Wow. Is that a designer shirt?
Not any brand I recognize. He pivots in front of the mirror and checks the price.
You look great. I think you should get it, I urge.
The next two things he comes out in, a soft grey sweater and a vintage band T-shirt, each look like he should be on the cover of an indie fashion magazine.
It’s irritating that everything looks so good on you, I complain. Is this your first time shopping vintage?
He scoffs. Of course not. I like a high-low mix. You can’t be well-dressed unless you have some unique pieces.
Again, Mats surprises me. I assumed all his clothes were by expensive designers. He’s also more into fashion than any guy I’ve ever known.
He puts back everything except the navy shirt.
Can I ask what you think of the way I dress? Guys I’ve dated have criticized me for not dressing normally. Even my roommates mock my casual wardrobe. What does someone with genuine style think?
He eyes me suspiciously, like this might be a trick question.
I reassure him, I’m not going to be insulted. I just want to know.
Mats shrugs, then states, You have a strong sense of self.
That feels like a non-answer. I tilt my head. If self means I thrift because that’s what I can afford, then sure.
He motions to the racks. Yeah, but thrifting doesn’t dictate your style. You could choose anything, even this. He pulls out a black lace top that I would never wear in a million years. But you gravitate to the same things. That’s your look.
What would you call my style?
The corner of his mouth tilts up. Sixties garage mechanic.
I giggle, and he smiles back.
Okay, fair. Then I get inspired. Choose something for me.
Like what? he asks, but he’s already looking around.
Something that fits my sixties garage mechanic vibe, but pushes the limits. Something that would look good but still look like me. I raise my palm. And I’ll buy it, no matter what.
Challenge accepted. Mats moves down the racks quickly, pulling out a hanger here and there. He looks like a pro; the kind of savvy thrifter who can pick out one perfect piece in a pile of crap. Finally, he returns with two tops.
Try them on first. Let’s see how they look.
The first top looks like a shirt I’d normally wear, with a flat collar and lapels, but the fabric is a sheer navy. Fuck, Mats, no way I’d wear something see-through. Still, I try it on and look in the mirror.
It looks amazing. It’s not that revealing, but you can see my upper arms and the definition in my triceps and biceps. I twirl to see it from all angles.
I throw open the curtain. I love it.
Mats is leaning against a rack. He just smiles. Smugly.
C’mon, tell me how you did it, I demand. Maybe shopping is a skill I can master too.
He strokes the sleeve of my shirt, and just his finger brushing against my arm makes me shiver. You’re already comfortable with this style of shirt, but here it’s in a completely different fabric, something a little sexy. It changes things up. You don’t want to keep buying exactly the same thing.
And the word sexy coming from Mats’s lips makes me blush. Sad.
Okay, going back in for round two. The second top is a lot more suspect. It’s a weird burgundy colour and has no collar. I button it up the front and look in the mirror.
