Today I saw a very young girl running around with a vertically blue striped shirt, and horizontally striped pants containing every other color. Her socks were yellow, and her shoes were red.
To me she looked as if a clown threw up on another clown, but it brought to mind a story my mom told me of my first day of kindergarten when I emerged from my room wearing every conceivable pattern and color combination, beaming with pride for what was possibly my first attempt at dressing myself.

Kids just dont care how they look, it only matters how the clothes make them feel and how rad they can get in them, and in that regard, I dont think Ive ever evolved.

As Ive stated here before, Im wearing the hell out of my Brunos. Theyre comfy, tough as nails, and dont show stains.
The three ironclad rules of thumb I tend to stick to.
Before the Brunos, for the last 20 years, Ive been, as well as continue to be a diehard Ben Davis man.
I dont care for Dickies because my change falls out of the pockets when I sit down, probably due to the fact that I have an unnaturally large ass for a white man.
My ass really is nether here nor there.. In truth, its really kind of everywhere.. but I digress.
I bring all of this up to lay a bit of a foundation for an ode. An ode to my possibly unhealthy affinity for this here old stock Swobo hat modeled by GenO.

Its made pretty much of the same stretchy wool that the Fenster knickers are made of presently. Since I was a very young child, Ive had a soft spot for hats. Not top hats or Bowlers mind you- generally just baseball hats, or the occasional sock cap.

This hat however does the trick for all occasions, all seasons and all reasons.
Ive lost and found it more times then I care to count, its been all over the country, across Canada from Qubec to Vancouver, been stolen, bloodied, burned, slept in, on and under, and now at this point is as good as a permanent fixture on my body.

Like Loudass over heard on the bus between two recent prison parolees-

"Whatchu gonna buy first, man?"
.."A suit!"
"What kinda suit?"
...."The kind that fits me best!"

This tattered and foul smelling item does, and always has 'fit me best'.

I feel very fortunate to be in the employ of a company who happens to produce the items of clothing that fit into my very narrow margins of acceptability, and aside from my mantra of 'if it werent for Swobo, I wouldnt have any friends', it is also true that if it werent for Swobo, I would probably be naked as well.
Both of these statements are undeniably linked and true, moreover probably because of one another.
Were not fasionistas, but we know what looks good and what works well all at the same time.

Something that anyone caught riding behind me will forever be unknowingly thankful for.