Far too many poor souls have been confronted with this modern conundrum: the boyfriend who won’t wear anything but track pants, basketball shorts, weirdly tight sweatpants and random T-shirts.
If you open his closet, you will be greeted with a small collection of gray, black, blue and occasionally neon-colored shirts and hoodies of unknown age and origin. They could be from seventh grade. They might even have holes in them. Trust me, I know, because I’ve faced this predicament, too. It makes you want to ask, “Where does he get this stuff?” He never shops or buys anything new. Who even sells clothes that are this plain anyway, their sparse ornamentation consisting of massive logos and random brand names? They all look like they came from folding tables boasting free T-shirts at an internship fair or a blood drive (and they probably did).
If you look closely, you may even find one more intriguing subset of his wardrobe: a small stack of clothes that are actually fashionable. These are probably the clothes you have told him he looks amazing in, the clothes he never seems to wear. You most likely bought a few of the pieces that live in this stack. Maybe, there’s a button-down shirt, some corduroy pants and a pair of nice sneakers. Or, in my case, baggy sweatpants, long-sleeve shirts, a pair of dark jeans and some vintage crew necks.
All I want is for my boyfriend to wear the clothes that make him look good. When I pictured my first relationship, I always imagined someone with amazing clothes, a closet bursting with baggy jeans and tasteful tops. The mystery man in my head did not wear polyester.
This is a common sentiment among others who have found themselves face-to-face with their fashion-oblivious partner. Clothes truly have so much power to transform a person, to say something about who they are — and personally, I’d like my boyfriend’s outfits not to say, “I’ve been wearing these joggers since eighth grade.”
I have been trying for a long time to get him to dress better. I’ve used all of the tricks you can find on the internet; I’ve told him how much I love when he wears certain clothes, offered to go shopping with him and bought him some nice things that I believed would hopefully influence the rest of his wardrobe.
Despite all my efforts, I have gotten nowhere.
In the beginning of our relationship, I had high hopes of being able to shift his fashion tendencies. Those hopes were quickly crushed by his attachment to the clothes he already has, reluctance to spend money and inability to understand why his outfits are often lackluster. At a certain point of urging him to wear different clothes, I could tell I was at an impasse. It felt mean to try to push him further. So, I stopped actively trying, but I kept making subtle comments, saying things like, “I love when you wear your jeans” and “That crewneck looks so good on you.”
Yet he still, every day, wears athleisure and oversized T-shirts. Top it off with his favorite pair of sneakers — orange-soled running shoes that he’s been wearing for years and refuses to retire — and I think my dream may just be a lost cause. I’ve let it go, let it fall away like an impossibility, as if I had wished for a billion dollars when actually I just wished my boyfriend would wear some real pants.
I’ve gotten used to the black joggers, his seven favorite shirts and his one favorite hoodie that he wears on constant rotation. In letting go of trying to change him to fit my vision, I started to appreciate what was really there. Accepting what he wears as a part of who he is has made me appreciate how he’s connected to his clothing choices on a deeper level than just ease and comfort. At this point, I don’t even know if I could imagine him wearing anything else. The clothes he has are all just such an apt representation of who he is; practical, comfortable and focused on what really matters to him.
When I picture the person I love, I don’t see some made-up guy that I want him to someday be — I just see him, as I know him, blue-gray outfits and all. I get excited when he wears one of my favorites, like the blue Yamaha shirt that fits just a bit better, or the light gray cotton sweatpants rather than the black fleece ones. It doesn’t matter to me anymore that his outfits aren’t what I would have chosen for him to wear; his reasons for wearing certain clothes matter more than my aesthetic daydreams.
The garish orange-soled sneakers are his favorite because he finds them to be the best for running. He loves exercise, running especially, and is so particular about caring for his body and overall health that he carefully picked these shoes years ago and bought something like six pairs of them. Now they aren’t made anymore, and he’s been struggling for months to find a replacement. I sat in a shoe store with him over fall break and watched him tediously examine and traipse around in different pairs of sneakers. The utility of his shoes matters so much to him.
His family is high on his list of dedications, too. He’s always talking to his parents and telling me crazy stories about his huge number of relatives. One of his best friends back home is his cousin, and he gets frequent lunches with his grandpa. When I first went back to his hometown with him, I walked into his house to find not just his parents and brother but also members of his extended family all gathered in the kitchen, filling the room with loud chatter and laughter and offering me some pizza and a chair. He told me later how happy he was that I got to meet everyone like that. He takes pretty much all of his shirts from his dad instead of buying them, and my favorite piece from his closet, a vintage Patagonia fleece pullover, was his dad’s in college. He showed me an old picture of his dad wearing it when I was at his house.
His clothes aren’t just what he’s ended up wearing, too lazy or too uninvested in his appearance to make a change. They’re a reflection of all of the things I love about him: his dedication to family, running, riding motorcycles. And as I’ve grown to know him more and more deeply, I’ve come to love his wardrobe, too. Every part of it reminds me of who he really is. He’s not the perfectly-dressed man I made up in my head years ago when I first pictured myself in a relationship. He’s real. And that’s much better.
Don’t get me wrong — when the ever-elusive jeans make an appearance, I definitely get excited. Just recently, he was wearing a navy blue long-sleeve tee, a rarity, with the collar of a light gray shirt sticking out underneath. It was perfect layering and so cute, which I told him, and he said he’d just have to wear it more often then.
I think there’s a balance to be found between helping someone find what style works best for them and taking them as who they are. Love, in all of its forms, deserves to be recognized and valued, especially the love that comes in the form of neon sneakers. So before you tell your significant other that their clothing isn’t so stylish, ask them what it means to them. Maybe you’ll start to love it, too.
Daily Arts Writer Audrey Hollenbaugh can be reached at aehollen@umich.edu.
