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Honolulu Lite Charles Memminger |
Living a life dressed
to the two and threesI knew that when Honolulu magazine editor John Heckathorn began writing a regular column for the Sunday Honolulu Star-Bulletin, I was going to learn something about a part of Hawaii life I know little about -- I just didn't know it was going to depress me so much.
John, you see, is an old friend who moves in the upper echelons of Hawaii social life. As the editor of a slick, hip magazine, as well as a connoisseur and reviewer of fine food and wines, John rubs elbows and possibly other body parts with the beautiful people I only see in photographs appearing in, well, John's magazine. They usually show up at exquisite fund-raisers dressed to the nines (not to mention 10s, 12s and sometimes numbers I've never even heard about.)
I know hardly anything about this social strata. I have developed a policy of never accepting an invitation to an event where zoris are not designated footwear. I plan to test that policy as soon as any invitations appear.
So John's column would be my peek into this world, and he didn't let me down. He recently wrote about how, while he has plenty of dress suits, he doesn't yet own a tuxedo and what a bother that has become. I actually felt sorry for him until I realized that not only do I not own a tuxedo, I don't even own any suits.
How is it possible that a suave and debonair character like myself could get by without a quiver of fine suits, polished patent leather shoes and those thingies that you knot around your neck. Oh, yeah, ties. I do have ties. One has coconut trees on it, I think. Another may have surfboards. They are buried in my sock drawer.
LOOKING AT MYSELF through the magnificent mirror of John's world, I viewed a pathetic creature. I have not worn a tie in three years. I have no suit. I have a navy blue sports coat, vintage 1988. The last time I wore a tuxedo, it was rented. It was for the comedy roast of columnist Dave Donnelly, and I thought it would be funny to attend without pants. So there I was, tux coat, shirt and tie accented by surf trunks and rubber slippers. Classy.
It gets worse. I have only about two pairs of pants, my jeans and my "nice ones," from Sears. I've got my good shorts, for going out in, my regular shorts for around the house and my crummy shorts for working outside. I've got my good rubber slippers for social occasions and old rubber slippers for other social occasions. I've got two drawers full of T-shirts. The puka shirts are in the bottom drawer, along with the "collectable" T's like the one I got in Las Vegas when Mike Tyson bit off Evander Holyfield's ear. Classy.
I have some long-sleeved button-up shirts spanning four decades of fashion and five body types. I pray for a harmonic convergence when paisleys come back into style right when I manage to get down to 205 pounds again.
I selfishly hope John gets his tux. Depressing as it may be, my station in life would be higher if I knew someone who owned a tuxedo.
See the Columnists section for some past articles.
Charles Memminger, winner of National Society of Newspaper Columnists awards, appears Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. E-mail cmemminger@starbulletin.com