Uniforms

Uniforms

I’m a sucker for a man in uniform. But not in the way you might think.

I was a big fan of the TV show JAG. It was an action and courtroom drama about military lawyers. The male lead was a Navy Commander and the female lead a Marine Colonel.

My favorite part of the show was studying their various uniforms. They were blue or white or khaki, short-sleeved or long, with T-shirts showing at the neck or stupid bowties for the women’s uniforms. Once in a while, one of the men would wear a sweater.

I tried to figure out the rules for when each uniform would be worn. Was it all the wearer’s duty station or activity? How much did the weather matter? What were the options when one was too hot or too cold? And what about dress uniforms? The Navy officer had spiffy dress whites, but our lady marine had to wear an evening dress at fancy events.

I was just fascinated by having a rule book to consult that took the decisions away from dressing. I’m told that Emily Dickinson wore a white dress every day to spare herself having to choose what to wear. She saved her brain power for her poetry.

I’m no Emily Dickinson, but I wear a sort of uniform to simplify my life.  Choosing clothes does not rank high in my priorities.

My criteria for clothing are comfort, variable warmth, pockets, and, finally, color coordination. My uniform is blue or black jeans, T-shirts under long-sleeved cotton or flannel shirts, and corduroy overshirts. The various shirts come in shades of blue, purple, and pink, so nearly everything matches. Each morning I choose the next clean shirt, match it with a T-shirt and a corduroy shirt, match socks to my pants, and I’m done.