Clothes do make break the man.

(Photo: Lilax Shop, Warner Bros. Records)

When it came to style, the 1980’s beat me down like a rented mule in cast-iron shoulder pads.

I can trace the source of this transgression to one factor: being an only child.

You see, the main pitfall of not having siblings is that the entire family focus is on you (well, that is unless your parents are dicks; then you get locked in a closet with a Rubik’s Cube for a decade). And a seedy by-product of parental over-attention is that the constant fixation sometimes crosses a line into harassment. 

Thankfully, the plight I suffered was neither physical nor emotional. 

A quick look at pictures of me as a child in the 70's and my particular injustice can only be described by one word:

FASHIONIAL.

[🦫 Martin J.’s Note: Fashion trauma gives me the right to make up adjectives.]
[ ✏️ Editor’s Note: After wearing these outfits, you’ve earned the right to make up your own language.]

It happens quite suddenly; one day you wake up and are forced to make your OWN clothing decisions.

The children of GarmentTorment™️ (now a registered trademark of BeaverCom International) have two paths; do they continue the cycle of ensemble malpractice or break free from its menacing death grip? 

Well, roughly 38% of “wardrobe" is “war” and based on the attire I selected for myself throughout the 80’s, it’s pretty clear that I chose to continue the cycle of apparel self-combat.

1982: Apparel self-combat comes easy when your father is apparently Bruce Lee.

Someday, AI will be used to cure debilitating diseases or solve world hunger. For now, its most popular application seems to be a proliferation of creepy YouTube videos where a younger version of a famous person interacts with a current version of themself. They sit together on a couch. Or hug. Or high-five.

If someone created one of those with my 1980’s self, the only “hug” occurring would be current-me’s hands around past-me’s throat for crimes of fashion.

In fact, the parade of horrible looks I displayed in that era would have any sane person saying:

“HOW IS IT POSSIBLE YOU NEVER DID ANY DRUGS?”

Cavemen had loincloths. 

Romans had togas. 

1920’s gangsters had wide-brimmed fedoras.

In the 1980's, I had:

-A skinny leather tie imprinted with piano keys;

-Dark dress pants paired with soft, white leather Capezio shoes (which were akin to ballet flats);

-A custom black sweatsuit, the pants vertically branded with the name of my favorite 1970’s rock star (Peter on the right leg, Frampton on the left);

-Two pastel-colored linen suits from Chess King, an 80’s mall store specializing in cheap knockoffs of Miami Vice clothing; 

-The stylings of 1986 which involved a colored, long-sleeved dress shirt, white cotton pants tucked into colored socks, white suspenders, white shoes and a white newsboy cap, the sum of which made me look like a Dickensian orphan forced to caddy at gunpoint for Bagger Vance; and

Perhaps, the most misguided outfit in formal attire history, one I wore to the last dance of high school; a bright, white tuxedo with powder blue accents which looked the Good Humor man got mugged by Bad, Bad Leroy Brown.

Then, there’s my suburban take on heavy metal or what I like to call “Disaster of Puppets”: a Metallica Master of Puppets concert t-shirt infused with my own personal spin. 

Here’s your guide to ruining a treasured music souvenir:

First, remove the sleeves to show off your arms. 

Then, cut off the bottom to reveal your abs. 

Next, slice slits on each side to display your lats. 

Lastly, cut down the neckline a few inches because it's the 80’s and those scissors need some Jazzercise.

What you are left with is… a Master of Puppets dickey. 

Then pair that with size-27 black jeans, faux snakeskin boots and LOOK OUT LADIES!

But nothing - NOTHING - could ever top what came in 1984: the infamous 3PBLT.

1987: 🎵 Master of Dickies, I’m pulling your threads 🎵

Baseball has a simple rule: three-strikes and you’re out. Much like America’s pastime, I had a similar regulation. Being an Italian-American teen (STRIKE ONE) living in Northern New Jersey (STRIKE TWO) during the 1980’s (YOU’RE OUT!) meant I never had really had a shot at dress normalcy. 

But December, 1984 revealed a fashion miscue so gigantic, that you could fill Yankee Stadium with mea culpas and it still wouldn’t rectify the acronymic horror know as the 3PBLT; the Three-Piece Black Leather Tuxedo I chose to wear to my my 16th birthday party.

Why? To impress the ladies, of course.

[ ✏️ Editor’s Note: I’m guessing ladies back in the mid-80's were far easier to impress.]

[🦫 Martin J.’s note: Noooooooo they weren’t.]

Yes, unfortunately for me, cameras existed in the 1980's.

How ridiculously lucky were early American pioneers not to have flash photography?

“Sure, we may not have had flash photography but we were lucky enough to have malignant croup, smallpox, malaria, dysentery, yellow fever, cholera, tuberculosis, dirt floors and mind-numbing boredom. So we have that goin’ for us. Which is nice.”

The problem with owning a 3PBLT (aside, of course, from it being a THREE-PIECE BLACK LEATHER TUXEDO), is that it can’t just sit on a wooden hanger. It needs to get out there on the town. It needs to breathe. It needs to make the scene.

But since my birthday is in December, there are no weddings in the winter. Unfortunately, no one died that season, so even funerals were a bust. And once word got out on the sweet sixteen circuit, those invitations suddenly got lost in the mail.

So, I needed to exercise a little… creativity.

**Died of brain damage from syphilis and still wouldn’t be caught dead in a leather tuxedo.**

While 1985 is hardly a prehistoric time, I think that many younger people today would view the late-90's internet boom as the dividing line between ancient and modern. And maybe they have a point, as 1985 required any student who needed to do research for a term paper to actually, you know, leave the house. 

However, I am likely the only person in world history who dared wear a black leather tuxedo to a town library on a Saturday morning because he felt it needed more exposure than his bedroom closet.

And as I was leaving the house, my mother appeared at the top of the steps, overlooking the front door. The conversation went like this:

Mom: Where are you going?

Me: To the library; I have a book report due.

Mom: You can’t go the library like THAT.  Wait…you need a carnation.

And you even wonder how I got to a place of fashion malfeasance?

Carnation: The official instant breakfast of people who don’t give a flying f*ck what they look like in public.

To this day, I have no clue how my mother had a purple flower at the ready. 

Did she have a florist held captive in the basement? 

Was she well practiced in the dark botanical arts?

Regardless, if any reader is ever in dire need of a pre-library, pastel-colored lapel corsage, she’s got you covered.

[ ✏️ Editor’s Note: So, um…did you take the flower before leaving for the library?]

[🦫 Martin J.’s note: OF COURSE I TOOK THE FLOWER. I’m not a monster.]

Lest anyone think that wearing a sweet three-piecer to the library in 1985 was my worst fashion assault, I’d advise you to wait for what’s coming next.

Fast-forward from 1985 to late 1989, when the 3PBLT was retired and had fully served its purpose of impressing the ladies.

[ ✏️ Editor’s Note: It only served the purpose of humiliation and laughter but, sure, go with your version.]

As I stared into my closet at the end of the decade, the BLT once again called out to me. By then, I was a senior in college and having a rock radio show meant I could get free records, backstage passes and interview rock artists. 

And as embarrassing as it seems now, I was going backstage that night to meet last-wave-of-hair-metal-hitmakers Warrant, who were about to strike multi-platinum with their debut album and #2 power-ballad “Heaven”. 

Here’s pretty much what I though to myself as I chose an outfit for this esteemed occasion:

“Maybe I was a few years too soon with the leather tux. Hell, today’s rock stars are wearing spandex and using more Aqua Net than an inner-city beauty shop. Maybe - just maybe - I can get one more use out of this thing.”

Then:

“I’m gonna be in the presence of rock stars so lemme try to shake things up a bit. I can even start a new fashion trend tonight. Yeah, kind of a cool sociological experiment to see if I can influence a new generation of fashion misfits. And if it works, I’ll have ready confirmation when every wannabe on MTV will try to pull this off. “

First, I decided to ditch the leather vest and just wear the pants and jacket only; in essence turning the three-piece into a two. I paired that with a royal blue silk dress shirt. 

What transpired next should be studied in institutes of higher learning for psychosis:

I TUCKED THE TAILS OF THE JACKET INTO MY LEATHER PANTS.

And sure, you can blame me alone for this idiocy, but this outfit was not disapproved by either of my parents or my girlfriend before leaving the house.

I distinctly remember the band’s bassist Jerry Dixon smiling and nodding when he saw this, and I’m not sure if he was thinking “Are you f*cking insane?” or “It takes some set of balls to go out looking like that.” Either way, I’ll take it. 

You likely aren’t surprised that this look never became a trend, particularly as flannel ruled the 90's. 

But I’m still holding out strong hope that someday we'll see a heavy metal dickie on the runways of Milan and Paris.

‘Cause Every Girl Crazy Bout’ A Sharp Dressed Man (And “Ma, Is Tuberculosis Worse Than Polaroids?”)

You Have To Believe We Are Magic (And Where Does Kelly Clarkson Hide The Bodies?).