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Sew What?
09/15/06
by Shaw

You may have read my May 2006 column, Mitigating Factors in My Classification as a Man... I ran a poll therein to see how many readers thought, after reading it, that I was a man (as opposed to a male that is not a man, like Haley Joel Osmont, or Woody Allen, or David Gest). Obviously, the poll results skewed heavily in favor of me not being a man.

Unfortunately, the news today is just as bad. As you know, we have written a book called Maniquette. This book lists me as a co-author, and it is indeed true that I wrote a portion of the words in that book. But after today, it is clear that I haven't lived them.

Q: What is less masculine than a man who buys all of his clothes from a store and wears them the same day, right off the rack?

A: A man who has his clothes tailored after he buys them so that they fit his standards.

A real man goes into a store, looks at the rack, picks out a pair of jeans, and walks out with them. Maybe he pays for them, maybe not, whatever. If they cost more than $50 he might try them on, but it doesn't matter, because if they don't fit, he'll wear them anyway. A real man certainly doesn't waste time worrying about whether or not they look right, because his self-confidence and strut will make them look right... or at least so that no one would question them.

Shaw has trouble buying jeans for some reason.

For four years of college and two years of grad school, I didn't own a single pair of jeans, until I was prompted by my ex-girlfriend's sister to get one... we went shopping for two painful hours, during which time I was totally bewildered by all the options, and yet at the same time felt hamstrung by the similarity of all of them: each pair felt too tight, and looked too hip for me, but within that framework there were hundreds of shades of blue, different bleach patterns, wear and tear in various areas (I was really uncomfortable with the jeans that came with the crotch pre-rubbed), and, of course, random holes all over the place. I settled on a pair of Mavi jeans, after which I was told by several female friends, "Huh--I didn't even know Mavi made men's jeans." I ended up liking them a lot, and wearing them basically all the time, to the exclusion of all other pants. So the trip was a success, if not a manly excursion.

Q: What is less masculine than a man who has his clothes tailored after he buys them so that they fit his standards?

A: A man who tailors his own clothes using his sewing machine.

A man who has an irregular size might be inclined to buy pants that are too long or too wide and have them tailored to fit him. This can be permitted within the parameters set forth by Maniquette... my friend Rahsaan, for instance, could never be accused of not being manly in appearance; he is perhaps the most physically fit person I have ever met. However, due to his extreme physical proportions (small waist, large chest, muscular thighs and biceps), he cannot buy suits off the rack, and usually requires alterations on his pants. And, most men can't point an accusatory finger in his direction, because chances are, he could kick your ass... so he's a man, yet when he buys a suit, the next stop is the tailor, and that's okay.

Shaw is not inclined that way.

When I buy pants, I usually end up having to re-hem them. I don't know why this is, but pants are always too long or too short on me, so my only choice is to buy them too long. My second pair of jeans since high school were the result of an emergency, closing-time phone call from a store 25 minutes from my apartment, "Chris--can you get here in 30 minutes? I found you the perfect pair of jeans." Sure enough, they were great jeans (DKNY)... but they were too long. So I bought them. And I hemmed them. Myself, in my apartment, with my sewing machine. And now they fit. Is that so bad?

Q: What is less masculine than a man who tailors his own clothes using his sewing machine?

A: A man who attempts to tailor his own clothes after he buys them... and fails.

At the very least, if a man lived in the desert, and there were no tailors within a 200 mile drive, and he owned a sewing machine, and he somehow acquired a new pair of pants that didn't fit right, and he didn't have any other pants, and he needed pants for some reason in the desert that day, he could get away with sewing them himself. And if he succeeded, he would still be a man.

Shaw, tonight, was not so lucky.

Last year, I bought a pair of jeans with my friend Meg. It took two hours to find them, but they fit perfectly: not too loose or tight, not too long, just right. (GAP) Unfortunately, as I was made aware by my girlfriend recently, they don't fit anymore. Somehow, inexplicably, I lost weight in the past few months. (Okay, not inexplicable... it's because I don't eat food. But that is inexplicable. (Okay, that's not inexplicable either--I don't eat food because I am never hungry. But honest to God and Balls to the Wall, I don't know why that is.)) So it became apparent that I would need to buy a pair of jeans that actually fit... and with her assistance, I thought I might be able to expeditiously and judiciously select the perfect pair. The prophecy came true when, in record time, we selected a pair of jeans that actually fit my new, (albeit unhealthily) slimmer figure (Salt? Never heard of this brand before, but according to this website they are the premier jeans in the US?). They were a little too long for me, but given their otherwise perfect fit and my previous successes in home alteration, including several suits and jeans for myself and other people, I cavalierly purchased them with only a few days to spare before Japes's Super Sweet 27 party, secure in the knowledge that I would easily be able to hem them in time for a big debut.

Today, I went to the fabric store, and got my supplies: some new denim-strength machine needles, a new measuring tape to replace the one I lost last year, and a spool of matching thread for the hem. I came home, re-measured the length, cut the cuffs down to size, folded the seam, pinned it, and ironed it to ensure complete accuracy when sewing. I re-spooled my bobbin, installed one of my new needles, and sat down to work, whistling the whole time in excitement... after all, I hadn't used the machine since moving it into my new apartment two months ago. I started the stitch right after the large bump that comes on the outside hem, and began my line. Everything was perfect--the machine hummed like a new car, the lines were straight, and the thread was frictionlessly embedding itself into permanency in my new, sure-to-be-favorite pair of pants. Life doesn't get better than this. And then, THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. The world started coming apart right in front of me: the needle stopped on the inside hem. Couldn't handle it. Normally this isn't a big deal--I can usually supplement the machine's power by hand-cranking the wheel.

It looked like it would work, but then, suddenly, the line snapped. The foot couldn't get over the bump, the thread bunched up, got snared, and snapped. I couldn't believe it: my dream was over.

Q: What is less masculine than a man who attempts to tailor his own clothes after he buys them... and fails?

A: Nothing. Absofuckinglutely nothing.

And finally, Shaw has found his place.

I made an emergency call to the tailor two minutes before they closed, and they stayed open for me to get there and drop off the pants, still pinned and ready to be sewn, in order for them to be ready by close of business on Friday. A thick Indian accent prevented me from understanding his greeting until he had said it three times: "You know the saying. Don't try this at home."

He may as well have added, "... if you're not a man."

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