Rock breaks scissors
Scissors cuts paper
Picture crushes text
From the screedy one:
I dress casually in the summer, because itâ€™s hot. But for the last few years Iâ€™ve returned to good slacks and decent shoes and a crisp shirt and a tie. Grown-up clothes. Dad clothes. A man ought to be able to put on a shirt and tie without thinking heâ€™s putting on a costume to deal with The Man; he should regard it as the Rainments of Masculinity, the costume we wear to project the impression of seriousness. If weâ€™re not serious, itâ€™ll be apparent quite soon. Likewise if weâ€™re a peacock, a grifter, a poseur, a drone, a cog â€“ the uniform only says that youâ€™re part of the hard plain world, not whether or not you really belong there. I just know that I feel different in a shirt and tie. I stand up straighter. I donâ€™t feel as though Iâ€™m owed more respect; on the contrary, I feel obliged to be more respectful. Itâ€™s hard to describe, but to paraphrase a drunken Marge Simpson after six Long Island Iced Teas â€“ you guys in the audience, you know what Iâ€™m talking about.
No. No we don’t. But about that shirt…and the bolo tie….