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In Dick Whitman's Shoes

I’m at that stage in my life where I’ve become a creature of habit.  Listen to my wife — like I do — and she’ll tell you my wardrobe contains far too many of the same identical OCBD in various states of wear.  She wouldn’t put it quite like that because she wouldn’t know what a OCBD is, but ask her about my shirts, and she’ll certainly tell.  She’ll tell you about how I’m getting rid of those with the worn cuffs and collars too — because this is what I’ve told her (I just haven’t actually done it yet because those particular garments are my favourites and I still regret those identical shirts I discarded last time, and the time before, when she asked me to).


When it comes to shoes my tendency is much the same.  As my regular daily choice I’ve worn the same make and model of suede brogue — albeit in slightly differing colours — for the last five years.  I’d buy them when I see them at a good price and keep them stashed away until my current pair exceeded the repair skills of my local cobbler and I would begin again.  This new-old pair bought over a year ago and unboxed from the wardrobe yesterday is different however.  As I put these on to break-in around the house perhaps this is the start of my becoming a new man — the Don Draper to my Dick Whitman.  Perhaps if you ask my wife about those shirts in 6 months she’ll speak positively in past tense.

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