Style Is A Myth

When we arrived to Sweden I was greeted by the welcoming site of a bathroom.  There is nothing so nice as a clean, spacious single potty bathroom when coming off of an 8 hour flight with a 17 month old who slept only 3 hrs.  You inevitably feel gross and tired - physically tired, tired of sitting down in a cramped seat, tired of movies, and ultimately tired of feeling trapped in the clothes you've worn for nearly 36 hours.

Beaker

Antoine Griezmann

This sanctuary of aluminum, porcelain, pine, and mirrors provided me a moment to readjust, to breathe in stale Swedish airport air instead of stale airplane air mixed with the piquant flavor of dirty diaper.  Mostly, I took a moment to collect myself and change.  I splashed cold water on my face and quaffed my hair so I'd have a much closer resemblance to French soccer player Antoine Griezmann and less like the Muppet, Beaker.  I took this opportunity to change into some different clothes too.  I wanted my first moments in Sweden to be somewhat stylish.

In an effort to fit in better, I bought some new pants before we left.  This came as a total shock to my wife who has never known me to give a great deal of thought to my wardrobe selection.  But I am turning over a new leaf of greater preparation and planning for bigger and better things.  Who knows, maybe someone will see me walking the streets of Stockholm and arrogantly think to themselves, "now that is one put together Swede...  Surely he can't be an American!"

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Micheal Scott once said, "Negotiations are all about controlling things.  About being in the driver's seat.  And make one tiny mistake, you're dead.  I made one tiny mistake,  I wore women's clothing."   I feel his pain.  My new purchased pair of pantaloons were not woman's pants but they were not far off.  Maybe Skinny jeans are a bad idea in general, but even if they aren't, this particular pair of pants were a bad idea for me.  They were so tight.  That being said, I really wanted to look sharp, so I stubbornly put them on anyway.


They were so tight that I couldn't comfortably bend over to put on my shoes.  After two failed attempts to tie my neon yellow and blue running shoes, I took a deep breath, sucked in my stomach and bent over with a mild groan, and managed to lace my shoes together.  I took one last self-congratulatory look in the handsome devil in the mirror and confidently (if uncomfortably) sauntered out of the bathroom with my green canvas messenger bag rakishly slung over my shoulder.

I had I imagined a crowd of eyes turning to my radiant handsomeness; the affirming whispers of stylish Swedes wondering if I was one of the actors on the TV Show Mad Men and a big thumbs up from my approving wife at her ridiculously good looking husband all as Jeremy breakdances to the Swedish House music playing in the background.  It would be glorious!

The reality was far less exciting.  Sadly, there was no one else there - no whispers, no music, no break dancing baby; just a tired, mildly annoyed wife who said, "What took you so long and why did you change into that?"  

Moral of the story: Fashionable is not the same as comfortable.  And right now I am neither.