An Open Letter to “Hawaiian Shirt” Guy
Dear Hawaiian Shirt,
I am writing to you today because I am asking you to cease and desist.
Last Friday, after I had spent over an hour getting ready for a date with my husband, we arrived at a very nice restaurant in Sacramento, and you were there. Not only did your presence annoy me, for you were underdressed and overused, but I decided your overestimated popularity needed a reality check.
Hawaiian Shirt, you are like the annoying girl I had to sit next to all four years of high school because of alphabetical seating. You are like the driver in front of me who doesn’t use turn indicators when turning right off busy roads. You are like spilling coffee on yourself at the beginning of a work day.
Totally avoidable, but all too prominent. Very annoying.
Hawaiian Shirt, I do not mind you in theory. You have every right to be welcomed at backyard barbeques, beach days, bartenders, Beach Boys concerts (hell, even Journey concerts) and most especially, LUAUS. You are the symbol of Baby Boomer casual elegance, but your days are numbered. We are a new generation looking to the retrosexuals influenced by Mad Men (the very era your rebellion was born out of!). We like our men to look nice, wear skinny ties and not look shapeless in loose silk man blouses.
Hawaiian Shirt, you are not attractive. You looked really good on Magnum P.I. and Tom Cruise in “Cocktail” (in those days, anything looked good on Tom – both of ‘em). But just like those two actors, sadly, your popularity is dated. And note, those are references are dated, in themselves! (Anyone else remember Baloo from Tail Spin on Disney? Hawaiian Shirt.)
Hawaiian Shirt, places I am asking you to not be seen: wine tasting rooms (Ha-wine-an, anybody?), very expensive restaurants, and just about anywhere else. I don’t care if you are a $200 Tommy Bahama or a $5 Hilo Hattie knock-off, your garish patterns and ugly mannerisms offend my 2010 sense of fashionability.
I have claimed small victories over you, oh Hawaiian Shirt. Just a few months ago, in my husband’s vain attempt to put his well-loved decades old version of YOU on in haste (so I could not catch him putting on that nasty garment!) he tore a button off. His own fault! You were not even saved for the rag pile. You were dismissed from our house, and happily so. (Well, on my part; I think my husband had to “take a moment.”)
Hawaiian Shirt, I wish I could be sad for you. But just like VHS tapes, out houses and juice bars, you will fade out sooner than later. The market has no room for you, and we are tired of your lavish lifestyle.
Good bye and good luck (elsewhere).