Illustration by Ward Sutton
No fashion accessory frustrates me like sunglasses. If they're
chosen well and matched with the proper ensemble, a pair of shades
can symbolize power, intrigue, wealth and, of course, cool. But
in the hands of a buffoon, they are pretentious and ridiculous.
My friend Ken and I have been wrestling with the riddle of shades
since high school. We've persevered through Blues Brother Ray-Bans,
grandpa glasses and those industrial pseudo-goggles that cupped
your eyes with leather flaps. The two of us must have gone on
at least three different shopping sprees junior year to browse
through the punk rock boutiques and outdoor stands of Greenwich
Village - all of them fruitless. Finding the right pair of shades
meant walking a fashion tightrope. One false move and you'd look
like an imbecile.
"I think my nose is all wrong," says Ken when I call him to ask
if he's found any good sunglasses lately. I understand his concern.
He's got a wide nose and I have a bump in mine. In a discussion
about shades everyone talks about the shape of your face, few
mention the size of your nose. But it's a very real predicament.
It's hard to explain the feeling of inadequacy when you slip on
those one-size-fits-all Wayfarers and their perch on your proboscis
is all wrong. The frames tug at the back of your ears and there's
way too much space between the nosehole and your face. All the
while the salesperson says, "They look great? no, that's how they're
supposed to fit."
Then there's the question of the right image. Does anyone really
want to look like a dime-store Evil Knievel, swim club snot or
a member of A Flock of Seagulls? Then why do so many sunglass
wearers stumble into one of these categories?
It's harder for men than women. Women at least understand the
concept of a matching ensemble. Most men look like they got their
shades with a large order of fries at Burger King or made an impulse
purchase while waiting in line at Rite Aid. Occasionally, you'll
come across a businessman with a sculpted scruff in Armani shades
trying to show how much cash he's willing to blow on a luxury
item. But he usually looks like a leftover from an old episode
of Miami Vice. Sunglasses are like frilly toothpicks. Given a well-cut stack
of meat with all the trimmings, a frilly toothpick is fun and
snazzy. Without the proper context, it's overbearing and cheesy.
I've never worn sunglasses on a regular basis, yet once a year
I take a look around and try to find a pair that fits. I shave
my head these days, which makes it even more difficult to get
a distinctive look. No matter if I'm wearing a $5 or $500 pair
of frames, I end up appearing like a serial killer, R. Kelly,
a trombone player for a ska band or some Eurotrash art dealer.
The selection at Daffy's makes me feel like I'm at an Elton John
garage sale. A pair of $385 crystal cut Jean-Paul Gaultier frames
at Philadelphia Optical World would only work if I had a pink
feather boa and skin-tight leopardskin pants to go along with
them.
As a last ditch effort, I hit the Sunglasses Hut at Liberty Place.
The salesman tells me Gucci shades are hot this season because
of the rapper Lil' Kim and a lot of people are buying Calvin Klein's
CK line as a lower-priced alternative to his upscale Calvin line.
All of a sudden, I hear Ken's voice in my head: "When you think
about it, sunglasses are very spiritual items. They alter your
entire view of the world and let you see everything in a less
harsh light."
"But what's right for me?" I appeal to the goateed salesman in
front me surrounded by hundreds of pairs of perception.
He makes a beeline for the Ray Ban box and pulls out a pair of
'50s-style rectangular shades with tortoise-shell frames.
"They're called 'Bohemian.'"
I check myself out in the mirror, the Bohemians don't fit great,
but not badly, either. Me as a "bohemian" - late nights sipping
cappuccino, rolling my own smokes and rapping about poetry.
"How much?"
"$125."
I guess spiritual items don't come very cheap these days. Of course,
I'd have to fill out my wardrobe with garb that complemented my
new, ultra-bohemian outlook: black turtlenecks, berets and khakis.
All this to look good for just a few months out of the year?
I relinquish the frames to the salesman and head out of the store.
A thought comes to mind while I'm sizing up some Jackie O-style
bug-eyed shades at a stand on the corner of 13th and Chestnut.
Although I might never find a suitable pair of sunglasses, there's
something nice about perpetually searching for just the right
way to perceive the world.
manstyle
Through a Glass, Darkly