i dream of jean shorts.

i wish i could say i am the kind of person who doesn't care what he is wearing. actually, that's a lie. i like clothing and dressing up and feeling socially appropriate and all that. i care what i wear. i somehow feel, though, that if i say i wish i didn't care i am afforded a higher moral status. this hardly seems fair.

i have passed through the paralyzing teen years wherein i wouldn't leave the house without a full ensemble. i used to get ready before going to buy milk and a twizzler at the convenience store; now i wear something that i like to think passes for accidental cool, haphazard and breezy, kodiak boots with cutoff sweatpants, a tweed vest and a construction helmet. i likely look rather foolish, but i take pride in the fact that with age i have developed enough sense of self to not mind how i look every second.

my dad will read this and scoff. he is the kind of person who doesn't care what he is wearing. this is not to say that my dad dresses poorly- he often looks quite nice, even if he does sometimes buy his shirts in the same place that he buys his jumbo size case of tahini. costco fashion may not please the cavallis and gabannas, the wintours and beckhams of the world, but it suits my dad just fine. he will sigh as i admit to worrying about about my attire. but he just doesn't get it.

anyway. i am more or less comfortable in toronto. i may not be blazing sartorial trails with all the ugly-chic hipsters down queen west west way, but i like to sit comfortably somewhere between the middle and the back edge of the front. if i were a red carpet dress i might not be draped across cate blanchett, but i might score enough points to land on kate winslet. i'm certainly not being worn by diane keaton- that much i know. but let me stress- i feel more or less comfortable in toronto.

and now i am in sydney. and i feel as if i have brought all the wrong clothes. i somehow imagined that all australians would be outfitted in sturdy twills and matter-of-fact shades of brown. i imaged an entire nation in outfits not unlike the ups uniform. and shockingly, i have been proven wrong. there are people who dress as i expected, with khaki shorts and wide-brimmed hats. but they tend the grounds in the botanic gardens or drive tourist trains through the harbour. the majority of the city is astonishingly well-dressed, polished and trendy in a way i hardly expected. i was of course forgetting that i was coming to an up-and-coming world fashion capitol and not going to see dinner theatre in bobcajun, ontario. the city is full of working women in pocketed high-waisted skirts and businessmen in crisp blue work shirts, all french cuff with intricate cufflinks. and the shops and streets and parks and beaches are all full of people with remarkably effortless beach cool- shuffling flat slip-on shoes, pastel v-neck shirts, huge bright high-tops, non-existent skirts, big old sunglasses. and jean shorts. everyone is wearing jean shorts. cut-off jean shorts.

we are not talking boys in the band jean shorts popularized by gay men of several generations ago. nor are we talking about the super-short variety with the pockets hanging out a good three inches below the hem as popularized by britney spears at the height of her cheetos years. think zack morris on saved by the bell. think point break. the early nineties are back and they're alive and kicking in sydney. and i love it. and hate it.

i have two pairs of similar jean shorts. i love them. i have been wearing the better pair since last summer which makes me feel ahead of the curve- which i like. two pairs. both in a rubbermaid storage bin. in the laundry room of my house. in canada. perfect. in these bins one would also find a plethora of beachy casuals: deep vees in mauve and coastal blue, striped tank tops, white lightweight sweaters. and jean shorts. my ideal, oceans-away jean shorts.

i am getting along fine. i am enjoying sydney in the clothes i have which are probably far more appropriate than i am making them out to be. i did, however, check out jean shorts in a shop on market street. and they were $89.95. hello. and no thank you. i will suffer my burden with a silent, dignified bravery.

but i still want my jean shorts. and i still care what i am wearing. that's just the kind of guy i am.