The moment that I think I’m self-aware is the moment that I’m not.
Example: I walk across the street at an intersection and notice the tongue of my Nikes has moved to the right, out of view. This makes my jeans fall over my shoes in a not-as-aesthetically-pleasing-
My friend DH once called me gankly, which isn’t a word. It was in reference to my body: long torso, longer arms, an innate inability to control them in a way that’d give me the appearance of being fluid or cool.
We were in college at the time. I was around 6’5″ 190 lbs. Before, during, and since that time, clothes have not fit me well. The majority of the T-shirts I own are boxy and make me look like I’ve got a Spongebob body. Any long sleeve button-up likes to either have the sleeves not be long enough in the first place, or shrink up to the point where I’m flashing wrist after the first wash. When I can afford it, I try to buy stuff from J Crew. Partly because I’m very white, but mostly because they sell Tall sizes. I’m very self-conscious about how stuff fits me, and I hate that.
This extreme bother will usually manifest itself, weirdly enough, in me “not caring” what I wind up wearing because it’s all going to look like it’d look better on a dude some two or three inches shorter.
Vanity will mess you up.
This is why I think headbands are stupid.
I held firm to the theory for the better part of my life that one couldn’t dominate in a headband. I thought it meant you were too concerned with how you looked rather than focused on how you played. This theory has been turned on its head and smashed into absolute Floridian oblivion by LeBron James in recent years.
It was my opinion that you could not and would not win an NBA Championship in the modern era — for this reason I exclude Wilt from consideration — if the most dominant player on your team wore a headband, the one caveat being if that headband served some kind of functional purpose. Bill Walton in ’77 with that gigantic fro he needed kept out of his eyes, for example.
Paul Pierce won a Finals MVP in ‘08, but Garnett was the regular season MVP on that squad. Rip Hamilton was the leading scorer on the 2004 Pistons when they won their title, but he was never a dominant player. Cliff Robinson could dance, and was once the Sixth Man of the Year, but he never won anything of substance and was never a mega-star. Melo’s never won anything. Iverson got one in Staples in 2001 but couldn’t drag Matt Geiger any further. It seemed like the theory had legs.
I considered, up through last year, the theory to still be in tact. I can lie to myself and call LeBron’s one ring fluke — it wasn’t a fluke, I’m only saying that as someone who hates when his theories prove to have a hole in them. I can’t lie after two rings. After these last couple seasons, it’s clear my theory and I have no legs to stand on. I’m all nubs over here now. It’s LeBron’s world. He can do what he pleases. He’s the best player in the league. His commercials are awesome and make up for the fact that his shoes are ugly. There’s nothing that can be done. He’s in charge now.