Eureka!

I think I've finally figured it out. It isn't our fault. I have figured out how old guys transform from cool...well, pretty cool...okay, would you go for at least current...into the stereotypical old guy with no fashion sense.

And it isn't our fault.

Now, we all know the universal male joke. Show of hands for all the guys who have innocently become the subject of female piling on for the lack of ability to match colors (because that matters), or because we hold on too long to the comfortable underwear, regardless of thread count. Every male has felt that humiliation at some point, or will in the very near future. But, what I'm speaking of is the level beneath that.

I'm talking about the guys who wear black socks and dress shoes with their shorts. I'm talking about the guys who think it's acceptable to wear the one piece coverall jumpsuits with the stretchy, elastic belt that connects with the cool metal puzzle pieces. (Parenthetically, my dad and I had a matching set of light blue coveralls when I was five-ish...really) Or even the guys who wear tube socks with 2-inch stripes, with all the elasticity gone so they fall unevenly down around the ankle. How does this happen?

The answer to this mystery can begin to be unraveled with a few questions. Next time you see one of these men you so openly point out and laugh at, ask yourself, is this man a father? I would lean toward a blanket statement that the vast majority are, indeed, fathers. And the follow up question would be, is this man a father of a teenager? Undoubtedly.

There it is. I've exposed the ugly truth. Show me a man who dresses in such a way that his teenaged children are embarrassed, no, mortified at his clothing decisions, and I'll show you a man who has learned to dress out of self-defense.

Let's create a scenario to prove my hypothesis. It's the final few minutes before our father of three has to bolt out the door for a day he will spend hard at work making the life of blissful entitlement his children have come to take for granted. All he needs to complete his wardrobe are his socks. The cool, comfortable socks that he bought just to make his hard day bearable on his poor feet. He opens the sock drawer...empty. Well, empty but for the singles that he hasn't been able to find the mate for since college. Where have the cool socks gone?

Deflated but not defeated, he moves to the closet, thinking that he might move past this disappointment by wearing the new shirt his wife picked out for him. The shirt that hasn't faded from over washing or fallen into permanent collar crease yet. Sadly, after rummaging through the closet for several costly minutes, the search comes up fruitless.

Gone also are several belts and his favorite sports team windbreaker/hoodie.

Where has this poor man's wardrobe gone, you ask? All you have to do is open the door to his kids rooms and sift through the refuse long enough, and I promise you will find almost all of the clothing. It is an age old conspiracy. And I suppose I should accept it. After three kids, representing each gender, I should stop fighting their instinctual behavior, and just accept that this happens.

I get to wear something once. This is kind of like walking the runway at a fashion show. I walk through the house modeling the latest fashion as the kids take notes and make it a point to be on the look out for an opportunity.

Early on, this was a game. The oldest child would take things, but not wear them until he had left the house. He would also take things off either before he got home, or before I got home to notice. This is not deemed necessary by the current roster. They blatantly wear things right in front of me, and wave a hand at any comment I might make.

What hasn't changed is that kids are smart enough not to put the clothing in question back in the laundry hamper to be reclaimed by dad. I wore it once, they wear it once, then it dies in piles in their rooms. And any subsequent reference to the clothing is met with heavy sighs and eye rolls.

So, I made a painful purchase the other evening. I purposefully picked out clothing that I knew, whether from style, color, or label would be deemed too uncool for a teenager to wear. It wasn't until I was waiting in line to consumate these purchases that the revelation hit me. I didn't WANT to wear these items. I had been pushed to buy these items so I would at least have SOMETHING to wear!

And the truth shall set you free. We aren't fashion disasters out of want or callused indifference. We have been mistreated and pushed to this unenviable place. It is a cry for help. Our children have left us with no options or alternatives.

So, the next time you see a sad man walking in public in clothing that you would never be caught dead wearing, count how many years you have until your children are teenagers...it's closer than you think!