An Ode to the Male Midlife Crisis

July 22, 2011, By Steve Kissing 11 comments

Steve Kissing

It surprises few when, seemingly overnight, a guy in his mid-40s starts dressing younger, acting younger, and then divorcing and marrying someone younger. Such men are often lampooned in TV sitcoms and movies. Women in their forties are particularly dumbfounded by these men, who they believe to be misguided, self-absorbed jackasses (to put it mildly). Well, I am one of those 40-something guys who’s wearing a younger wardrobe, sporting a younger hairstyle and, yes, living with a younger wife. Before you laugh or toss stones, hear me out. Not all so-called midlife crises are created equal.

Prior to my “transformation,” I wore a suit and tie to work Monday through Thursday, and Dockers and a plain blue button-down shirt on “Casual Fridays.” On weekends, I relaxed in straight-leg jeans, Nike tennis shoes and a plaid or striped button-down shirt from Eddie Bauer. I wore a standard pair of round, wire-frame glasses, and I parted my short brown hair to the left. I was an adult version of Michael J. Fox’s character, Alex P. Keaton, on “Family Ties” (without the briefcase, I’m happy to report). One wintry afternoon, this connection hit me like a sucker punch placed right above my bland brown belt from the Gap.

I had temporarily lost my senses and agreed to take my two daughters to that adult migraine in a box known as Chuck E. Cheese’s. As dozens of hyper-active kids darted around me, ricocheting from Skeeball to Whack-a-Mole, I looked around the large room. What I noticed first was the look of pain and exhaustion on nearly all of the parents' faces. Next, I noticed that virtually every dad was dressed exactly like me. I was wearing the uniform of a team that I didn't want to be on⎯because I didn't want to be on any team. I didn't want to look and act like everyone else, like I was somehow supposed to.

And herein lies an important aspect of the midlife crisis: its core can be a genuine attempt to find and be one's self, to step away from the herd, to, in essence, refuse to drive a Ford Taurus. How easy for everyone to hour-by-hour, day-by-day do what some alleged script calls for us to do. In ways small and large, we migrate to the center, where a large homogenous crowd awaits, ready to compliment us on our new loafers and our portable lawn chairs with well-engineered footrests and cup holders.

These days I shop at stores like Fossil, Buckle and Urban Outfitters, right alongside college students and 20-somethings⎯and even a few high school punks. Is it possible that, in such duds, I come off looking like one of those pathetic, clueless middle-aged men who appear to be wearing their kids' clothes? Yes, I suppose that's possible. But here’s the point: I don't care. I'd rather be labeled eccentric than vanilla. Besides, it takes some courage for a 44-year-old to embrace the wardrobe of the Freelance Whales-listening crowd.

I must note that part of the reason I can⎯in my own mind, at least⎯get away with wearing clothes intended primarily for younger bodies is that I'm 5'11" and 170 pounds. It’s not as if I have put on 50 pounds since college.