I am not swaggerless.
As a prerequisite to write for The Pins, you have to submit to rigorous swag testing. Lawrence personally flies out to your home and combs through your closet. If he doesn't pour the contents of your trash can into it, symbolically representing that your wardrobe is garbage, you make it to step two. Lawrence then berates you for a superfluous amount of time about your style/hair/relationship choices. If you don't cry, you've made it through to round three. Complex developed some very expensive photo recognition software that combs through all selfies past, present and future to determine what percentage of your alphets are and will be bricks. If you pass that, you can finally freelance for Four Pins and swim in the fucking money at $12.50 per written piece.
So, it's a certifiable fact that I'm not swaggerless, but I was definitely stuck in alphet limbo. I've matured and grown over the past few year, but my wardrobe had not. Mostly consisting of expensive brand dress shirts, pants and suits passed on to me from my dad that were hella fire (but loose and ill-fitting), the rest of my clothes were bought while I was in college. This may not sound too bad, but I am from The South and went to college during the height of prep, which means a lot of pastels and all-over animal prints. I actually didn't get a job because I wore salmon-colored chinos to an interview.
I've been languishing at a job that I hated, but should have been been thankful for. (The same job I didn't get the first time I interviewed because I wore salmon pants, which would later become my nickname). I didn't feel challenged. I slacked off, like, a lot. Like, whole days of just tweeting and reading fire think pieces. I couldn't remember the last time I cared at work. It affected my year end review. Ultimately, my raise was deferred until I proved that I could "be good" at my job. Such bullshit.
I had been mulling over the idea of revamping my wardrobe and starting small with fancy sweatpants. All of the sweatpants I owned were $10 jawns from Old Navy with holes in the pockets or oversized asbestos-stuffed jawns that my dad bestowed upon me from the '70s. The only thing I wanted for Christmas was those aforementioned fancy sweats, which I had to inform my wife meant "probably $100."
Sometimes, life allows you to quit being a fuccboi.
When the homie Top Shelf Tyson tweeted about fancy sweatpants, I innocently asked for brand recommendations and, because we were fam that had spent upwards of four hours building on Twitter, he DMed me and asked for my size. To this day, I don't know what that guy does or who he really is, but two weeks later I had a pair of Unyforme sweatpants that felt like heaven on body. Thank god for building with fam. I had so much room for my dangle satchel to grandfather clock. I was a new man. In the infamous words of fellow Pins contributor Drew Millard, "Drop crotch pants are meant to hide secrets." The sweatpants had sparked my soul. I was woke.
The next day at work, I jokingly asked our branch president what our policy was on fancy sweatpants. After 10 minutes of Google image searches she said, "Wear them tomorrow and I'll vote on whether or not to allow them."
Hitherto, I had almost exclusively worn Sperry Topsiders and Allen Edmonds. Fortunately, I purchased my first sneakers a week prior, a simple pair of black Vans. This was a huge deal because, outside of suits, I had less than three pieces of black clothing.
Dead ass, everything good in my life over the past month has been because of those fancy sweatpants.
The American Dream aka "The Ability To Wear Sweatpants to Work" had seemingly come together through fate. The universe wanted me to flourish.
I was stressed. I couldn't fuck this up. I hit up my alphet attaché, Sweatpants Papi, for help and he artfully suggested a black and white striped polo. I layered it with a lightweight bubble jacket and the recently bought Vans and felt like a gawd. This was the first time I had ever worn a majority murdered out fit that wasn't a. The subsequent alphet could technically be classified as "business very casual" or "comfort goth" and, most importantly, it worked. It was professional enough.
My boss actually approved. I had successfully amended the dress code. Fancy sweatpants were now an acceptable article of clothing. Ya boy single-handedly toppled the fascist capitalist state. But there was an unexpected consequence of all this: I started doing good at work. I was more nimble, more capable of swiftly taking care of client needs because of the aforementioned crotch cavern.
Clothes do make the man. It was an external change that facilitated an internal one. I was looking good and feeling good. I cared what I looked like. I cared about what I did. I cared about my work reputation. Simply, I cared.
I no longer looked like a homeless dude in oversized and mismatched sweats when running Dad Errands™ on Saturday mornings. I copped a tailor. I started talking to co-workers in small doses. I bought a second pair of sneakers. I got offered some side work that made me some very nice extra money. I was given new responsibilities at work and didn't shirk them. Wearing those fancy sweatpants augmented my entire fucking life.
After initially deferring my raise (which would've been about 5%), my boss ended up giving me a 20% raise, which is almost unheard of. And it was all because of those sweats. Dead ass, everything good in my life over the past month has been because of those fancy sweatpants. I'm certainly thankful for fancy sweatpants, but also for Internet Friends™. Let this be a testament to never turning down any opportunity to build with fam. Unlike your family, when you need guidance, fam will always be there for you.
I'm happier than I've been in years. Getting out of a rut requires you making a change. As it turns out, it doesn't have to be some grand transformation. It can be something small that snowballs. It was through the power of the alphet that I found my redemption. Happy holidays, guys. I can only hope you're feeling as #blessed as I am.
Justin Roberson is doing great, guys. Follow him on Twitter here.
