I recently was engaged in conversation with the mother of a friend of mine when we began to talk about writing and writing topics. I explained to her about the most recent entry and, without so much as missing a beat she asked, "Why don't you do one on Garanimals?" Now, this struck me as funny on several levels, least of all was the word "Garanimals." I was born too early in life to be able to experience the giddy joy of this line of clothing. To the uninitiated, allow me to give you a brief explanation: Garanimals are sets of clothing, both tops and bottoms, for children of all genders (no need to discriminate against budding hermaphrodites). Each article of clothing had a certain animal affixed to it. Now dressing your kid is simple; just match the giraffe-labeled top to the giraffe-labeled bottom and bingo - one less Xanax to pop that day.
Because they are designed for children, the animals are drawn all cute and cuddly and have precious names like Charlie Chimp, Pamela Panda and Geraldine Giraffe. I thought about this whilst still in the conversation above - nattily attired in ragged khaki shorts, rumpled-collar polo and sneakers looking like they were forcibly rescued from the spider gears of an axle off an old Ford. I also noticed that something happens to men right around the time they hit 30. Just like ants are selected to be workers or soldiers as soon as they are laid (don't say it), men get shuttled into either the "metrosexuals" or "regular guys" group. We've all read the oh-so-witty articles about metrosexuals in magazines, seen how they have kept two Bruno Magli strides ahead of the rest of us when it comes to neatness and fashion, and marveled how their hair remains perfectly motionless, as if forged by mountain dwarves deep below the Earth's mantle. Even nature allows passage and reverence to such hair:
Air Molecule #1: "Hey! Hey fellas! Would you get a look at that? That's one hell of a head of hair!"
Air Molecule #2: "Maybe we should angle away from it, just in case."
Air Molecule #3: "Yeah, I don't wanna mess that up."
Air Molecule #1: Are you kidding? You could fire a machine gun at it and he wouldn't even notice it. That's not hair, boys. That's SUPER HAIR!"
All: "Wow...."
The rest of us - the regular guys - don't have the problems of the metros. We're not going to invest any effort on such time-wasting activities as exfoliating, feng shui and flossing. No, we have to put up with the eye-rolling of spouses, fiancees and girlfriends who are just waiting for us to fall asleep so they can go to the kitchen, grab something sharp and dangerous, reach down, and cut to hell our favorite T-shirt, shorts, and sweats that we've had since college. Never mind they don't fit anymore, or have lost their shapes, or are so blasted with rips and holes that they are more gas than solid, we're men! And dammit, despite what Cosmo says, we ARE emotional and we ARE nostalgic. We remember wearing that shirt doing our first beer bongs, we remember those shorts because of that one late night at 7-11 when we put a hot sandwich bagel into the left pocket and it burned so badly it left an oval-shaped scorch mark for a month; and, dammit, we remember those sweats for when I was talking with cute little Michelle Napravnik after a game of touch football and my bastard friends snuck up behind me and yanked them down - shorts and all - in front of her, thereby certifying having no chance in hell of ever having sex with her. You see, gals, it's not just because the clothes are comfortable. They are. The reason we hold onto those clothes is because of the memories they hold. Well, that and the fact they're comfortable - and we non-Metros HATE to go shopping for clothes.
I suppose I could always come up with my own line of Garanimals for regular guys. We could call them GarMANimals, or something equally uninspiring. Instead of all these cute names for animals, we could use more utilitarian labels. Try these on for size:
Ernie the Engine - Boy, oh boy, like painters caps and coveralls in the 80s, this could be a burgeoning fad right out of the gate. Ripped jeans were in fashion in the 1980s, as well as acid-washed fabrics. For some stupid reason, they are back in fashion. Why can't oil and other automotive fluid stains climb aboard? This GarMANimal label would even offer a jumpsuit product. A sure-fire winner amongst the shade tree mechanic crowd.
Parma-John - Made from industrial strength polymer fibers, it comes in as many colors of red or black as you want. For wear at Italian restaurants only. Clip-on ties are available in the "Trying-To-Impress-Your-Date-Just-Enough-To-Get-Her-into-Bed-Without-Dropping-Too-Much-Cash-At-the-Restaurant" package. Buy two and get the two-toned pocket hanky to close the deal while pouring her a fourth glass of Asti Spumonti. Visible stains from the sauce? "That's somebody else's problem!" you laugh to yourself as the valet pulls up in your 1986 Cutlass Supreme.
Chicken Wing - The only animal on the list, well PART of an animal on the list. It's also the most versatile as far as color, size and style, as its target consumer is basically every "regular guy" in existence at a time when he is in his fullest glory - the weekend. It's clothing that serves basically two purposes: - The first is to answer the door when the pizza/chicken wing/cheese steak/hoagie/Chinese food delivery person arrives either before kickoff or at halftime. If the delivery person comes at any time during the game, it never fails that something big just went down on TV and your friends are either high-fiving or cursing at the screen while you stand there like a dork asking, "What did I miss???" The other purpose for this line of clothing is that you can basically say you didn't spend the entire day naked or in your underwear. As tempting as that sounds, it's really sort of creepy - even if you're with a woman. At least put on a robe. Or a cape. I tried the stay-naked-for-an-entire-day thing once a long time ago. By the time the next day came, I was so disgusted with myself that I couldn't look people in the eye for a month.
So, there it is. My first line of fashions in time for Fall. Maybe, with the blessings of the good people at Garanimals, I can extend my line more into the animal kingdom and come up with such characters as:
o Paulie da Piranha - for when you wanna look good when youse sleep wit' da fishes. Capiche?
o Shep the Sheep - for those morons who will wear whatever we tell them to wear because they can't think for themselves.
o Randy the Rabbit - for those lucky bastards who get laid in biblical proportions without any rhyme or reason. This label is for those guys who can sleep with the best looking woman at the club that night while wearing a T-shirt that reads, "Yes, I AM looking at your tits!" ($14.95 + shipping).
Of course, I anticipate our biggest mover to be the Hugh Heifer line, which are basically men's pajamas with Gary Larson's "The Far Side" cows all over them. Chicks must dig guys who spend all day in their pajamas. Hell, it works for Hef, it can work for me.
Right?
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