Whenever I wear my plaid shirts I feel all powerful. I can lead meetings, take control if someone spills something in a supermarket aisle, switch channels with impunity. I will walk up behind wheelchair bound people and start pushing without permission.
There is something Americana about plaid. Guys raised on farms and around mines wear it. I've never driven a pickup truck, but wearing plaid gives me the impulse to do so. My voice is deeper and my profile stronger. Insulated plaid shirts attract normally standoffish women, imbuing me with a stern father figure aura.
Try it. Sit at a table full of type A folks, fold your arms across your chest and say nothing. Guaranteed at some point the focus will turn to you. Grasp it and hold tight. It's sure as hell certain someone will ask you to change their oil. And you'll do it, first stripping off your magic shirt, revealing a manly paunch and tufts of chest hair underneath a slightly stained t-shirt.
Let them take all the phone camera shots they want. People need something to live for.
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