I’ve been suffering wardrobe insecurity lately. I’m fine with my old clothes and rarely buy new ones. But my wife recently criticized the way I was dressing for an afternoon art opening. And this was after I’d donned a relatively new garment in my repertoire: an olive colored linen shirt that I’d purchased in Italy a couple of summers ago. She didn’t complain about it then.
But because I was feeling sartorially challenged I paid more attention to what other people were wearing at the opening than I typically do. A couple of male artist types were sporting almost identical navy non-tuck shirts. I don’t even own a non-tuck shirt. I have nothing against shirts that don’t need to be stuffed into trousers; I’m certainly not one of those guys whose Bermuda shorts and wide belt ride up to around mid-chest but I also don’t consider myself a fool for fashion. (By the way, thank you for your service Congressman Jerrold Nadler who I spotted wearing similar attire at a Hudson Valley fundraiser a while back.)
Nonetheless, I went straight from the art show to shopping on my computer, typing in “short-sleeve navy non-tuck shirt.” The first hit seemed exactly what I was looking for at an affordable price. It came from Charles Tyrwhitt of Jermyn Street, London. The only question was whether I also wanted to invest in a customized pocket for an additional twelve bucks?
I’m well aware not everybody considers shirt pockets cool. Perhaps they associate them with nerds — like engineers or those 1960’s NASA scientists that unselfconsciously wore pocket protectors. Or maybe they think that pockets interrupt the graceful line of the clothing. I even had a friend who required that the pockets be removed from his classic fit Brooks Brothers button-down shirts; I assume at additional expense. Certainly the non-tuck shirts worn by those hipster artists at the opening weren’t disrupted by pockets
I find it unfathomable. An unforced error. An “own goal”. I make no apologies for my pockets. If I had my way every one of my shirts would boast a pocket. As far as I’m concerned a t-shirt without a pocket isn’t worth the material it’s made from. It’s useless. An instant rag. Short of the wheel, the pocket may be civilization’s greatest invention.
Of course, it’s possible to go too far. It got to a point where my father wore nothing but safari jackets. And he’d never even been on safari. He just prized the plethora of pockets the garment offered. Some of the pockets even had pockets of their own. He used them to store everything — his wallet and keys, of course, but also his cigars and all the accompanying paraphernalia; even a set of worry beads.
I refuse to become my father, though not just because of his pocket fetish. The closest I’ve come is a pair of cargo shorts purchased recently at the Gap. And they’ve caused me nothing but heartache. I’ve been lead to understand that cargo pants are out. Now I understand why. When I need my wallet or phone — my dad died before smartphones became ubiquitous but he’d certainly have found a spare pocket for one — I instinctively reach for the most easily accessible shorts pockets. When I discover them empty I start to panic, having forgotten that I may have deposited the item in the more remote cargo pockets. That’s particularly unsettling if you’re going through customs and start patting yourself down furiously because you can’t find your passport, tears starting to well in your eyes and your heart rate racing towards 200 beats per minute.
By the way, there’s another great use for pockets: if you don’t know what to do with your hands, if you happen to be a self-conscious person, as I am, and don’t want them swinging like a chimpanzee’s as you saunter down the street, simply insert them into your pants pockets. The gesture might even make you look cool and carefree.
I have a practical need for shirt pockets. I wear glasses for distance but need to remove them to read, for example when I’m doom scrolling on my phone. Apple, though it’s none of their damn business, informs me I do so approximately six hours a day. Assuming for the sake of argument that they’re correct, that’s dozens of times in an average twenty-four hour period that I’m taking off my glasses and need to park them somewhere.
Guests are arriving shortly but I won’t be wearing my new Charles Tyrwitt shirt because I haven’t gotten around to removing the tags. There’s no reason to hesitate, especially since their website came with a warning that if you requested a custom pocket the shirt was unreturnable. I find that strange — as far as I’m concerned i’m doing the next guy a favor — but as far as I’m concerned it’s a small price to pay for the self-confidence that accrues to the man, woman or child who isn’t afraid to show the world a little pocket.
Ralph Gardner Junior is a journalist who divides his time between New York City and Columbia County. More of his work can be found in the Berkshire Eagle and on Substack.
The views expressed by commentators are solely those of the authors. They do not necessarily reflect the views of this station or its management.
