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Livin’ Magnum

In Hawaii, I succumbed to temptation and bought myself a Hawaiian shirt, callow and touristy though the decision may have been. Yesterday I tried it on, fresh out of the wash.

And y’know? Having tried it on, I really like it. And, to Eileene’s horror, she likes it, too—on me, that is. Printed in a quiet, pale maroon rather than a garish blaze of tropicals, it strikes just the right balance of informality and self-restraint: casual without being gauche. It’s a shirt for someone comfortable in his own skin, as well as his own shirt. So we’re agreed that it suits my personality; it looks right on me. A shame that the “me” so admirably matched should be a middle-aged white male growing a pot belly and lacking in fashion sense, but hey. There’s more to life than keeping up with somber New York City chic.

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