As a young man, I never understood why anyone needed a belt. As a middle-aged man, I do not go a single day without one. What happened?
When I was a kid, belts were mostly for show. The real prize was having your name stamped across the back or sporting a giant belt buckle that looked as if it belonged to a rodeo champion. It was the 1970s. Subtlety was not exactly in style.
When I landed my first job out of college in 1990, belts became part of the uniform. I had to wear suits, and everyone knew the belt had to match the shoes. Apparently, civilization depended on it.
Then I discovered suspenders.
Back then, suspenders were actually fashionable and not just something worn by grandfathers who spent their afternoons discussing the weather and the price of coffee. My suit pants even had buttons sewn inside specifically for them. I owned at least a dozen pairs, mostly solid colors with a few loud enough to qualify as conversation starters. Amazingly, a few of those suspenders are still hanging in my closet, patiently waiting for a comeback that will probably never happen.
Somewhere along the way, suits disappeared from my daily wardrobe, and suspenders quietly retired with them. Belts took over again. I have bought plenty of them since. It is not because I have some strange belt collection hobby. I simply buy inexpensive belts, and inexpensive belts have a remarkable talent for wearing out at exactly the wrong time.
There may be another factor. As my waistline has expanded over the years, my belts have been asked to perform increasingly heroic acts of engineering. More pressure means more friction, and more friction means another trip to the store. Those of you who are younger, or those of you who have never had to deal with this particular male phenomenon, may not appreciate the challenge. As men get older, our pants seem to migrate south. Whether gravity is winning or our waistlines are negotiating surrender, belts stop being accessories and become essential safety equipment.
My dad understood this long before I did. After working outside all day, he would come home, shower and put on a pair of blue jeans for the evening. When bedtime arrived, he hung those jeans on a hook in his closet with the belt still threaded through every loop, ready for a few more hours the next evening. I used to think he was just too lazy to remove the belt. Then I remembered how mercilessly I teased him whenever he accidentally skipped a belt loop. Suddenly, leaving the belt in place seemed like a stroke of genius.
I have not reached that stage quite yet, but I can see it from here. And if my belts eventually wave the white flag, those old suspenders are still waiting in the closet, ready for one last tour of duty.
Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading.
Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital newsletter
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707