A friend of mine had a separate set of clothes for school. I never asked why he had to change before we could play. It did not matter to me.
I remember when I was brought to a wedding for the first time. I also remember the first funeral I went to. My mother had me wear finer clothes than usual. I did not ask why, but had seen on television that you are supposed to. I remember feeling special, like James Bond.
At a country music festival years ago, I wore blue jeans, a cowboy hat, and a toy .44 Magnum. I felt like a cowboy, and my friends and I acted accordingly. There were no Indians to play with though.
Today I worry about wearing the wrong clothes. My mother gave me a book on the subject: how to dress, how to tie a tie, what business casual means, and so on. I still feel like James Bond in formal attire.
I spend my days in a co-working space with people from a dozen other companies. Some former classmates of mine just relocated to the same place. They wore funny shirts and such at campus. Today, in the office, business casual. I do not care, and they do not care that I wear the same worn-out T-shirts as usual.
My coworker wears a funny shirt except on days with important meetings scheduled. He visited a tailor before going abroad to speak with investors.
If I had a meeting with important business people, I would dress and act accordingly. I would feel like Harvey Specter in Suits and have a great time, but it bothers me that—maybe—my gorilla-fighting-a-kangaroo shirt would not be acceptable.


