Sartorial Aside

One of the best parts of travel is the time it affords you to think. Ponder. Introspect. Especially when language barriers and social isolation factor in, being away from home, away from everything familiar (not that Seoul is so much of an adjustment to live in coming from New York); it gives you that crucial shift in perspective necessary to truly cultivating an open mind. Suddenly reality and its perception refracts, often subtly. Certain things fall out of focus, others come sharply into view. Sometimes profound realizations materialize, sometimes simple appreciation for things long overlooked bubble to the surface.

This is a case of the latter.

Tie clips I understand, but have never used. Thinking about them recently, I've decided retroactively that its been more of an active avoidance rather than permissive neglect. Tie clips I understand, ties I do not. Especially in a healthcare setting, where they dangle daringly over patients, and glide silently across surfaces covered by who knows what. To make use of a tie clip would be a concession legitimizing the place of the tie in the hospital. Call me stubborn; it's nothing I don't already know. But I maintain that professionalism is a weak argument in favor of ties - certainly surgeons in scrubs aren't necessarily any less professional - but I'll save my criticisms of this argument for a discussion about white coats.

Cuff links, as a functional accessory, I understand - but in a similar way to ties, it's the context of use that is beguiling. French cuffs...why? I was once curious about cuff links. Perusing for a pair suited to my taste in a department store many years ago, I was seeking something understated, something simple, something mostly functional. This is not a mindset that is consistent with the idea of a French cuff - a gaudy, overly thick, boastful wrist wrap. Only the French could conceive of making their cuffs twice too long, only to fold them back and create a need for cuff links.

That's a personal aesthetic opinion that perhaps will change in the future. Probably not.

What is it that I do appreciate, then? Collar stays and shoe horns. Unsung heroes of aesthetic professionalism. Mere pieces of semi-rigid plastic, geometrically simple, they are invisible helpers for a thankless and often too-subtle-to-notice job.

Today I reached an epiphany of appreciation for my collar stays. Slipping them into my shirts when I first arrived in Seoul, I never expected I'd mourn their disappearance when, upon return of my dry cleaning, they were gone. I didn't even notice they were gone until mid-day, when my collar started to do that sagging leaflet thing with the curled up tip. Annoyed (for a multitude of reasons today),  I propped them up. Over and over again. Luckily the shirts came with two pairs, the second of which I will diligently remove before dry cleaning again.

Now, my shirt freshly laundered and collar confidently poised, I can't help but feel imbued with similar esteem and unseen strength.

Shoehorns I have long appreciated. My right index finger knuckle has been indebted to them since an early age. Though the tops of my shoes get quickly creased and worn, shoehorns preserve the backside, always. I even have fond memories from middle school of eating an entire bucket of cookie dough in a hotel room with some friends while on a band trip - scooping out handfuls at a time with a shoehorn.

One day, I will find the right one for me. Call me a sartorial sentimentalist; it's nice to be in a country where shoehorns abound. Strangely, I feel more at home.