I was recently at a gun range. Yes I did all the exciting things which I’ll maybe talk about in another post, because I went through a rather bizarre and unsettling experience that I’d like to talk about in this one. And surprisingly, it had nothing to do with the guns. It was in fact much simpler. I was offended. And that’s it. That was the experience. No one called me names or behaved weirdly or did something in any other way that ticked me off. I was offended on sight. The reason this is so difficult for me to process is because I don’t bother with feelings or thoughts when it comes to strangers around me. If I don’t know you, chances are, I’d probably leave you alone. Even if we were kidnapped and cuffed to each other. So looking at someone and being offended is a very foreign concept to me personally. I’m being irritatingly vague now so let me clarify myself. I was offended at the way a man right in front of me was dressed. No he didn’t have a mankini on. He was wearing a t-shirt, a pair of trousers and sneakers. Normal so far? No.
A very new hobby of mine is reading people based on what they’re wearing. This isn’t as big of a dick move as it probably sounds like. I’ve seen a 50 year old man wearing a cheap vest and some loafers pull up to a Lamborghini dealership in a 20 year old minivan and drive off in a brand new Aventador S. So I don’t judge. I read. And this is the analysis of the man I had that day in front of me. He was old, late 40s if not early 50s. Grey hair. Starting to bald, which directly correlates to his scrotum sack starting to lower itself. He was brown, Indian. The jewelry always gives it away. Red polo t-shirt, bright turquoise trousers and bright gold sneakers with a generous helping of what looked like glitter on them. Which means either Gucci was nasty enough to make those, or he has a 4 year old and he fed it too much sugar. I’m going to go with the former. To finish off the look, he was wearing a gold buckled Louis Vuitton belt. It wasn’t fake. I can spot a fake when I see it. Not necessarily because of the product itself, but because of the look on the faces of the people who wear it. People who spend a lot of money buying an original product have a certain shine in their eyes. A certain pride that they’ve achieved what is surely in their mind the biggest achievement of them all. Keep in mind that I’m generalizing. Not all wealthy people display this behavior. Similarly people who buy fakes have a certain carelessness about them. They still behave like people who buy fakes. And that’s the tip-off. This man had plenty of shine to give.
He was with a man much younger than himself, who seemed interested in listening only to Travis Scott. This suggests that he was perhaps lonely, choosing to befriend people in a different age group. The lack of a wedding ring means that he either wasn’t married or was looking at scoring a woman much younger than himself. Regardless, his gaudy and overly dramatic taste in clothing told me that he wasn’t very confident and was making up for a few insecurities. His wide-open-legs approach to sitting pointed towards a lack of decent mannerisms. A poor man suddenly turned rich, perhaps? His forehead also glistened when the light hit it, which confirms my nagging suspicion that all brown people are oily, no matter how rich or poor.
Look, everything you just read is nonsense. Or maybe it isn’t. Point is, I don’t know these things but I always think I do. I made certain observations, and came to conclusions based on his style and behavior and social interactions. The harshest of my opinions and beliefs however, came from the clothes that he was wearing. Which really does give you a perspective of just how many thoughts people can have over something that you perhaps haven’t even noticed. Whether or not you’re into fashion, I think the pro tip of the day is going to be taking a good hard look at what your personality is like and trying to bring it out in your clothing in the most tasteful way possible. Because you may not care if people think. But people think regardless.