Analogikal

I lucked out last week. I was bored on a humid afternoon in my coastal hometown. Between my ride from the cheese place and the bazaar to pick up spices for my mum, I got distracted by my favourite thrift store. I am lying. I planned my route intentionally to do a quick dive in. I have been experimenting with my fits as per my 5 year cycle.

Early teens was boot-legs and shirts that were available and trending in the local market. I would buy what was available and make it work. Nobody used to make things for under-weight teenagers with disproportionately long limbs. The tailor I used to go to, the one my uncles and potentially my grandfather had consulted, did not respect a sense of choice or autonomy. I spent a good part of my life, up till college, very uncomfortable in shirts that draped poorly and pants that were always too short.

In college I found the joy of oversized t-shirts and a blue denim. It became my whole identity. I am sure those were regular sized t-shirts. Like most of my friends who had access to the early versions of the internet, I loved the skater look and the baggy jeans and sneakers look of all my favourite vocalists. In a city where pubs were not a concept and where third places usually meant pool tables, clothes were probably the only form of socially approved, hit of dopamine we could find. Also food. Needless to say, these two things would define a large part of who I would become later on in life.

I would buy a lot of clothes throughout the years. I would begrudgingly wear them. Even when people told me I looked good, even when I knew I looked good and it fit me well, I was never comfortable; both in the clothes and in believing that. I spent a good part of the 2020s in skinny jeans, flexible shorts and t-shirts with bamboo fibre. Everything that had some form of stretch to it. It was easy to wear and pair. It was an identity. I wasn’t comfortable. Physically, I was. I just didn’t feel like I belonged inside those clothes. Not in the way I did when I wore loose t-shirts and baggy denims with a pair of red sneakers. When clothes just draped over me and they were out of my mind. I didn’t spend time adjusting seams or sleeves.

Say what you want about that fit. I belonged in it. I was comfortable. Don’t get me wrong, there have been so many times I have worn something and felt good about myself. It just wasn’t something I truly felt like I could live inside. When I started working out and put on muscles, there was always that temptation to wear something that would help me show off my physique. I got a lot of attention. I also got a lot of validation. I still wasn’t comfortable.

When I dated women with taste and style, I learnt a lot about classics and clothing and fits. I adopted mandarin collars in soft organic fabrics for the woman who liked Murakami and could carry a smile like no one else. I changed the way I dress, ever so slightly, every time I started dating someone new. The last time around, I couldn’t try new things. Even when my friends couldn’t stand my spandex outfit choices. One of whom tried to make me get into looser t-shirts. Turns out, creativity and novel experiences require a settled nervous system. I have a fairly regulated nervous system now. As a result my wardrobe, now, has over-sized t-shirts and quirky printed socks my niece would love to steal. Tiny pink hearts on checkered green socks that the local barista remembers weeks later and asks me where I got them from.

Let’s go back to the weekend. I went in and I knew exactly what to ask for. I told him I need loose pants, preferably made of canvas or some tough material. I had been experimenting with canvas and found a pair of pants I was slowly learning to live in. But they gave me serious chafing issues because holding 25 kg dumbbells and doing lunges makes your thighs massive. Nah! I’m just flexing. Those pants were just one size too small for me. The guy at the store who has seen me come in and buy all sorts of things including a pair of overalls started showing me and I kept saying no.

We have done this dance way too many times for him to care about me saying no and for me to care about what he thinks. He pulled out a pair of grey pants that have definitely been through one too many years of sitting on the counter. I could see the stretch marks on the waist where people had pulled at it while trying them on. They felt right – the weight, the silhouette and the subtle stitches and details. It was definitely a pair of work pants. I tried them on. I felt like I could live in them. It had been a long journey to find a pair of pants that fit the way they did. Before I was done appreciating the fit, I heard a knock on the trial room. Another pair was flung over the door. He shouted “You will like this also”, in the accent I have become all too familiar with – Malayalam spoken with the enunciation of someone who has structured their thoughts and articulated them in another language all their life.

These were carpenter pants in black. The loop where a hammer would have gone tugged at my thumb accidentally while trying on. My big toe got stuck in the hem. Aftermath of a hundred legs going through and slowly breaking the thread. Another pair I can live in. I stepped out of the trial room and inspected both the pants in the dim yellow light. The grey pants had stitches missing at the pocket and around the waistline. The black one had a massive crease which had faded. It had missing stitches and inexplicable stains.

It didn’t matter. These were pants I was gonna live in. Someone’s opinions about missing stitches and stains weren’t gonna make a difference. However, I was gonna drive a hard bargain. I kept both pants back on the counter and told him these are damaged. He looked at me. That look contained a bitch, you know this is a factory seconds outlet and you have been coming here for 10 years kinda vibe.

We both knew our role in this dance. He dropped the price and I said I will take one. He dropped the combined price again. I looked into the distance pretending to do mental math. He dropped the price again. I took the deal. I walked out with not one, but two pairs of pants I can live in. After a very long time, guaranteed comfort for the body and the soul. My lanky limbs have a temporary mobile home.

Till next time.