The Mid-Mid-Life Crisis

Ok, so I realise there has been a lack in the old blogging of late from He-Who-Observes, but to be perfectly frank with you, this year has been a toughie! Relocating to the other side of the world, new jobs, old friends, and the invariable loom of the skid up to twenty-five.

‘Urgh – you what?!’ I hear you cry – but just hang on a minute (step away from the kettle, its not a hot flush) this is reality and he-who-observes has noticed a shift in a few astral planes…well, maybe not that far, but still…read on.

Through the first 23 years of life, the Gen Y’s are pushed to believe in education, education, education – but actually, there is no real warning of the real world and boy is it harsh out there. Years of rigorous slog… well, four at university in my case - school mainly consisted of cigs, booze and the belief that a text book cover makes the best ‘roach’ - and whoosh, you’re out there into a sea of bad suits and comb overs (pass me that smoothing serum). All those exams suddenly start to slot into place (bar Geography – don’t teach us about continents and countries will you? Teach us about the useful composition of soil, oh how I use that every-single-day. Do I know all the countries in the Far East? Honestly? No. This is an entirely different rant).

The actual realization that in a one month, He-Who-Observes will reach an age that is half that of 50 is somewhat daunting. Is this the right career path? Where is my love life going? Am I happy living in this country? What the hell is council tax exactly, other than a massive pain in the backside? Is my face starting to sag? Hopefully my hair wont fall out. Why is this bottom bit of my back swelling week on week? The constant envy of teenager’s skin, so youthful! How are they engaged? A baby – what?! Mortgage deposit? How do these jeans not fit?! Cue intoxication. Cue horrific hangover very much unlike the ones from the early days.

The whirlwind begins and the thoughts form a worrying spiraling pattern.

This is the mid-midlife crisis. He-Who-Observes is sensing a feeling of panic among the masses but fear not, I will try to guide us through this.

He-Who-Observes has seen a few Mid-Life crashes: the rage, the lashing out, the random ‘two-piece-polymix’ purchases, but has seen them to an end. Steer clear of the ‘self help’ section – it’s all too much, but simply learn how to reflect.

What have you achieved?

What do you want to achieve?

Lets enjoy YOUTH.

Hopefully readers – you can observe He-Who-Observes transformation into the late twenties and hope that it is done with style. Failing that, please send all clinics, weight loss regimes and dating website details in.

Times they are a changing, there’s nothing I can do about it but Observe-Who-He is going to become.

Is coolness blinding my observation? I don’t think so.

He-Who-Observes has been back on UK soil for some time now, and back full swing on some shoulder rubbing schmoozy schmoozy socializing. To be perfectly honest with you, it’s all been rather fabulous. However, in the midst of such air-kissing-hand-shaking-madness, I’ve detected a bit of a chill.

Call me stupid (maybe it’s a brain freeze), but god, some people really play it ‘cool’ don’t they? So cool it’s almost icy.

Take situation A. He-Who-Observes locks vision with a fellow socialite. Conversation oozes and business cards are swapped. It’s all very business fash-pack glam. A flirtatious email is flicked over the next day, but with the undercut of being a jokey work email – Rule One: always cover ones back. Emails bounce back and forth in the usual ‘wait a bit, don’t email back straight away’ game that we all play. When the push hits the shove and the emails come to the crunch [aka date offer] it all goes a bit quiet. REJECTION I hear you scream at your screens. He-Who-Observes thought so too. *Yawn* Lights off, time for bed (alone). Or Not…

He-Who-Observes was back on the party scene, and this time ran into friends of the above rejecter. Instantly conversation switches from the banal topics of work life and fashion pages to the ‘So, I heard you were emailing [insert name]’, ‘[insert name] really likes you and from what I hear can’t wait to go on a date with you’. He-Who-Observes has witnessed coolness beyond belief. And no, before you ask, this information was certified truth.

This one played it too cool, they froze themselves out. A one off you might justify? No my friends, certainly not. These days, is it too cool to play it like ice, or should I just meltdown and play it frozen? I don’t get it. I can play the 3 day game, but flippin’ heck, playing it this cool belongs in the Antarctic!

I’m over it. Get me some Barbados warmth and just roll with the easy life. Surely, this Baltic method of seduction will leave you looking uninterested, rather than hot for heartfelt romance? Get me out of the freezer and into the blow torch! Let’s call this the modern day crème brûlée effect.

Rose Tints? You need The Fit List vs. The Hit List

Here we go again: devotion; bad behavior; faith; ill manners; stupidity; romance or loyalty. But which one do you show? He-Who-Observes has noticed a growing trend in personalities, and to be honest, its time to wade through some muck/silk.

Fit List

Ahh, to feel your heart flutter. Joyous isn’t it? Those texts out of the blue, the little gestures, the moments that last in your mind forever and the incredible actions of fellow human beings that genuinely takes your breath away.

Those who sit on the fit list text back, proactively maintain a friendship, buy you a drink after a hard day and probably share their last Rolo. It’s the spontaneous and natural urge of heaven that keeps these angels firmly on the fit list.

I hate to cliché this, but the fit list is the laughs on the adverts, the hugs from the heart and the reassurance that everything will be ok. It’s those who listen, those who cry with you and those that appreciate true romance. Get on a train, they’re only a couple of hours away, if someone invites you to something a month in advance: Go, and if the person sitting next to you is down – offer them 5 minutes of listening time.

Hit List

Bang.Bang.Bang. They’re the nails in common sense’s coffin.

Yes, you may meet another who is the iconic: ‘fit’, but as soon as their personality screeches through the slits in their soul, it’s amazing how quickly the rose tints come off – don’t you think? Suddenly the warm glow that beamed from the heart of the beloved suddenly turns into an icy wind or a chill down the back of your neck. And however much you try to look for the blanket to warm the whole thing back up again, you’ll always have that draught on your ankles.

Ringing bells in your head?

You on the hit list don’t listen, you don’t text back, you just are. The lack in compassion eventually leaves you a few friends down. You’ll get fazed out, trust me, its happening now and you probably don’t even realize it.

How we become to sit on the fit list or the hit list is a question of psychology, social norms and personal acceptance. Give and inch…

Well He-Who-Observes is setting a trend, get the gist and jump on the right list, because if you’re names not down: you’re not coming in.

...You can always judge a person by their shoes

An introduction to the devil shoes -

If you own any of the photographed, question your alcohol consumption...

The Vilest Shoe of All: The Croc

He-Who-Observes has forever noted the comments for the sartorially struggled that those items in wardrobes and on the shelves and racks in our beloved stores that offer a classic style or a high fashion twist to ones ensemble simply can’t offer the wearer the comfort they so desire. [Insert Yawn]

“Comfort first, comfort first!” You know exactly who you are, and to be perfectly honest, unless you suffer from a bad case of gout, there’s no excuse. He-Who-Observes is sick of observing those nasty trainers on the street, those worn out Ugg’s (you know the ones that flop unflatteringly to one side – making the wearer look physically impaired), and please…do not get me started on Crocs.

Does this social group genuinely believe that these are the only shoes / boots for them? Really? No seriously, do you? I think its time the shoehorn came out and knocked some sense into a few heads, don’t you?

Cobbler, dim the lights darling…

Exhibit A

The trainers with the office suit. Are you running to work? Do you have to cross the moors, and tough terrain for your office job? Move over Moses.

Funnily enough I cannot find a picture of this with a suit, as unsurprisingly, no one wants to photograph this look - pretty black and white, don't you think?

Really ladies, the shoe makes your calves look like hocks of ham, and the white in your trouser brings out that 80s pinstripe in your suit. Either walk to work in your full gym gear and switch to something more professional in the office, or: research your shoes.

Swap the Sketchers for something more classic. A pair of brogues or loafers.

Exhibit B

The Ugg. I will only forgive Chelsea Sloane’s and New Mothers on this. For both are totally helpless. However, the rest of you…

The Ugg cuts your calf at its fattest point – in turn making your legs look larger. As you wear them every day, dragging those poor suffocated feet around, those little suede boots get mucky very quickly, and don’t even get me started on the stench that those lamby’s kick out. As you wear them down, you begin to walk a little funny don’t you? Yet, you don’t even seem to care. It’s bizarre. Um, yes they are easy to shop in because you take them on and off quickly, but to be honest, that’s no excuse as you tumble into free standing units in shops due to your totally f*cked sole. In the grande scheme of things, you look like you’re wearing slippers in public, and no: You don't look like some Norwegian blonde babe.

Swap the Uggs for something with practicality, yet warmth. Think outside the box. A pair of riding boots or something with shearling lining perhaps? If you’re legs are bigger, fear not: look at biker boots or lace ups and drag yourself into now, love.

Exhibit C

Men. Man oh man. You think you’re slipping through the net? No way…José. As your Missus is strutting herself in her new riding boots, do you think your worn out trainers – actually made for the track, are going to cut it? I don’t think so. Too many times He-Who-Observes has noted holes in pumps, frayed laces and shoes that make me want to order you a Fosters.

Sharpen up, or she will. In summer, wear your boat shoes and leather sandals, you don’t need a yacht to look good, and a nautical style is timeless. If your mates take the piss, stand strong and be your own. Be a man.

For evening wear, don’t pull out those god-awful pleather’s, splash out a bit and pull out the guns – the look she gives you in a decent pair will pay off when the champagne has kicked in…cowboy. If you’re an understated kind of guy, get a simple pair of loafers, if you’re feeling fruity; add a tassel or a SIDE buckle. Brogue details are in in in, and they’ll be around forever.

Please Press Eject...

Knowing that He-Who-Observes has already blogged on PDA – Anger, could make this post a small wisp of contradiction. However, contradiction is what makes things a little more interesting and can cause an upheaval of emotion, so ring that bell. Round Two.

He-Who-Observes enjoys a public row, but from a distance. Well, I mean from an emotional distance, in the way that the third party is strictly observing in terms of not knowing those involved. Recent occurrences have tilted this balance of perception and belief somewhat, leading one to tighten the reigns of meaning upon this matter of public arguments and anger.

Its just plain awkward when one watches, or hears a tiff between two or three people when the observer is involved, in terms of knowing those participants in the row, but not knowing the situation or the relationship well enough for one to take part in, or pass advice.

It’s the singleton with the couple syndrome. The third wheel. Watching your friend(s) behave in mannerisms you deem completely ridiculous. Sitting across the dining table or during an attempt at seduction on the dance floor, and suddenly becoming part of a drama in which you simply did not wish to debut. From nowhere (it would seem) a snowball escalates, a row begins and you observe those who are usually so positive and wonderful, become beasts in a brawl in which you cannot complete. Issues you know nothing about start flying around in the air like bullets, and the etiquette one must assume is to become the bystander, the neutral ground, the ‘I'm not listening’ loyal friend.

Well, we have news for you. We are listening, we-are-observing, and what we see is completely and totally ruining our Sunday lunch. Eyes metaphorically roll and the eject button on your seat isn’t working.

We look from one corner to the next, gosh that shelf needs a dust, is it that time already, my beer is getting warm, will they notice if I go to the bathroom…again? Abort mission.

And then there are the lines you want to laugh at, to say “c’mon mate, you’re being totally unreasonable” – but you risk taking a bullet and nose diving yourself into a black hole of no return.

Perhaps this is youth; perhaps in time the rows and tiffs will stop. Is it so desirable to wash your dirty linen in public? Well, if it is, please remember that we are not your detergent or fabric conditioner – there to smooth out the fine lines and make everything all soft and fuzzy again. No, we are your friends and you look like an idiot.

Table for one please…actually, I’ll have this to go. Alone.

Fashion Police – No training required. Just ignorance.

Well, its about time He-Who-Observes has a good old rant. After a weekend of socialising and schmoozing, the same topic of conversation came up among the male members of the different groups of which this butterfly was present.

Dress code.

We’re not talking about the Black Tie; Smart Casual; Funeral kind of dress code, no. He-Who-Observes is taking note of how one is ‘supposed’ to dress in some so-called bars and clubs. The sartorial male would throw (term used loosely) an outfit together to complement and reflect the current trends of society, the looks of the fashion world and to achieve some form of style differentiation between peers. Its important to look and behave your best when out in public, you never know who is watching and, in most cases, the goal is to hopefully get a cheeky phone number and a bourbon at the end of the evening – all while being groomed to perfection.

So, at what point does a young male's inspiration of Tom Ford’s style, mixed with GQ’s cheat sheets and sprinkled with a snippet of lust from the catwalks suddenly become totally and utterly 100% useless? The moment that disgusting pig headed troll of a man in a black coat at the club door deems so. There is your fashion police, in his polyester viscose mix trouser, his scuffed and pleather finished shoe and his wool mix coat that surely if the music from the venue weren’t so loud – one would undoubtedly hear the retched thing rustle. That man; those men, are the ones who mock we-who-tried. The ones who know more about how-to-dress than that group of boars that just entered the club before us. Eurgh.

Now, lets all be a bit honest, normally one wouldn’t end up at such venues – but sometimes it just can’t be helped. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not at the worst places by any means – some are rather delish. We are at this bar because a friend has chosen it for an event. Photos will appear on Facebook and everything needs to be just so, to upkeep yourself as a brand. But for Pete’s sake (Pete being the gentleman turned away for his patent loafers), clubs need to slap these ogres into shape. Give the man a copy of GQ Style and have him learn the rules of the road. Who is this fellow telling us we cannot enter a venue because of our drop crotch trouser? Does a drop crotch mean we are going to start a fight? Surely this is judgement at its finest.

But don’t mistake this from a one sided rant. A fellow male confessed the emotions of panic and worry upon approaching a doorman. The male was built like a hunter-gatherer: an alpha male. A shaved head, studded earring and a collared button jumper, but the face and temperament of a saint. He confessed the loathing of a bouncer for turning him away just for how he dressed, presuming he was trouble. This man would not hurt a fly. Its ridiculous.

Don’t get me started on shoes. He-Who-Observes catches too many mock leather loafers with protruding stitching and a squared point nestled underneath sand blast bootcuts. Is this fashion faux pas the act of the Bouncer? I am observing a straight yes. When will the YSL resort look take off? Maybe it can’t because of the skinhead bruisers. Hark!

Due to the nature of ‘protecting the innocent from the drunken’ there are less female bouncers than male. This wonderfully leads to a wave and influx of girls in nasty high shoes with skirts shorter than a face cloth. Badly tanned legs support a cleavages one cannot fathom how those pups got into that top and war paint thicker than cement – these madams are a crime against the swarve. This look of cheap and easy appeals to the needy and desperate bouncer, so in the girls go.

These small ‘yes’ ‘no’ acts from the bouncer increase how many badly dressed people can be in one place at one time – am I in a bar or at The World's Worst Dressed Convention? Thus this increases the demand for the eye-sore garments and therefore the constant level of badly constructed items on the market today. This simple trip-up from the idiotic could perhaps prohibit fashion from ever truly moving on.

He-Who-Observes could go on and on and on…

The solution – a course for bouncers in true style, and a briefing of seasonal trends and looks. Now, who to have as the doorman for this event I wonder? Oh, I simply couldn't...

Its all a bit xXx Rated…

Whether its X, xx, xXx or xoxo – decorating a message with this letter (aka the kiss) is somewhat the norm for most of us in today’s texting typing society. But, why is it when people don’t use them or when they over use them, mixed messages are sent?

We don’t kiss each other at the end of every statement in conversation so why should we at the end of a text or email? To show we’re not angry or annoyed? Surely we don’t need to resort to Xing or not Xing: To X or not to X! Is it all a bit ridiculous?

Send an email to your boss with one and you are over stepping the mark, but don’t put one to your best friend and you enter a ‘why are you mad with me’ message war.

Does XXX mean more than xxx? – apparently so as its capitals. What’s the difference between x x x and xx. If someone doesn’t x are they playing it cool in flirting? If you over use the X are you coming across as too keen? He-Who-Observes has definitely typed out xxxxx and then back tracked it to a casual and smooth xx. Don’t pretend you haven’t done it, this is He-Who-Observes remember…

“He’s definitely not keen”

“Why?”

“He’s not putting kisses, and when he does its just one”

Oh.My.God. Slap me with a wet trout and call me Susan.

He-Who-Observes is going to attempt to not give a fxXxck about all of this nonsense and just get on with day to day messaging.

xx