(with apologies to the lad from Shropshire)

“Now come on check the threads you wear
A public man should take more care
The crowd in which you try to shine
Is found in tux or Calvin Klein
How can you be so out of touch
Or say it doesn’t matter much?
Success is based on how you look
So read GQ and not old books
It’s image that the game’s about
If fair hides foul, then foul wins out
So as you head to this year’s show
Lest buyers there might think you slow
Armani suits and Gucci shoes
To ply for jobs from those who choose
As each king needs a courtesan
Best show up like a fancy dan
Forget about your facile rhymes
You must change ways for changing times.”

Sometimes my clothes come back in style
Though usually it takes a while
Still, I have shed at least one tear
So far removed from any peer
And wondered if I’d been a catch
Had I but got my clothes to match
I was aware of recent trends
But just in time for them to end
When ties were narrow, mine were wide
When mine were plain, the rest were dyed
I’d put them on and look a wreck
They’d hardly fit around my neck
In buying what I thought was cool
Sartorially misfit fool.

I’ve watched thin models on a ramp
Worn pants so tight I got a cramp
And I was told my hair gelled slick
Would cause my social life to click
“Look in the glass before a date,
Stop leaving love so much to fate.”

Laugh’s on them, the mocking many
It’s sure I haven’t been on any
Yes, work was needed on my mug
Far more than caps, a tuck, a rug
I lacked the look to put me in
My Cyranose, receding chin
And only had this homely face
When two’s best in a tribal race
Did my persona need a hat,
A scarf, a toss, a ring, less fat?
Yes, I’ve attended many balls
And felt like I’d worn coveralls
Or dined where I was at a loss
Among those sporting Hugo Boss
Shy shuffled there in gaiter spats
Amidst the cool and tommy cats.

Secluded from the staring pack
I could appear without my act
But heard my friends dress on the phone
De Toqueville’s right, there’s need to clone
Though shirts must never be the same
It’s tricky in this costume game
To be unique means Levi jeans
The product of an ad man’s dreams
We despair of disparity
I must be you, you must be me.

Old friend, your garb is all the rage
You choose right from the catwalk stage
When wild is hip, for sure you`re bad
And so in tune with the all the fads
Yet past the garments that you wear
A sense a gap still lingers there
Adorned in body, bare your soul
Still seeking more to make you whole
While shadows walk behind your life
You show your chic but not your strife
And fear that these are roots untrue –
In simple things I wait for you.

I’m not made for Emperor’s clothes
Or for lapels that hold a rose
I know where custom rules, I guess
That like my hair, my life’s a mess
For sure I’d get the old heave-ho
If I turned up in Savile Row
And what would Mr. Housman say
To see me pouting on this way
Would he not think me some naïve –
For doubting when I best believe?
Lauren does more than Shakespeare can
To verify man’s way to man

Oh, I have been to clothiers fair

And left my good taste god knows where
Yet laid out on my bed it seems
My latest hopes for dandy dreams
But then I saw me in the mirror
Despite new things, I still looked queer
The haberdasher’d tried his job
Heigh-ho – but I was still a slob

My face, it was my old face yet,

And I was I, to some regret.

If ’tis stylish you’d have things be,
There’s better dressing lads than me.
Here is what I know ’bout fashion –
Wool – is what I get a rash in.

Copyright © 1999 Paul Heno