The Legacy of the Gray Hoodie
Do you remember your first credit card purchase? I don’t think most people do, and until yesterday I didn’t remember mine. Yesterday, it came back to me quite vividly.
I was standing in line at Babies-R-Us buying a new car seat for my suddenly huge infant son. I was admiring the homeless man qualities of the hoodie I was wearing. The kangaroo-style pouch pocket is hanging on by just a few wash-worn threads. The hood’s drawstrings that once matched the fabric of the garment have faded into a dusty purple, and the once luxuriously thick and soft charcoal gray fabric is now rough and thin like ancient burlap.
I laughed to myself thinking how ratty I must look as I tried to remember where I bought this pathetic excuse for clothing. I searched the depths of my memory and finally extracted the event. It was the fall of 1993. I was a freshman and the University of Kansas with my very first brand-spanking-new credit card. I remember it had a modest limit of $300, which wasn’t much, but enough to start me down a path of overuse and abuse of borrowed money.
I was in a mall on the banks of the Kansas river at the JCrew outlet store that was directly across from the shoe store I worked at part-time. I remember perusing the racks of overpriced clothing and making my way to the sale rack, where I found the gray hoodie marked down to $30. For some reason, that hoodie sparked something in my lust for stuff. Feeling quite like the grownup I wasn’t but thought I was, I plucked that hoodie off the rack and treated myself to a purchase I couldn’t afford for something I didn’t really need.
I didn’t know it then, and I really didn’t care, but I just invited the vampire into my house. And everyone knows, you never, ever invite a vampire into your house. That started my spree of full-on consumer greed. Why should I have to go without stuff just because I’m in college? One $300 limit card led to two, which led to three, and once I maxed them out the creditfolk earnestly fed my stufflust and bumped my limit up to $500, then $1,000, all the while I bought my livelihood on borrowed money. The vampire was quite content.
Standing in line at Babie-R-Us, I felt rage. Not at the creditfolk, but at myself. How naieve I was, and how little I knew about money and the importance of fiscal purity. I wanted to rip the hoodie off my back and throw it in the trashcan as I left the store.
But I didn’t do that. As I was getting ready for bed, I gingerly took off the hoodie and placed it on a hanger. I looked at the tattered seams and counted the years I’ve been wearing it. Fifteen years. I’ve been under the thumb of credit cards for 15 years, and this one piece of clothing represents the self-imposed oppression and dependence I’ve come to know so intimately. I’m on track to be under that thumb for another five years until I pay off my last remaining debt. Then what of the hoodie?
That hoodie is the artifact that represents my stupidity and consumer-driven greed. It represents every bad financial decision I ever made, and when I’m out of debt I will have closed the door on a 20-year era. What of the hoodie? I thought about burning it, like George Michael burned his leather jacket from the Faith era to show that he’s reinventing his image. Cleanse with fire. I’m not sure what to do, but I’m open to suggestions.
Until then, I’m going to continue to wear the gray hoodie on cool, crisp days. If it deteriorates to the point that I can no longer wear it, I’m going to keep it in the back of my closet until the Era of Debt is passed.
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Shan is the author and founder of The Apostle of the Turtle.
i wouldn’t necessarily take image re-invention advice from george michael unless you plan to skulk around the bathroom in parks late at night. keep the hoodie until it falls apart. if you’ve had it for 15 years already, it’s been a good friend.