Renaissance Festival Business Attire

Last night I had to go to a somewhat formal meeting that was not Church related. I can't remember the last time I did that. My basic life's wardrobe consists of three things. A cassock or a gold dress. Work jeans and t-shirt. OK, four things... I have my flannel Grinch pajamas that I wear around the house. Five things... For special occassions I have a Hawaiian shirt.
This was a "special occassion" so I was about to put on my CLEAN jeans and my Hawaiian shirt. My wife said, "I think this is beyond the Hawaiian shirt stage." Dang. NOTHING is beyond a Hawaiian shirt. But I knew what she meant.

I trudged down to the basement and opened the door of the storage closet. I inhaled the smell of dry cleaner's plastic, dust and the musty cloth. I flipped the switch and the single dim bulb lit the racks of clothes that haven't been moved for literally years. Way, way back in the 80's, in my protestant days, before an expensive divorce and the downward spiral of my construction company I bought "really nice" clothes. 180 bucks for wool pants? Sure. 80 bucks for a cool tie? Why not? I wasn't into "labels", just "really nice".

Now, the reader has to understand THIS was the guy buying these clothes.
Hippie art major, anti-establishment, you name the 60's cliche... I was it. The problem I discovered with being a former art major is that I had developed an eye for "nice". I could walk into the men's department of a store and see something that caught my eye. It was always ungodly expensive. But I had the money and more often than not, I bought it. What happened to me (besides having more money) in the intervening 15 years between thrift store embroidered over-alls and silk blend sport coats from Goldwaters? Well, dear reader, really...

Nothing.

I was the same person. I was a poser, a chameleon. In the 60's the accoutrements of hippiedom were cheap. I could afford to be one. Because I was an art major I could even make cooler clothes than some people could buy at "Clothes for Beautiful People". The subculture was the particular Renaissance Festival of humanity I chose to join. I wore the costume, assumed the posture, spoke the language, I did it well enough to impress people with the act, and I belonged.

I gave up just barely enough of that to get through Bible college. I cut my hair when Crosby, Stills and Nash were singing about almost cutting theirs. But it was cool to be one of the few "hippie guys" at a Texas Christian College. I gave up even more to get hired by a Boy's Home, and laid aside my overalls and T-shirts for J.C. Penny slacks and shirts. It was a pragmatic move, I knew I had to dress the part of a social worker and administrator to be taken seriously. I took it as maturity.

In the 80's when I got fired from my ministry job, one of the elders at my Church told me, the senior pastor and youth minister in a meeting that we would not get raises because we should be glad that we even have jobs. He said ministers are a necessary evil in order to have a church and the only reason a man becomes a minister is that he can't do anything else, and if we could be something else we certainly wouldn't be preachers. The gauntlet was thrown.

For a lot of reasons, I stayed at the Church after I was fired. I believe most of the reasons were good even to this day, mainly I didn't want to cause another schism by leaving in a self-righteous huff. But the elder's words rang in my ears. I taught Sunday morning adult Bible class and eventually was drawing 80% of the adults of the congregation. I was a successful preacher. But I was also now a "successful businessman". I changed my costume, spoke a new language, had a new attitude. My literal posture, even how I walked changed. I had joined a different Festival. By '85 the hippie thing was old anyway, and I didn't run in that circle anymore, there was no one in my life from that Festival left to impress. And, I was sticking it up that elder's ... Anyway, I still have a few pieces of clothing left from those days in my closet, but more on that in a minute.

Fast forward to Orthodoxy. It was a whole new Festival. And it talked about "the goodness of the material" and the role of the material changing the "person". It was counter-cultural, but within its culture there were levels and layer upon layer of new costumes and personas and attitudes. There was even a new language that, if you mastered it and spoke it with the proper inflections you'd look smart, spiritual AND humble. It all validated the life of a chameleon... and no one could accuse me of being a poser because, well, I was "being Orthodox" and for them to suggest that was being judgmental, which the Fathers condemn. Only your nous knows for sure.

The materiality of Orthodoxy and the evidence of personal transformation (or assistance toward it) for the individual is often judged and viewed by their attire and personal grooming. (I am getting to the dark, dusty closet here... trust me.) They say "clothes makes the man". I'd say yes and no. Yes, it influences how we act, and no, that's not always good because what we wear is usually more about what we are than what we think we're becoming. I don't know of any male convert who, when they first encountered Orthodoxy, didn't experience a twinge of "cassock lust" or envy. There's no two ways about it, there's just something cool about looking like Neo.
So almost back to the point, as I was nearing graduating from Bible college, I remember visiting my friend Harry. He was an old hippie heroin addict who had "sold out" to the establishment, but was (and still is) the most Christian person I think I've ever known. I was at his house (in my jeans and t-shirt) and out of the blue he went to his closet and pulled out a long cape. I think it was his wife's actually. He said, here, put this on and look in the (full length) mirror. I thought he was nuts, but I did. I remember looking in the mirror and my posture changed, I stood up as if I was regal and grinned. Harry, said, "See? See what happened?" I knew what happened. Clothes made the man. The change of costume changed me. I knew what he was saying. I was a poser. My hippie costume was dictated by my weakness of person, not conviction, not a true sense of my self. Whatever I was dressed in became who I am, "I" filled the clothes, the clothes did not adorn who I "am". That was 1975.

It was 30 years after Harry's object lesson and 7 years after I first experienced "cassock lust" that I was tonsured to wear one. I freely admit there is still a bit of "cool to be Neo" aspect to it. I honestly wear the gold dress because I "have to", I was conscripted into service and it is a spiritual discipline for me to serve altar in it. I accepted it because I didn't want it, and no one else would take it on.

So, finally, back to my basement storage closet... that was the point.

I pushed aside some of the old coats and suits and found a sport coat I haven't worn in probably 20 years. Yes, it still fit. I put it on and...

Nothing happened.

That is the point. It wasn't a badge. It wasn't a statement. It wasn't a podvig or a selling out. It wasn't to impress anyone or to get accepted. It was what was fitting for the occasion at hand. I didn't change. I didn't react. I was still, Me. I had realized a milestone standing in my closet that only took 57 years to reach.

When I went to the folk's house I was riding with (from Church), their daughter looked at me and said, "WHOA! I've never seen you like this before!" I said, "You better take a picture because you might not ever see it again in your lifetime." So she did.

Is it " GQ-SP"? "Bearded-Orthodox s-p in a worldly clown suit"?

Nah, just s-p.