I’ve committed to some changes in the last few weeks that should stop me looking mediocre. Not New Year resolutions as such – I’m crap at them – but just changes that I need to make. I have an impressive track record of going through phases, but this is not one of those times. Unlike my previous efforts I’m hoping these changes last longer than one of Katie Price’s marriages…
I’ll write my intended changes out here as simply as I can to avoid the ambiguity which would, eventually, see me worm out of them with such prowess that even David Cameron would be impressed:
- Lose weight
- Start making an effort with how I look/dress.
They’re such womanly goals, aren’t they? I got menstrual cramps just typing them out. They can be summarised into one – stop looking mediocre. I keep repeating this phrase (partly as a mantra, partly for search engines to pick it up!).
They’re important goals, though. I’ve been steadily putting on weight for years. It’s a cycle I go through – allow me to illustrate. Actions in white, thoughts in black:
Every time I think my weight is getting out of control, I seem to talk myself into thinking that this is now my benchmark weight. Rather than losing weight, I’ll maintain this. These methods, much like the benefit fraudsters living down my old street, will never ever work.
I’m sick of feeling like I’m one sneeze away from turning my shirt buttons into bullets. I’m in grave danger of having to put my belt on with a boomerang soon, only to look like a chocolate muffin when I fasten the damn thing.
As for the second point…
The apparel oft proclaims the man
Cheers Polonius (of Hamlet fame). He’s right though, and there are idioms based on this very point – “first impressions matter” and “you can judge a man by his shoes” being two. Well, I’ve got something up my sleeve so I’m not caught with my pants down any more. (see what I did there?).
Let’s look beyond the superficial for a minute though, if someone wants to judge me on my clothes that’s their problem. I’m doing this for me. I’m fed up of feeling so drab, so bloody standard. For years I’ve worn normal jeans, with a normal t-shirt or normal hoody. At times I’ve been adventurous and bought shoes that aren’t brown or black – woa slow down Mark. Next you’ll be snorting cocaine from the arse crack of a Hollywood actress and putting a lung on red in vegas…
I mean – look! This combination was my stock outfit for a year at least. I think I only owned two other tops, I just didn’t care. Ignore what I’m doing with Evelyn here – concentrate on the clothes!
Slowly but surely
The second change comes at a cost. A literal cost – and as someone who’s always screwed his face up at seeing a garment costing over £20, this is going to be a tough one. Hopefully the first change will save me money on cake though, swings and roundabouts…
(Shout out here to Terraces Menswear – https://www.terracesmenswear.co.uk/categories/Mens/C.P.-Company/ – this stuff is expensive but I mean, ideally, this is the dream, right?)
People tell me that the trick is to buy one outfit and make su…ahh sod it. I’m boring myself here. Tell you what, I’ll just get on with it and keep you updated on here at suitable milestones – how does that sound?
I’ve always sneered at fashion trends. I’ve looked on them with contempt and mocked from a safe distance while being ever so slightly envious of the balls people have for following them. How do fashion trends get set? Is there a committee for it or something? A load of Lady Gagas sat around a table in meat-suits dictating what everyone will and will not like this season?
I don’t get it. I don’t need to, though, I just need to to be loosely aware that I can’t wear brown shoes, with brown trousers and a brown coat. Yes, I’ve done that before in a rush. On a dress down day at the office – I looked like a fucking rolling pin.
It’s time to embrace it, I think. To an extent anyway, and Kate will tell me where my boundaries are. Besides, the wedding plans have started now, so there’s a kick up the arse for me.
That is except for skinny jeans – I will never wear skinny jeans. I don’t have skinny genes – so I’d look like a vacuum packed hotdog.
Hotdog, now there’s a thought…