I spend ninety-eight percent of my time believing I’m six feet, three inches, and 160 pounds. While I rationally accept I’m approximately a foot shorter and sixty pounds lighter—and that these figures are grounded in scientific fact—my astral projection is a liar and constantly reports back as to what a sexy beast I am.
But inevitably reality checks me a brutal one and I come back to terms that I’m the human equivalent of a lap dog. I’m not entirely at fault for my altered self-perception. To my own credit, it was predicted that I would be super tall when my pediatrician used a newfangled technology known as a paper graph to chart my future height. He was a sweet man and I hold nothing against him, but the fact of the matter is he promised me five feet, nine inches, and I was shorted six.
Nevertheless, in twenty-eight years I’ve discovered the perks of being the size of a twelve-year old boy, and one of them is the ability to dress like one. This should be important if you, also, were maybe a little more fascinated by Peter Pan as a child than you should have been.
Of course, this particular taste in style often begs the question from friends if I feel weird buying little kid clothing, and the answer is no. Ambiguity is the magic of the Internet, and as far as Crewcuts is concerned, I’m a prepubescent boy in a weird place who hacked into his mom’s PayPal account to go on a shopping spree. If someone happens to ask why my clothes fit so boxy, I simply give him or her a vertical eye-sweep and report that it’s a look that’s trending, obviously, and hope they don’t try to verify that later on.
“But what about in the stores; don’t you feel creepy going into the children’s department?” Yes, totally. “So does that stop you from doing so?” No, of course not. And that’s because I’ve developed two foolproof strategies for shopping. The first is to go into areas free of children so as to avoid any compromising situations. The second is, if a child happens to wander into my area, to hold up the garb in my hands and exclaim, “Oh, this will be perfect for my son Geraldo!” and then saunter away while the nearby parents are distracted by the math they’re doing in their heads.
But yes, mostly I just get stuff shipped to my apartment.
Human scaled to size.
Grungy North Face mini backpack. Crewcuts Boy’s tee. Gap jeans. Banana Republic Men’s belt. TRF jacket.
I converted that Opening Ceremony bag into a purse for the day. My friend Alex had visited the weekend before and left it in my apartment, and since it looked much swankier than the Whole Foods bag that usually holds all my personal belongings—not the backpack, mind you, but a thin, recycled plastic bag—I decided to make use of it. Later that day a coworker told me it looked like I was waiting for the school bus. I told her that seemed about right.
And that's about it. So remember, guys:
Or at least that’s what I tell myself, because that situation around me is my desk.