Note to self: Trackie bottoms don't cut it
You swear you'll never let yourself go. But you do. There was a time I wouldn't leave the house without gel in my hair or a baseball cap on. My hair au naturel is a white afro, and not in a good way (if it's not cultural misappropriation to say that). Indeed it's beyond kinky. It's just fuzz.
Neither was I ever the kind of person who goes around in a tracksuit. The whole athleisure trend - yes, it is a trend, though possibly gone out of fashion by the time you read this - passed me by. I'm not saying I always look sharp, but I at least try to look as if I still make an effort. I never wanted to be one of those men who has just given up. I think when you stop making an effort to have at least some kind of a look put together, then you are advertising to the world that a part of you has died. It doesn't even have to be a good look, but just an attempt at one.
But then you get lazy, and you start to break your own rules. So you might stop into the shops on the way back from the pool wearing shapeless tracksuit bottoms and a mismatched top, maybe even a booby thermal top. It's worse when you've been in the sea, because you need layers for the cold, so you can have all kinds of crazy combos on, topped off with a giant maroon, fur-lined hat. And once you cross the rubicon and start to let other human beings see you like this, then you tend to let it slip more and more. Until you get the wake-up call you need. Which is to see yourself through someone else's eyes. Someone you would care to look good in front of after 25 years of absence.