Mike's "Puffy Shirt" According to Girl

Mike’s "Puffy Shirt" according to Girl: The 60s were all about style. We believed in ourselves, and that style involved young groovy kids living their lives beyond the establishment.

Mike and I were not much different; we rode the wave of the movement. We, with the other baby boomers unleashed our creativity. We had ideas, we made soap in garages and computers in the basement and when our generation’s minds were not blown, we came up with lyrics and melodies that would play in elevators for the next fifty years.

We were the hippie generation. We defied convention. We were good kids, liked by the mainstream. It was so much fun to let our hair grow long, not wear a bra, shop for trendy clothes and dress like the mannequins along Fifth Avenue.

The designers follow the kids. I believe that the cyclical world of design will always look to the young first for the fresh and new, whether it be denim shapes and styles, tattoos, to use or not to use fur, to use color or to cast in black and white. Then, it intertwines what is seen with what has been tucked away in the attic trunks, thereby coming up with the inspiration and creations for the windows along Fashion Avenue.

Mike and I were invited to a wedding. Not your normal wedding, this was Tom’s special day. Tom, our very good friend had met a girl from Lancaster (Pennsylvania).

Tom had introduced Mike to me. Even though he was rather crazy about me, I treated him like a brother (which meant I treated him pretty much like crap). He was a year older than I. He had curly brown hair, and was just a little overweight. He had a deep voice and wore thick glasses.

Tom was such a good guy, moms and grandmothers both insisted he was the perfect catch for a girl looking for a husband. I really liked him, but not for a husband. We were so close it would be like kissing my brother. Yuck!

He was a great big brother. He took our church’s youth group (which included me) bowling, out for pizza, and just about every place else that required a car to get to. He was the wheels for the five or six of us that loved to just hang out.

Well, Mike and Tom met in college. They became good friends as well.

So, when I grabbed the mail that spring day in Glendale, I went bounding up the steps with the invitation. It was white on white with the little tissue and reply card all in its place. I was so very happy to hear the good news. We immediately got out the maps, called up the trains, and began to birth an adventure for a spring weekend trip to Pennsylvania. When a friend sends an invitation to something special in his life, and it is possible to attend, the only right thing to do is to say "yes."

We made arrangements for the long day. I got off work, and we talked Charlie Jr. (our landlord’s son) into feeding and walking our dogs. We purchased our Amtrak tickets, and sent back our RSVP. The only thing left was what we should wear. And this is where the plot thickens.

 

We decided on Barney’s. This was one of the most innovative fashion

retail stores in New York. Their slogan was "No Bunk, No Junk and No Imitations." When Barney pawned his wife’s engagement ring for $500 back in 1923, little did he realize that he would be called the amazing marketer of the city, offering free parking, women in barrels handing out matches, and charter boats to take customers to Coney Island. By the time the 70s arrived, he stocked over 60,000 suits by all of the major designers.

I met Mike in the city. We grabbed our credit card for this trip. The plan was to meet at 660 Madison Ave. I waited under the red awning, looking at the window displays. As I studied the latest in designer fashion, I caught Mike’s reflection in the window. He had walked up and was standing behind me. He leaned down and whispered in my ear that he hated shopping. He just wanted to find something in the window, go in the store and buy it. He did not even want to try it on first, nor did he want to first look through racks and shelves to find the perfect outfit. He said what was good enough for the mannequin was good enough for him.

I thought to myself, this was not shopping.

I wondered at the reasoning, but, what the heck, we were buying guy’s clothes. I was completely and positively out of my element.

We looked at the middle window and saw a wide-collared suit paired with an interesting Versace-style ruffled shirt. It actually had the look of the blue eyed soul from the Rascals. It could have been worn on stage by the bad boys of rock and roll—Paul Revere and the Raiders, or even Mick Jagger. This was the perfect outfit for Mike.

The acquisition was made. The boxes were under our arms, we headed home that evening, pleased at our success.

Mike looked fabulous; we made it to the wedding on time. Tom and his bride were in love and the world was a better place because of it.

On the train home late that evening, I was so pleased with the day as well as our style. A young boy came running up to ask us for our autographs, I think we may have given him the impression that we were rock stars. Looking good and feeling groovy!