I've been wearing the same shirt for three days now. It's a white T-shirt from Assateague Island. It's pretty plain. The only detail on the front is a black and white swordfish printed onto the breast pocket. To be honest I'm not even exactly sure what's on the back. I mean it's on the back. Should I really be held accountable to remember the specifics of something I never get to see? I think turquoise is involved and maybe even a seagull or two. Maybe it's a beach scene? It is an island after all.

All of that was admittedly tangential. The only viable connection to be made is that maybe I should know a little better the design on the shirt I've been wearing for the past three days. Which brings me finally to my first point: said shirt with the mysterious turquoise design on the back which I've been wearing for the past three days does not yet smell bad.

This is an accomplishment I attribute to a certain few key life habits. Namely, regular showers, the application of deodorant, and a personal resolve to remove the shirt before engaging in any activity which might accumulate odor more rapidly than others such as tree-climbing or junk-yard exploring.

At this point I should probably concede that the smell of my shirt is a qualitative state. If someone has to tell you that he doesn't smell, it would not be unwise to suspect that in fact he really does smell. Which is why this morning I forced an encounter between my roommate's nose and the now well-worn shirt. That he was asleep at the time should not dissuade you from being convinced the shirt doesn't smell. In fact, it should do the opposite. So slight was its odor emission that my roommate was not scourged awake from any harassing smell. Good enough for me and so I've reached my second point:

If it doesn't smell wear it.

I have this uncanny feeling that my genealogical success can be measured by my closet size. What exactly do I have to show for being the positive outcome of an ancestral line tracing all the way back through epochs until man first donned loin cloth? Well, I can color code by season, holiday, and mood. Today my mood is smelly.

I wonder if the Andy Olloves of Antiquity could pull of turquoise. In the middle ages no doubt I would remember exactly what was on the back of my shirt considering I'm have to wear that shirt until it literally falls to the ground in tatters.

Third point: the necessity of a revolving wardrobe is a myth.

Reduce clothing to its threads and all you'll have is some minute protection from the elements. That we in the privileged world have created a social fabric out of a human necessity is an unfortunate truth. We have attached social import to something that should only belong to we who attach it to our bodies. In choosing what we wear we look more to other people's expectations than we do to our own desire for personal style, comfort, and performance.

Should I want to wear the same thing every day because I find it attractive, comfortable, and unsmelly is looked at as a rejection of fashion. It is expected that I should not wear the same thing every day. In this manner fashion only exists so that it can change tomorrow. No significance or consideration is placed on the permanence of clothing because next year you can't be caught dead wearing that trend. But you can't throw it away either (or better yet donate it) because give that jacket fifteen years in storage and it will be retro chic.

If there is a final point to this it is that you should wear what you want, not what other people want you to wear. If a diverse wardrobe is something you cherish, then great. But don't tell me on Friday that I am wearing the same shirt I wore on Monday and expect me to care.

Fashion is a hierarchical myth that has absolutely nothing to do with a person's worth. It is a judgment tool which misplaces character in a person's exterior appearance as opposed to internalized and substantial personal qualities.

 More important is it to look at the person wearing the clothes than the clothes he is wearing.