THE DUDS

JIM: When I was in third grade, I got myself dressed for school, came down the steps and presented myself to my dear mother. She looked me over, warming her bare feet against the heat register and noted that I “looked like a bag of shit with a rope tied around the middle.”

From leisure suits to platform shoes, I have always been on the ass end of any fashion trend and can count the number of times I have actually looked good on the fingers of one hand. Additionally, I have a problem with my ass...I have none. There is a straight line from my shoulders to my ankles, no bump. Though I do have a decent chest and shoulders, I tend to wear things baggy. No ass, baggy shirts...I guess I am a bag of shit with a rope tied around the middle.

When Tony and I first began these Friday night outings, I would wear shorts, Hawaiian print shirts and sandals. I looked like a fucking tourist. I quickly ditched that ensemble and switched to jeans, black boots and “club” style shirts. These were somewhat shiny, and were decorated with skulls or stars or bent martini glasses. Pure poseur. I decided to keep the jeans and boots, but switched to t-shirts extolling my favorite musicians (Ramones, Hendrix, Marley). Better.

I still wear the jeans and boots, but dress it up a bit more with untucked button down shirts, Dickies shirts or graphic prints. I never attempt to look anything but my age. I figure that the bald head, baggy eyes and random age spots trump any article of clothing I might wear.

TONY: My brother may not have the physique of a male model (he is basically a walking cube), but he looks damn good in his duds.

This guy found a look at the beginning of our journey and has kept it pretty well intact. The foundation is the industrial black boots. Of course, proper dungarees are next, though Tony prefers black to my blue. For a long time, little brother was wearing the Lucky 13 button down shirts. This is a black shirt with a cool, Deco style piece of art on the back.

I am happy to say that Tony has branched out recently and is now wearing colors (embracing his long dormant feminine side, no doubt). I don’t think you’ll see him donning a Pink Izod shirt any time soon, but he has added some blues and reds to his ensemble.

I am also very envious of his balls in the hat department. He has been known to jam a pork pie hat on his head from time to time. When in his hand, I am always leery. On his head it somehow works. If I tried that, dirty bar napkins and derisive laughter would rain down upon me.

BOTH: Michigan means a lot of horseshit weather, and one area Tony and I agree on is the wearing of black leather jackets. Tony goes with a shorter motorcycle style and I tend to go with a longer blazer style. My bro is tough, or thinks he is anyway, and never wears any extras. I like to wear a scarf, and for some odd reason it has become known as Jimmy Regal.