I've learned something new. One can define one's self as metrosexual yet shop at the thrift store for clothes. It's a matter of how it's all put together and carried off. Who knew? I think my mind was confusing "metrosexual" with "clothes snob". While those things can be similar, they can also be quite different. I suppose clothes for any chosen style can be found at the thrift store.
The Boy and I went shopping for school clothes on Tuesday. It was a decidedly different experience than it used to be, yet equally as pleasing. I have felt alarm because he is changing and I was unsure the changes are good. Not that it really matters, because change happens and will continue to happen whether I think it's good or not. After relaxing and accepting the inevitability, I'm now finding observing the evolution endlessly fascinating. I'm easy like that. Despite being slow.
I can accept that The Boy is now choosing to wear polo-style shirts after eschewing them entirely in past years. I can applaude his new trend of shopping at thrift stores. Thrift stores are a fantastic place to shop for shirts of all styles and shapes. Two stores and $14.50 later, he has six "new" shirts. Four polo and two dress button-down. The total would have been much less, but one of the button-downs was $6. It's a great shirt though: just the right color, fits perfectly and looks brand new. If we had bought it new it would have cost at least $25. He seems pleased with his frugality.
For pants, we headed to the mall. He was fairly specific about what he needed. Or rather, what he wanted. One pair of corduroys. One pair of khakis. One pair of (gasp!) blue jeans. As in denim. Yes, I know. Change. Inevitable. When he was but a young boy and before he expressed any real preference in attire, I dressed him in blue jeans from time to time. But ever since he assumed control of selecting his clothes, he has never chosen to wear blue jeans. Since he was around 12 years old, the only time he has worn denim was for the role of the evil Reverend David Lee in The Foreigner ("M-my van... It blew up!!" What an awesome play!).
This trip, he had definite thoughts on what he wanted. And that's a good thing. Because shopping for jeans has become rather complex. Have you been to a Gap lately? There must be ten or twelve different styles, cuts, textures, shades, fits, etc. etc. etc. of denim jeans. Whiskered. Hand sanded. Low-rise. Boot cut. Relaxed. Panhandle. In every combination of every variation. It's fucking insane. He went straight to the type he wanted, grabbed what he thought was the appropriate size and headed for the dressing room.
There were a few other people in the store, one of whom was a young lady hanging around the dressing room waiting for her friend. When The Boy emerged from his little room, she glanced over, a wide smile forming on her face as she did one of those head-to-toe-and-back-again body scans on him. I watched this unfold from the far side of the store and noted two things. First, I noted I had a little scowl on my face because I didn't like the way she oogled him. Then I noted The Boy was absolutely clueless. Ha.