Recently, as in thirty seconds ago, I stumbled upon an article about men who dress like slobs and the women that love them. I think most of us have experienced that phenomenon, that split second where your inner-hater reminds you that it's there, hiding in the depths of your normally benevolent soul. You know, you're walking down the street, see a beautiful woman... only to see her hands locked with a dude in chancletas and a stained 49ers shirt.
Hey, I get it, not everyone cares about their presentation.. Wait, no I don't get it. I don't think we'll ever get that. The clothes you wear don't have to be expensive, don't have to be 'trendy,' they don't have to be anything. But what your clothes actually do is tell the world about you, before you even get a chance to open your mouth. We recognize the flaws in that line of thinking. Dude in the stained 49ers shirt could very well be a doctor but am I going to treat you like a doctor? If you are my doctor and I gotta pay an arm and a leg to wait 45 minutes in your crowded lobby just to see you for two minutes and tell me I'm good, I better not catch you in the streets in some chancletas, man. My co-pay better be going to some nice wingtips and your wife's anti-depressants, sh!t.
Which brings me to my last point. Women that can love a slob, probably can't love me and so, as a defense mechanism, I must declare them lame as well. If you're both slobs that's one thing and you're probably disqualified anyway. Now, if you actually put time and effort into your outfit and the man you decide to procreate with didn't even care to change his t-shirt after the mustard from the hot dog got on it, that's wild disrespectful, yo. Imagine the snickering voices of your 'girlfriends' as they gossip about the man you've been raving about once they see the ensemble.
Fellas, don't be that guy. Ladies, don't be that girl.