Style, Status & Tiger Woods

SAM SHARPE

By no means would I call myself a fashion plate and I definitely wouldn’t call myself a dandy, but I must confess that I am a bit of a clothes and shoe hound. Cashmere sweaters? Love ‘em. Adidas Stan Smiths? In multiple colours? A must have. Bespoke suit? Of course, I am unique after all. The point is that though I don’t doggedly follow the latest trends, I do pay attention to which way the winds blow and apparently the wind is going to be blowing up the skirt. Yes folks, apparently the new style trend for men is the skirt.

In yesterday’s Metro there was a feature about a skirt for men. This is one trend I will not be hopping on. I don’t even wear shorts unless I’m playing sports (and before you ask, no Sam Sharpe doesn’t have chicken legs) so I can’t imagine that I’d ever wear a skirt. And I’m just not sure the man skirt is going to catch on. Period. Most men I know wouldn’t wear a skirt. And headlines like “Be A Man: Wear A Skirt” won’t convince the rank and file of my species. If H&M and any other retailer really want to get men into skirts, they need to start convincing women that men in skirts are sexy. If women think so, then men (not Sam Sharpe however) will want to wear them. I’ve said it before and I’ll probably die saying it—men will do almost anything to get with women (there is a good chance that trying to get me some action will actually kill me).

I know, I know, men in places like India and Malaysia wear wraps or sarongs or whatever you want to call them. But check my area code. 416. Toronto. Canada. Nuff Said. Anyway, in my opinion men should only wear skirts for the following reason:

1. You are playing golf. (And in that case, that would be a kilt. Furthermore, you should probably be Scottish).

Speaking of golf, this entire hullabaloo about Tiger Woods is quite disturbing to me. I personally don’t care about his personal life. And I’m not sure why anyone else does. Having said that, it is fascinating to see the effect or pull that money and status can have on some people.

See, I remember when Tiger Woods first hit the scene. In terms of his physical attractiveness, if we are being generous, I think he would have been best described as kind of geeky cute. Well, I was attending a keg party not long after he won his first Masters (way back in 1997. Damn, I’m getting old) when the subject turned to golf. Every girl in the place started talking about how hot that Tiger Woods guy is.

WHAT?!??!?

HOT?!?!?!?

THAT GUY?!?!?!

TIGER WOODS!?!?!?!?

HAVE YOU SEEN THOSE TEETH?!?!?!

Anyway, years have passed; he’s bulked up and no longer looks like a skinny, malnourished gerbil (Though his hair is thinning. And what’s up with that hair? Can’t he do something about that?), and clearly he’s not having trouble getting with the ladies. I bet if he walked into a nightclub tonight, wearing a skort or man skirt or whatever they’re calling them and started yelling “Yeah I’m Tiger Woods, I straight cheat on my wife”, he’d still be rolling in the ‘tang.

To further support my point about the allure of money and status, let me tell you about something that happened to me at school. Nicole and Keisha were two girls that I knew through my friend Charles. They generally ignored me if I saw them out in public or on campus. They would only acknowledge me when I was with Charles, who happened to be dating one of their friends.

Anyway, during my last year at University, I decided that I wanted to contribute; I wanted to leave my mark. So I, Sam Sharpe, decided to perform in a school talent show. Ladies and gentlemen I got up on stage, in a room full of my peers and sang “I Believe I Can Fly’ by R. Kelly. A capella. Brought the house down. People went crazy.

Later, at the after party, guess who was sidling up to me like I was the last piece of chicken at the barbecue, rubbing my chest and talking about  “You so fine, I always thought you were cute”? Pretty much offering themselves up like kamikaze pilots.

You guessed it, Nicole and Keisha.

I probably could have been wearing one of those skort things and they still would have been all in my grill. I was quite disturbed by this. So disturbed that I didn’t pursue the obvious opportunity to get Jiggy with it (yes another 1990’s reference for my old heads).  All I kept thinking was, “Now that you think I’ve got some flavour, you want yourselves a taste”. Hell no. So I went home by myself that night. In hindsight, that may not have been the right decision. But I guess I’m not full pig—like some of you think—I’m only part pig. But the good part.

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