"Wearing underwear was a mistake," I remember thinking during my friend's wedding nearly a decade past. It was a sustained thought, a grievance against the heat and the smothering wool with which the kilt was constructed. The entire ensemble made for an gross, sweaty experience. Even sans jacket, this unseasonably hot June 27 was nigh insufferable and I was perspiring more than a teenage boy with a glandular condition talking to his crush.
Seeking a reprieve from the heat, it occurred that I had an option to help increase my airflow. I could ditch my below-waist undergarment. Yes, I could go commando. Ineffectual though it initially sounded, I was desperate for any sort of air conditioning. Worked surprisingly well, much to my surprise. My nether regions appreciated the draft. Also, the unrestrained shifting of a certain reproductive appendage helped me forget the close to intolerable heat.
I vowed to rock a kilt again. Years followed, but I fulfilled that vow. Had to acquire the kilt, of course. Remembering the heat, wool was out of the question. Why suffer a wool kilt when there are cooler fabrics available? Also, why not wear a kilt that is more befitting my personality? It's not like I have Scottish blood coursing through my arteries and veins.
Above you see a friend and I in my self-dubbed "Pseudo-Scottish 'Murica" look, worn on the 4th of July, too. Comfortably worn at the Lansing Lugnuts 4th of July game, too. Following is a reflection of my experiences of wearing a kilt seven years ago, the 4th of July, and the Tuesday following the 4th.
Disapproving, dirty looks
Not unexpected, but nevertheless intriguing and disappointing. The first wave originated with a friends' family as I arrived at a gathering before the game. One of the older gentlemen wouldn't even look me in the eyes. Doesn't really hurt my feelings, but it's comical. He does hail from an older, set-in-their-ways family, the kind that votes staunchly conservative and is astonishingly judgmental. If you ask me, it did him good to be made uncomfortable due seeing a guy in a "skirt." To his credit, he was polite, despite his obvious discomfort.
Other reproachful reactions occurred at the game itself. Entertaining more than anything else, the myriad frowns and sneers as I paraded around the Cooley Law School Stadium ranged from subdued to blatantly obvious. A man in a kilt isn't an everyday occurrence. I get that, but I'm still surprised at the sheer amount of unrestrained discomfort. That's just what I noticed, too. I can only imagine what I might not have seen or heard.
High fives and verbal approval
Little Lauren, aptly named due to her shorter stature, was the first to say that she loved my kilt. Her reception was the first of many positive and appreciative comments/gestures. There were a few high fives and more than a few supportive statements. Often the two were served up hand in hand, the individual offering up a fist bump along with a "bad ass" or "rock on." In any case, it was a nice change from the more judgmental expressions.
Excessive motion "down there"
The kilt offered some cooling drafts as well as the increased movement below deck. Ever more so than the heavier wool fabric of the kilt worn years ago, this camo kilt was light and breezy. I felt air circulate. I felt the shifting of my twig and berries. At one point I experience a physiological response due the increased sensory stimulation. However natural (and even non-sexual) arousal is, it was a brief worry. Thankfully my bodily control is on point, and I got it under quick control.
The only point at which I legitimately wished for some more anchoring was at Harper's after the game. A friend dragged me out onto the dance floor for some rug cutting. My previous paragraph applies even more so here, since now the motion was unavoidable. I had a hell of a time out there on the hardwood floor, but a sans underpants dance is not for the faint of heart.
Mechanics of sitting down more complex
With the heavier kilt, sitting down wasn't an issue. The weighted material, also held in place by a sporran, never got in the way nor made reclining in a chair difficult. Never did I worry about reenacting Marilyn Monroe's famous skirt-lifting scene, although I would have welcomed it at the time. Still, it's safer it didn't happen.
Not that I worried about flashing anyone in my newer kilt, but sitting down became a challenge. The thing road up in the rear and not flashing people wasmore imperative. I was at a family friendly event after all.
Anyway, I digress from my greater point. I know understand and empathize with the scores of skirt-wearing souls throughout history. Usually I'd just plop right down in my camp chair or barstool. Now I had to smooth the material out in the front as well as in the back. Had I not, the stool or chair might get to know and feel a bit more intimately.
Someone boldly checked my "commando" status
For me, going commando is a regular thing. Hell, if you roll at my place, you've probably seen me in far less than my boxer briefs. It's not something I hide. In fact, I actually wave that flag around, somewhat, in an attempt to normalize the body. After all, why should I, or any of my free-spirited fellows, have to feel guilty for their healthy life choices that harm no one else?
Anyway, it's not that weird to forego underwear, but it still shocks people. Some even doubt. Some boldly demand proof. Last night, for example, a bartender felt compelled to lift my kilt ascertain the whether or not I was going commando. Thankfully only my derriere and thigh was exposed, but her audacity threw me for a loop.
I'll overlook her boldness and even make a joke of the occurrence. However, I wondered if others might be as forward as she was. I'm laughing it up now, but there's a greater discussion about inappropriateness to be had, one that maybe I'll have in a future article.
Closing (but never final) thoughts
My impression is unwavering. The damn thing is comfortable to wear. Not necessarily practical, but I never intended to lay a roof while wearing the thing. It's not something for everyday wear. It's reserved for hotter days that I can devote entirely to leisure activities. I'll drop trou and wrap myself in a poor facsimile of Scotsmen of yore. Anything to beat the heat and offer my body the sensation of letting it hang out without risking indecent exposure.
Go ahead and roll those eyes. I welcome the scorn as much as the admiration. Make jokes if you want. I'll make jokes back. Call me crazy, if you must. Just don't call me late for dinner. Wearing a kilt is comfortable as all hell and that's all I have to say about that!