As I lay in bed for the fifth straight day fighting COVID, I still had plenty of time to think, surf the internet, and share many angry posts about the state of U.S. politics—then take a deep breath. Then, I decided to write again, this time about my extremely boring closet. Far less drama.

I imagine if you stayed in one place for your entire life, your closet would become a sort of scrapbook that tells a pretty interesting story. Just look back at those old childhood photos and imagine if you still had the clothes you wore when your parents did the shopping. I believe there’s one photo of me wearing vertical striped pants and a flowered shirt with a wide collar. Then, as you grow up, you enter the phase where you get to make your own clothing choices—but were they really your own? As you skim through the yearbook, the colors may have been different, but you really tried to be like most of your peers (good or bad—just hoping to be part of the crowd).

Next phase: you’re off to work, and the goal is to dress for success. Once again, an external influence dictates the clothes you buy and wear. The banker doesn’t get to wear khaki pants and a polo shirt. His big decisions each day are: gray suit or black suit, red tie or blue tie (sounds like it could be a new Dr. Seuss book).

So, why all this background? Someday, your parents stop picking your clothes (other than an occasional Christmas gift). You’ve matured and no longer feel the need to fit in with your friends. You’re retired or semi-retired, so your profession no longer drives your clothing choices. Heck, you look into your closet and it’s complete freedom (with maybe a little spousal oversight).
What might that look like? Here’s a preview of my closet:
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Shoes
The days of closets filled with 14 different pairs of athletic shoes are gone. No longer do I need separate pairs for the basketball court and the track. The boots and shoes for the Navy uniform were pitched in the trash a few years ago. What remains:
• A pair of slip-on Skechers tennis shoes (great for the airport)
•	A pair of ASICS tennis shoes (the day-to-day shoe that occasionally finds its way to a treadmill)
•	A dusty pair of dress shoes (hurts my toes—so glad there aren’t many weddings or funerals)
•	Four pairs of Merrell World Passports in various stages of aging (my favorite shoe, but Merrell has discontinued them. I bought the last remaining stock I could find on Amazon a couple of years ago and recently opened the last box. I’ll enjoy them while they last and hope to find a worthy replacement). I’m likely one step away from New Balance with Velcro.
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Socks
I could say that it’s a drawer filled with the standard blacks, grays, and neutrals for the office, and white for home. That, however, is not the case. Socks (and ties, which I try to avoid) are one of the places where your wardrobe personality can shine without being too crazy. My favorites include:
• Bigfoot Sh*tting in the Woods
• Cows in Spaceships Abducting Aliens
• Monkeys in Spacesuits Playing Guitars
• Dinosaurs
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Pants
Jeans are a staple. Gone are the days of acid-washed, holes-in-the-knee fashion statements. Now, relaxed-fit Levi’s or Lees rule the day. (The only bit of depression is that at one point, the length number was bigger than the waist. Those numbers swapped about 30 years ago—never to be seen again.)
For more official business, I have Dockers in a dozen different shades. As they hang in the closet, it’s a true khaki rainbow.
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Shirts
Official business and work are simple: long-sleeve Oxfords in winter, polos in the summer. Boring.
At home, T-shirts reign. There are two piles for me:
• The ones my wife picks up for me. They’re usually a single color (preferably dark, since it’s not uncommon for me to slop some mustard down the front). A pocket is a plus, and if it can be purchased for under $10, that’s a bonus. She’s an expert, and it seems like the T-shirt supply in the closet is always rotating. Shirts with stains, tears, and stretched collars disappear and are magically replaced with new ones—one of the mysteries of marriage that I still don’t fully understand.
• The ones that I buy myself. The beer belly of an aging man makes a great billboard. I still manage to find a few old concert shirts—recently found a reprint of Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A. shirt. I also discovered a shop called Citees while traveling through Europe and liked their novelty shirts, so don’t be surprised to see me sporting Star Cats, Live Fast / Eat Trash, You Can’t Outrun a Bear – Always Bring a Slow Friend, or Einstein sticking out his tongue.
• Special mention goes to a few remaining Hawaiian shirts. I’m always hopeful we might return to the islands for a bit. In my dream world, “Aloha Casual” would catch on in workplaces beyond the shores of Oahu. I’m even considering a transition to more Hawaiian shirts once I fully retire. Tom Selleck in Magnum, P.I. may have had the right idea.
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Hats & Accessories
This is where the “old man vibe” can really shine. I still have a couple of ball caps (Ohio State Championship and Ohio Against the World) that I love. They’re gifts from my son and family, and holdovers from younger days.
In general, though, my accessories scream “retired, old, tourist.” I have three primary hats: a fishing hat with a wide brim, a straw hat, and an Italian wool coppola. Two are rather unstylish but manage to keep my head from burning (since the hair doesn’t provide much protection anymore). The third makes me feel like one of the locals—if only I could speak an ounce of Italian.
To my wife’s dismay, I also own a traveler’s vest. She hates it, but the 100 pockets seem useful for passports, keys, money, phone, snacks, medicine, hand wipes, and the sundry of other items that could be needed at any time on any day.
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In Summary
There was once a time when I made fun of “grandpa clothes.” Now, I relish the freedom to dress with no need to impress.
(Note: The spouse still may have limits.)