I'll never be accused of dressing like George Clooney (or looking like him for that matter). It's not that I don't like nice clothes. When tastefully chosen and worn at the appropriate function, clothes can go along way to make a person feel comfortable, if not even somewhat special. Have you ever seen a guy in a tuxedo who did not think that he was, at that moment, the "cat's meow", the subject of every woman's desires? How about the well known expression that women find it hard to resist a man in uniform? Hollywood movie makers long ago understood the attractiveness of a leading man cloaked in a spiffy military uniform, or being one of the "boys in blue", or even wearing the rubber boots and britches of a fireman. Why do you think retail businesses, like Tim Horton's, McDonald's and KFC, require their employees to wear uniforms? The clothes send a message of cleanliness and professionalism and that helps to keep customers coming back.
As a former RCMP officer, I know all too well the symbolism of the uniform. The RCMP knows it too. In the early 1990's, the Force negotiated a deal with Disney to share in the profits generated by the sale of all of that Mountie memoriabilia. None of these items is more recognizable or more popular than the Mountie's red tunic,officially known as the Red Serge. It doesn't seem to matter if it is on a minature figurine of a person or a moose, those things sell.
The RCMP also uses the uniform like a carrot placed in front of an unwilling jackass. Upon arriving at the training centre in Regina, every recruit is issued several types of uniforms. Encompassed in these are the traditional, everyday working clothes and the vaunted formal Review Order dress that includes the Red Serge. The catch is that newbies in training are not allowed to wear the actual uniform of the RCMP. The Force has learned that it works very well if new Mounties learn that the priviledge of wearing the real uniform has to be earned. As a result, I started my training wearing tacky brown pants and sneakers. To make us look and feel even more unattractive, we were not allowed to walk whenever we had to go from one building to another. We had to jog and we had better not be observed touching any of the side walks while doing so either. Those were reserved for the more distinguishably dressed Mounties.
After a few months of sweat and toil, as well as numerous tongue lashings from those entrusted with making us respectable Mounties, most troops get to wear "their blues", which are the pants with the yellow stripe down the side of each leg. I admit that I was always proud to wear the uniform. Dressing in it made me feel different somehow. It is almost the same feeling as strapping on your helmet just before going onto the ice for a big game. The noise the helmet clasp makes and the sound my pistol made, as I secured it in its holster, both signified that I was ready for whatever lay ahead.
In my 21 year career, I probably only wore the actual uniform for a total of three or four years. I spent many years chasing drug dealers, which actually meant following them around secretly, as we waited to catch them red handed and make the big bust. Doing this while in uniform is possible, it is just that you'd never catch any of these wily bandits. The standard uniform of the narc is whatever everyone else happens to be wearing, necessitated by the fact that we need to blend in, not stand out. In my case, it was jeans and a t-shirt and that was fine with me. I never had the desire to own Gucci this or Gucci that. Thankfully, I am retired and don't have to investigate those many young kids who seem enamoured with the newer designer type drugs, such as ecstasy and methamphetamine. I'd have an extremely difficult time fitting into today's youth culture. I'd hate to have to try and put those large buttons in my earlobes. My genes are also against me, as my hairline no longer allows me to sport a Mohawk. What I have now-a-days is more like a natural reverse Mohawk. Perhaps in today's anything goes society, a plump, hairy eared, middle aged, jeans and t-shirt wearing undercover cop would still be effective. It's possible, but the brand of the jeans better be Guess and not Dickies from Walmart.
Sure, nice clothes say a lot about a person, but don't be fooled into thinking that you can tell everything you need to know about someone just by the materials hanging from their body. First and foremost, clothing has always been functional. They keep us warm, dry and protected from the sun. I doubt our cavemen ancestors cared if their fur underwear were from a sabre tooth tiger or a woolly mammoth, as long as it did what it was supposed to do. My attitude on clothes is fashioned after these cavemen. Like them, I have little idea about how to mix and match colours and styles. I have a wife for that and I believe that was probably the basis for the first union of man and woman. The females amongst us could no longer stand man's ineptitude for dressing themselves.
I doubt I will ever change. Yesterday, I attended a man's store because I'm starting a new office job on Monday. It seems that most of my older suits have shrunk while idling in my closet this last year or two. Who knew that inactivity could cause clothing to shrivel up! I purchased two suits, four shirts, and three ties in a total time of about eight minutes. I would have been out of there quicker, but the sales guy insisted that I actually try the stuff on. That visit confirmed that I am a fashion dinosaur. The sales guy gave me his business card (probably for when I need another suit in about ten years) and under his name was his title - Wardrobe Consultant. I can honestly admit that, before today, the word wardrobe was not in my vocabulary, nor of any of the guys that I know. The RCMP is a progressive organization, but I doubt I would have lasted even 21 days if, while in training, I had ever asked my thirty one male troop mates which wardrobe we would be wearing that day. It would have given a literal meaning to the expression "dressed to kill".
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