack of hipness and edginess in the face of this new, unkempt generation. But it’s more than that. These kids don’t understand the importance of multiple identities.
What these hipsters fail to recognize is that it’s necessary to be both Clark Kent and Superman. Wearing tucked in shirts to work and other respectable locales is being Clark Kent. Then, on your own time, you can be Superman.
These kids want to be all Superman, all the time. It won’t work. Not even Superman can be Superman all the time.
Take the case of Jimmy Chapman, 24-year old Wall Street stockbroker. Jimmy will start the day by arriving at the office and doing his presentation, shirttails flying, making everyone uncomfortable and sweaty because this young turk is apparently a slob yet doing a great job--and then he’ll go to a power lunch, kicking back martinis, shirttails still flying--and then he’ll get off work and go shop at Pottery Barn and Sharper Image and then he’ll hit the club, and he’s getting a bit tired now, because he’s still in Superman mode as evidenced by his flying shirttails--and eventually he’ll take drugs and get in a fight and someone will kick his ass and he’ll lie bleeding in an alley somewhere, his loose shirttails flapping morosely in the chill night air like two, small white flags of surrender.
And when that happens, I’ll be there.
I’ll stand over poor Jimmy’s body. And I’ll say, “Jimmy, you can’t be Superman all day. Some times you have to be Clark Kent.”
And also: “The only reason you don’t tuck in your shirt is because you’re trying to hide an enormous beer gut.*
*In other news: just when you think keeping a blog is super lame, someone who comments on your site emails you and says she’ll be in town, and so you meet up, and she says “How about a beer on me?” And you say “Really?” And she says “No, not really” and you say “Awwww” and she says “It’s actually TWO beers” and you say “Rock!” and you talk and she’s very interesting and totally nice! Although it’s weird when talking to someone who reads your site and frequently references things you’ve posted, and you’re all “You mean I actually mentioned that I’m a color-blind albino hermaphrodite?” and she’s all “Sure, back in October 2003.” It was fun! Thanks Frank!**
**Can’t link to her*** site because she just reads and comments; she doesn’t have a blog. So those of you with blogs who only meet other people with blogs, eat it. Commenters rule.
***Who the hell names their daughter Frank? I don’t know, but my dad is apparently now named “Papa Goose” so I don’t cast stones.
Some motherly advice—STAY AWAY FROM INTERNET RELATIONSHIPS! They’re totally creepy.
Even Internet friendships? I think not.
Maybe that used to be the case with AOL chat rooms, but this is different. Not sure if I’d meet someone, but whatever. If I didn’t, it’s not because I’d be thinking they were an axe murderer or serial rapist.
If you all just wore Menudo half-shirts this wouldn’t be an issue.
At last! Someone else understands the need to have a secret identity! Also, when you dress nicely for business things and then dress...er...’hip’...for personal time and you run into someone who only knows you in your Clark Kent persona you often learn valuable things as they begin babbling to cover up the fact that they’re now trying desperately not to look at your body. *g*
Umm...do you suppose those guys wear their shirt tails out because they can’t wear dress slacks in such a way that their boxers show? I saw some guy (not a kid) trying to cross the street with his pants nearly to his knees, holding them up with one hand. And when his feet got tangled up and he fell in front of the bus I wasnt quit sure if I should feel sorry for him or praise Darwin at work!!! (btw, he didn’t get hit...but it was damn close)
Well said. Men’s shirts need to be tucked in at work unless of course their chosen occupation is construction worker or trash truck jockey. On the other hand, there are a lot of women out there that need to UNtuck their shirts. Women have more options in that fashion arena and a quick backup to the mirror before exiting the house would quickly provide guidance in this department.
Have you never heard of the song about Frankie and Jonnie, who were lovers? Which was which? As to shirts out, I’ve been doing that for years, and I never had an idea it would hide the paunch. It’s just more comfortable. Also, it hides whatever is hanging on my belt, like my gold-plated cell phone, PDA, slide rule, etc. And I adopted Papa Goose as it grew in popularity on your blog. Have you ever eaten a turduken?
sometimes i think i like clark kent better than superman. but then again, maybe i am just a sucker for those cute square glasses (and tucked-in shirt tails).
I have not eaten a turduken but I’ve read Studs Terkel. (Why do I feel like I’m reciting some old bestselling greeting card?)
That actually sounds more like Groucho Marx in reverse.
Props on the Studs Terkel thing, though.
I love guy names for girls. Frank is cool. I want to name one of my daughters Charlie someday.
the man blouse.
i admit it. i’m all about the man blouse. and always untucked. those shirt tails are the cape for young, urban superman.
however, i need to make a quick correction. as man blouses are typically quite fitted, an untucked fitted shirt will NEVER hide a beer belly. in fact it will only make you look like you are clubbing in maternity wear.
What do I know? The square-cut shirttail may be worn out. The long-ass codpiece-style (or diaper, if you prefer) shirttail really cries to be tucked. While yr at it, velcro the tails at yr taint and do a little fencing. I still prefer the fatherless look of the untucked to the mama’s boy look of the tucked.
BTW, it isn’t an enormous beer gut...it happens to be an enormous spare tire.
So you people are saying I should be embarrassed by the fact that I’ve met five readers/other bloggers in person, only because of our blogs, and most of them are now, like, some of my closest friends. Well, I am. But it’s way worth it.
I was just looking up to see when Garden State starts (I was looking forward to The Village, but now all I have is Garden State) and I happened upon Zach Braff’s blog. Damn! Everyone has a blog...’cept Frank, apparently: http://www2.foxsearchlight.com/gardenstate/blog/
Well, I try not to tuck, but I still maintain my secret identity by, in my non-work life, dressing even more sloppily then at work. On numersous occassions I’ve run into coworkers outside of work, given them a nod of recognition, and had their eyes slide right over me as they fail to recognize me. So maybe you can’t Superman all the time, but you don’t have to be Clark Kent either. Maybe you could try for more of a Moon Knight/ Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley model.
Also known as schizophrenia.
Or maybe I’ve just read too many comics.
I tuck my shirt in at work because I’m guessing the big bosses here don’t keep up with the latest fashion trends so they won’t be like “look at that young hipster staying on the cutting edge of fashion”. They’ll be like, “Tuck your shirt in, douchebag. This is a professional atmosphere”.
Turducken ROCKS. Craige is my given name and I’m 100% woman. A friend I met online is going to be in my wedding. I think that about covers it.
Clearly you are not in grad school anymore, or the tech industry for that matter. My office is filled with people who don’t own shirts with shirt tails. Screw that Clark Kent crap, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
jw: I assure you my interest in Mr. Aplenty is purely platonic, as my husband insists that I refrain from dating other men.
Thanks, Greg. I had a lovely afternoon, though now I’m a bit embarrassed having worn my shirt all Superman stylee. That Bass ale’s terribly unforgiving, you know.
“Even Internet friendships? I think not.”
“So you people are saying I should be embarrassed by the fact that I’ve met five readers/other bloggers in person, only because of our blogs, and most of them are now, like, some of my closest friends. Well, I am. But it’s way worth it.”
OK! I guess I should admit that, just because I’M a whack-job, nut-case, not EVERYBODY is! Some Motherly advice—Stay away from ME. I’m totally creepy.
DIE YUPPIE SCUM!
those are your harsh words (not mine)… I actually wear my shirts untucked on days when i wear my big-ass World Class Wrestling Federation (WCWF) Championship belt. Unlike Clark Kent, my Superman-secret identity is for real, bitch
So Greg, I’ve decided to quit blogging and dedicate myself to commenting on your site. When can I buy you a pair of beers?
(I promise to tuck a shirt in. Not MY shirt, you understand, but a nearby shirt will work just fine, right?)
EV: (licks cheek)
Rob: Sadly enough, I get the reference.
jennnnnn: If I had met my future self while in graduate school and had any idea I’d ever write such a thing, I would have kicked my own ass.
frank: No worries...drinking beer is totally Superman.
Donovan: Worst. Secret. Identity. Ever.
Jules: ANYTIME
Excellent commentary on the state of shirt tail affairs. I’ve noted it in my book of Useless Shit Greg Tells Me, and am ready for the next page.
On meeting commenters/fellow bloggers. It’s good stuff. It’s definetly reserved for shirt tails untucked moments.
I am quasi-superman, because I work from home. usually in my husband’s boxers. or out of them. either way, really. And also, there are pretty much no clubs where I live, so no alter ego is required.
I’m never washing my cheek again.
So the whole “to tuck or untuck” question is a strange shift of our culture I have not quite taken the liberty to understand—‘xept on the peripheral. And there’s this thing I’ve been hearing of, called THE. Metrosexual. And hotmail has to remind me every third day of said cultural phenomenon. But apparently the sub-culture of Mr. Metro.... has died. (An oversaturation of media, go figure.) And in its wake—because cultural capitalism always has to have a wake and something in it—is this thing that scares me more than my mother’s self-hair-dye job. It’s called the technosexual. Have you heard? [url=http://www.technosexual.org]http://www.technosexual.org[/url] Scary, freakish sh**. Soon instead of facing people with the dillema of tucking, you’ll meet people who are bickering just as adamantly over whether this particular coffee maker is “in.” (and what’s the deal with the __(enter something here)__-sexual crap anyway???
Hey, hey, stop slaggin’ the internet relationships. I’m feelin’ a little bit sensitive here . . . there’s NOTHING WRONG WITH WEBLOVE. I wouldn’t have met my wife without Al Gore’s invention . . . and NO, it wasn’t an internet-dating site or anything like that (unless you consider a Rush (you know, the band?) mailing list a dating service,) and neither of us went looking for a relationship, and we also happened to live just minutes apart for most of our lives and went to the same school . . . nevermind. Y’all clearly wouldn’t understand the complexity of the situation.
As per usual, I am late to the party and brought the ungainly URL, which I am hiding here.
man blouse. tee hee. don’t throw anything at me, but where does one draw the line between “hip” and just “old”? not that you are old or anything. nor am i old or anything right? RIGHT?