For as long as I can remember, I always saw clothing, at best, as a requirement to stay warm, and at worst, a necessary evil.
A fashion statement to me is wearing the first shirt that I pull out of the dryer. Green. Red. Blue. As long as it’s dry, I’m good to go.
My clothing aversion dates all the way back to my childhood. As a kid, I had skin allergies to certain materials — wool being the Darth Vader.
At my bar mitzvah, I actually wore long johns underneath the suit, so I wouldn’t scratch and squirm for three hours as I pondered life’s great questions. Is there really a God? And if so, is he responsible for acne?