In Praise of Averageness

There was a very long time during which I held a contempt for people who appeared average and nondescript. People who wore boring clothes, shopped in boring malls, drove boring automobiles, and were overall instantly forgettable filled me with disgust. I used to want to shout at them that life is too short to be boring. As an act of defiance, I wore all manner of unusual garb, purchased an unusual vehicle, listened to unusual music, and in general made every effort to stand out as a unique individual who was too good for whatever pleased the masses. What was I afraid of, or trying to accomplish, by sticking out like a sore thumb? Sometimes it felt good to rattle people's cages with outlandish attire and an ex-cop car. Maybe I was afraid I would become stupid by succumbing to the lure of the mainstream, or that my creativity and individuality would be stifled by looking like everyone else.

My personal aesthetic is taking a turn in completely the opposite direction. I've taken to wearing very traditional, classic items, such as polo shirts, slacks in muted earth tones, and button-front shirts, while clinging to my youth with a college baseball cap. Shirts and trousers by Brooks Brothers, fine wrist watches by Cyma and Baume & Mercier, nice but not exorbitantly priced footwear such as classic Sperry boat shoes, and other hallmarks of the well-to-do "preppy" set have made their way into my everyday wardrobe. Perhaps it's a means of connecting with something I was denied in my formative years. Growing up in a family with exquisite taste but limited financial means meant that while I attended the same schools as the preppy set, I didn't participate in the same extracurricular activities. The glamorous preppies would spend several weeks at Camp Seagull (the very definition of the preppy summer camp), then finished their summers at family vacation homes in quaint seaside locales such as Wrightsville and Morehead City, returning with their coveted souvenir t-shirts from Dockside, Sanitary Fish Market, and Salty Dog. I, on the other hand, went to a secluded house at Myrtle Beach, the Las Vegas of the Southeast, and went to a sweaty camp on an artificial lake in a hicktown up the highway from Raleigh.

Like I've posted before, I made the wrong choice in an auto-mobile last year, as it draws too much unwanted attention from authorities. I'm still looking for the ideal vehicle for me. I've expanded from just 4runners into the possibility of a Toyota Avalon or Camry, a 1990s Lexus LS sedan, or a Ford Explorer. It's a difficult choice. Logic would steer me toward a sedan that's economical on gas, but another part of me loves the high ride and privacy windows of an SUV. I kind of want a black 2003 Explorer ('02s had shitty transmissions) with spotlights and a push bar for an aggressive off-road look. A '90s SUV would fill me with '90s nostalgia every time I get behind the wheel and crank up the Barenaked Ladies hits. Unfortunately, '90s gas prices will likely never return. Whatever car I purchase must complement my new blend-in-with-the-scenery aesthetic, the goal being to look decent and respectable but forgettable.

I'm coming to understand the advantage of modes of dress and outward appearance that blend in with the scenery. There's a measure of comfort and safety to be found in camouflaging oneself. No one looks twice, makes comments, or suspects malice. As soon as they see you, they've forgotten you. In a way, I feel empowered by my anonymity, for if I ever had criminal intentions, from shoplifting to carrying a concealed weapon, I wouldn't draw the slightest suspicion. The only looks of contempt come from the emo-types who hang around outside Barnes & Noble despising so-called "conformists" while they wait for their moms to pick them up in their minivans. No matter, the respect of a person who gets no respect himself is meaningless to me.