Wardrobe Update

Years have gone by since I bought dress clothing.  I've been retired going on eight years.  In late employment, I almost never had occasion to wear tailored clothing, and didn't buy any, other than perhaps dress slacks made of synthetics, which I still wear.  My good suit fit adequately for my son's wedding and reception the following year.  I may have gotten invited to one other wedding.  For the most part, I only wear one of my two suits on the Holy Days.  Sports coats come in handy on Shabbos, two for winter, two for summer, and two that bridge the seasons.  The jackets have gotten snug when I button them, though I have almost no reason to button them.  Men at synagogue often forgo their jackets or their ties, though usually not both.  I typically wear a tie, with or without a jacket, because it sets Shabbos as the only occasion where I wear dress clothing.  And I still like the challenge of tying a bow tie, something always accompanied by a sports coat.

In the next month, I will have an event to attend, one best described as casual chic.  Maybe it's time to follow the advice of Abe Lincoln, who stopped at Brooks Brothers in advance of his major public appearance at Cooper Union.  I could alter what I have.  But the price of cheap suits, particularly those made of synthetics, has declined.  I could get suit separates, have a professional tailor do the jacket, the man around the corner alter the trousers, and have some new options for synagogue.  I already bought a new shirt for the travel, a short sleeve blue print on white background that can be worn anywhere.  

Buying clothing of this type has become a challenge.  I fall between sizes, as I have in the past.  Long gone are the Halls of Robert where my parents would take me to get something of polyester.  A man wearing a suit better than the one I was purchasing would put chalk marks on jacket and pants.  Then I would get back into my own slacks and shirt.  A week later a parent would drive me back to try the finished suit on, then never needing any adjustment, I'd take it home.  I would wear it until I outgrew it.  Earning and income and tailored clothing more expected than it is now, I would continue to buy the important items from a men's store.  Less important items would come from Goodwill, then get taken to a very talented nearby tailor if more than sleeve alterations were needed.

Those in-house tailors, or even measurers and markers to send purchases to an independent tailor, have disappeared.  I went shopping recently.  The megamall has a place dedicated to suits.  Their display in no way resembled the wardrobe staples that John Molloy taught American professionals in Dress for Success, now fifty years past publication.  Loud plaid, no.  Muted plaid perhaps, stripe perhaps, solid probably not.  Wool blends have gotten harder to find, as are people who work at the stores.  My default option has always been Boscov's.  I've even had their salespeople measure me, send the work to a contracting tailor, and pick it up.  Service discontinued.  They still have a big selection at a favorable price, though now nearly all synthetics as the fabric. I tried some on.  My usual size too snug.  The size above, not right in the shoulders.  No attendant in the department to measure me or at least tell me to buy a size up or down.  I had the cashier page a person who works in that department.  None came.

Finding a tailor to correct whatever I select poses its own challenge.  In this era of internet and websites, custom tailoring remains a cottage industry.  There are some near me.  Few reviews.  The rational part of me affirms that for as often as I wear a jacket, my current supply more than gets me by.  Have plenty of suitable shirts, ties, and adequately fitting slacks.  I could take one of my current jackets to tailor, see how he does and for how much, then decide on new clothing.  Likely my best option.  Or just use what I have, leave the button open, and accept snug, another rational approach.  Or I could get something at Boscov's and let him alter it. I'd have something that fits.  Versatile, but not wool.  And few places to wear it.  Looking more put together when I really have nobody to impress does not make much sense.

Maybe before the event, I'll have my hair and fingernails done instead.

Congregational Survey

Filling it out took more than Survey Monkey's estimated times.  A synagogue where my wife maintains a significant attachment and where I accompany her infrequently opted for a self-assessment as their new Rabbi, a potential superstar of Conservative Judaism, gets his bearings.  This has been a very successful congregation, having only its third senior Rabbi since I was married in their sanctuary by the first of them.  Whenever I go there I see a lot of people around.  Whenever I witness a Purim spiel, the presentation far exceeds what my own congregation could produce, or even aspire to produce.  I think If I were designing my ideal synagogue from a Dilbert cubicle with a yellow pad and Bic crystal pen, I would come up with something along the lines of what they have.  Tradition maintained, gender equality for real, a spectrum of special events, regular study worthy of college graduates attending, knowledgeable congregants taking their turns on the bimah and in the seminar rooms, a kitchen, functioning committees, and a leadership that instinctively reviews their membership list to invite those most capable of helping to join in.

Undoubtedly, if they did all these things as well as what their officers set as their goals, they would not need the survey.  But what I was asked to assess reveals what they aspire to, whether or not fulfilled.  They want a diverse congregation, one that has people glad they came to their event or service.  They have generated a very large menu:  services for all religiously specified times, chances for people to partake of them in the form of individual honors or participation, a plethora of educational forums, opportunities to socialize with each other across demographic categories or within a multiplex of identifiable personas from LGBT to empty nesters.  Their congregation carries their banner outside their deeded property in the form of promoting Jewish initiatives of easily recognizable categories with partner agencies.  They need the facilities they have generated, communications within the organization and beyond, enough financial stability to invest in new initiatives, and a team of people to create a congregational vision that they can implement.

This place has certain advantages over my shul.  Size, wealth, property, diversity.  But they also have a mindset advantage.  They consider what excellence entails and what might be possible.  As we degenerated to a handful of Influencers, some of whom I'd not put on my Admirable A-List, they understand the benefits of their cast of thousands.  They want to have people partake of their programming but they seem to also invite more talent to create that programming.

One of the bestsellers of my formative years, a book that I read for the purpose of assembling a suitable early career wardrobe, was John Molloy's Dress for Success.  While I learned about colors, patterns, and fit, he had other guidance that was transportable to other settings.  When I could not afford top-notch, how do I get the best that my realistic resources could attain?  He suggested looking at the best then, "shopping down."  For a house, go to open houses of mansions and see which parts of their offerings are best to duplicate.  For decor, I visit historic mansions, see what people do with their space when money is no object, then assess what might be possible for me.  When I need my next car, look at the luxury vehicles, then purchase my sedan with the features that are best for me.

I could approach my congregation the same way.  It's a place of waning appeal, much like the many parallel Christian congregations that once had a hundred worshipers a week, now only twenty, and older ones at that.  It's a megatrend.  Yet as the survey of the successful congregation striving to be even more successful indicates, there are still some why not's of what might be possible.  What might it take to have better outreach into the larger community, to invite people who never thought they would be passively invited onto committees, to have committees or other activities with names but no people start having people, to become the go-to congregation with experts in Anti-Semitism or Israel advocacy?  We may have to schect some Sacred Cows to do this, retire a few Influencers who won't look outward or at least create more accountability.  Probably very little reason we cannot have carpools to bring members of limited mobility to our activities.  And we could budget beyond our subsistence, paying rent and salaries from our never to be replenished profits of our building sale, to targeted purchasing of the things that make us a more inviting place.  The larger congregation has more resources.  They also seem to have more mindset, more determination. And they look at their people as potential creators, not only as consumers.  That's the difference.

Put Together

Nobody has yet nominated me for a Stacy and Clinton makeover.  I'm skeptical about impressions but became a little less skeptical recently when I reacquainted panim el panim with a very gracious girl, now an elegant lady with an appearance well under her actual age, who I had not seen except in a Facebook picture in 50 years.  We had identical class schedules as high school sophomores, separated only by French for which she attained real proficiency and Spanish with my skill limited to letting Hispanic patients know I cared enough about them to converse briefly and read cast-off copies of El Diario from the floor of the NYC Transit trains.  I found her at the time cute, pleasant and intelligent, maybe the first time I ever really singled out one girl from among the masses.  I do not know how she found me but she seemed to go the hippie or beatnik track over the ensuing two years while I kept focused on my grades and college aspirations.  She and one other remained as prototypes which in due time approximated my wife, also cute, gracious, and intelligent with similar stature and identically colored hair.  I was anything but drawn to style, though as an early career entrant I understood from John Molloy's Dress for Success that appearance could serve as a useful tool.  Once my Brooks Brothers Credit Card was no longer needed, when my professional skill spoke for itself, it was a return to Goodwill and Boscov's for wardrobe staples.  And I never gained the graces of small talk, memorable handshakes, or the stylish haircut.

My friend and I went our separate ways, literally coasts apart and ideologically probably still within a light-year of each other.  However, we shared a valued acquaintance.  Her elderly aunt of abundant accomplishments attended my shul where I was mostly recognized as the Yom Kippur Torah reader.  Facebook when it came out reconnected a lot of high school chums, most of whom I have become closer to now than when I attended.  Friends of this type gather largely out of curiosity.  A few annoying political posts or comments or becoming a noodge with too many C'est Moi's in the manner of Miss Piggy invites the recipient to snooze for a 30 day respite, unfollow, Unfriend, or in the most egregious situations to block.  I got Unfriended by this former classmate the day after saying there were valid reasons to vote for Reagan, something the majority of citizens agreed upon at the time but announced the unpardonable sin to others

The irreversible aging process caught up with my friend's aunt, actually everybody's surrogate aunt, expiring at age 95.  There are funerals and there are celebrations of life.  Sorrow yes, tragedy no.  About 100 people assembled at the Jewish funeral home, some traveling considerable distance to attend.  A few lines above mine in the Guest Book was my friend's hand-printed sign-in, handwriting far better than mine.  She had come with her husband and son from the West Coast.  Though I had not seen her in 50 years, there was that FB profile photo posted several years earlier and not yet overwhelming attendance in the pews, so I had little difficulty identifying the old hometown girl.

Introductions to each other's families then ensued, briefly as the ritual of funeral was to commence shortly.  While she may have gone the hippie route as a high school senior, there were no love beads, headbands, flip flops, or overdue grooming characteristic of Vietnam War protesters.  Instead I encountered a most elegant person.  Her hair had been preserved in its color of youth, or at least it was not the grey color of mine, her husband's or her late aunt's.  The style duplicated that of the FB photo, probably beyond the skill of most people to maintain on their own.  Her clothing fit properly, an inviting mixture of burgundy and black.  I did not catch the shoes nor give the earrings enough attention to remember anything about their design.  She had averted the gait alterations and osteoporotic features of her aunt, not quite thirty years her senior.  Some conversation followed, still as gracious as I remember half a century back, repeated the following night at Shiva.

Our high school popular people arranged a 50 year post-graduation gathering for later this spring.  The confirmed attendance list is posted periodically by the organizing committee.  No black alumni coming, even though well represented in the class of 1969.  AP classes, where my friend and I still intersected our last two years, woefully under-represented.  Ugly ducklings transitioned to swans not coming either.  Juvenile delinquents one step from Reform School but living as mainstream adults, at least as I remember them, not on the attendance list either.  Don't know who on the attendance list needed to secure consent from their Parole Officers.  The popular people who got invited to the parties as teenagers arrange for themselves one more.


In the Chapel, my friend and I concurred that Florida seemed an undue schlep to greet the people that you see on Facebook posts most days.  The committee deserves lashes for not going beyond Facebook or word of mouth to capture the people who you haven't seen, maybe forgot about or never missed them, the people who really had been lost to follow-up but are worth a revisit, as my friend was to me.  No doubt those who spend the $149 reception fee will dress to the nines, get hair done, mani-pedis, maybe have their lens implants just in the nick of time to avoid eyeglasses.  My friend and I will not likely exchange handshakes or hugs, as our common personal link now belongs to the Ages. I did get Refriended, though.  I will remember her as stunning and poised which has its advantages over my natural frumpy and gauche.

Haircut with the Women

כולם אומרים. בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה' אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, גברים אומרים: שֶׁלֹּא עָשַׂנִי אשָּׁה נשים אומרות: שֶׁעָשַׂנִי כִּרְצוֹנוֹ.

Men- Blessed are you, Hashem, our G-d and king of the world, who did not make me a woman. Women- Blessed are you, Hashem, our G-d and king of the world, who made me according to his will.

It has been said periodically, and believed by a lot of people, that look good promotes feel good.  We can debate what look good means, from John Molloy's Dress for Success best seller of the 1970's to those Trumpkins that have emerged from our sewers who think their Nazi insignia is a form of look good.  I've dabbled with this correlation of appearance with well-being, but my suits or white coats never quite fit right, my pants that I payed a tailor to shorten too often got frayed at the cuffs, my hair gets cut when it's convenient to get it cut from where it is convenient to get it cut, and my eyeglasses get straighteded out at Costco when the frames bend enough to affect the vision.  My self-esteem never correlated well with pre- and post-haircut.

I look at Facebook submissions of Friends, largely HS classmates of my age.  The men all have gray hair with varying abundance, the women with few exceptions make a point of not having gray hair.  My nails are the color provided by nature, typically chipped by some form of manual activity, theirs are colors that might be found in an art museum.

So I really needed a haircut.  Usually I go to the New Castle Farmers Market which is a schlep but they have professional barbers who moonlight there on the weekends and they are open on Sundays.  They will straight razor the trim and shape the bushy eyebrows, all for a very competitive price which I supplement with a meaningful cash tip.  I didn't want to drive all the way there.  When I worked nearby, I would sometimes go to one of several local salon's nearby, which I started doing again in retirement.  One stood out, a little higher price than the others but a better experience to justify a small cash increment.   My wife had once even given me a Father's Day gift certificate there which I spent on a professional massage, which they apparently no longer offer.  So I gave it another go.

Interesting experience.  The other nearby places had men and women getting their hair revised in some way, even giving a discount for men on certain days.  This place had men's services in their brochure, but I was the only male on the premises unless the postman came by while they were tending to me.  I was also the only one with gray hair and if anyone else had too much facial hair, the estheticians had various waxes or lasers to make their faces smooth again.  The room where I had my massage those many years ago remains a private nook dedicated to skin services.

My basic haircut started with a shampoo.  Real barbers leave behind minor clippings which remain after the powdered brush and blower.  We wash our hair later that day at home.  Here, the belief is that the newly shampooed hair makes it easier for the stylist to control.  So neck hyperextended to put the scalp in a tub, refreshingly warm water in a shower type delivery applied, followed by shampoo.  I assume the stylist looks at the scalp, then decides between Prell or Kwell, lathers it up and rinses it off with a brief towel dry.

How would I like it cut, or really the first question was when I last had it cut.  A while ago.  I do not track this but most likely it was on a $14 Tuesday at the strip mall around the corner.  Potential styles:  Beatles, Bill Clinton, Nixon.  All mostly before her time.  I do not know how many businessmen she styles, but we settled on businesslike.  All around me ladies had various do-dads in their hair suggesting works in progress that will take a while.  Mine just got a lot of scissors with some electric clippers at the end.  No offer to tend to my unruly beard.  She probably has enough experience to never mess with the Rebbe's beard.  No offer to trim the eyebrows.  To be fair, she tended mostly to the shaping, which is the best I've had in recent memory.  Better proportion between the sides which were left a little longer than usual and top a little shorter than usual.  Good job if appearance is the end point.

Bit of sticker shock at the end.  Before going I read their online brochure and expected the price to be higher than the moonlighting barbers at the Farmers Market but not $10 above what was in their brochure.  Credit card inserted.  They only allow cash tips so I broke a large bill and put some in an envelope for the stylist.  Something a little more utilitarian and less expensive next time.