Looking Sharp

The other day my wife and I ventured into the depths of Brooklyn to choose the backsplash for our renovated kitchen. This was not an errand that demanded much in the way of sartorial elegance, but I like to look my best, so I dressed up. Old people like me are often ignored, looked through as if we aren’t there. But when I dress my best I feel at least seen. So I wore a blue seersucker jacket, a light blue oxford cloth button-down shirt, a silk bow tie with small red and white stripes, a darker red silk square, dress chino pants, and a blue cloth brimmed hat with a red and blue band.

On the MTA platform at our destination, I encountered three burly workmen, each of whom could have bench pressed twice my weight. “Hey, Buddy, you’re lookin’ pretty sharp,” one of them said as I approached. “You look great.” I thanked him. As I descended the stairs on the way to the street, one of them called out to me, “When you dress like that, you can get hot girls to go out with you.” Since my wife was right ahead of me, I called back, “I’m already doing it.” This got a big laugh.

The whole interaction pleased me. But when I thought about it I realized that had I been 20 years younger, the interaction never would have occurred. Were these workmen, then, patronizing me? I don't think so. In fact the opposite may have been the case. The workman who called me "Buddy" instead of "Sir" or "Mister" or nothing at all was saying in effect that the two of us were equal, that we were playing on the same field, that the status distinctions between the two of us either did not exist or were irrelevant. I suspect that old age mitigates status differences. It would be fun to design a study that tests this hypothesis. In the meantime, I'm happy to accept a compliment wherever I get one.