Charlie LeDuff: I'm too sexy for my jeans

Sam Riddle's words cut me to the bone.

It wasn't the con man or hypocrite or plagiarism allegations. I've heard those before. It was his criticism of my dressing habits. They were -- well -- below the belt. They stung right down to my maroon boxer briefs (Old Navy, two pair for $10).

"This is an older guy wearing tight jeans," he opined on the Let It Rip set. "What's up with that? I mean, he walking around trying to be hip and different."

Ouch! Riddle pulled my pants down in front of all metro Detroit. Live and in color!

I can't blame my old shower buddy for sneaking a man-peek. Two years in an all-male facility will do that to a guy. (Click the related link to watch the shower scene)

But standing here taking a long look at myself in the full-length mirror of my psyche, Riddle does have a point. I was never much of a dresser. Not now. Not at the Manhattan cocktail parties. Not when I covered the red carpet in Hollywood. Even back in high school, my friends would leave me at home on Friday nights because I dressed like a bum.

Shoot, the suit I own is 15 years old. People like to invite me to weddings because when I come I bring something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue all wrapped up in that one outfit.

I'm going to level with you. The jeans I was wearing on the Let It Rip set are the jeans I'm wearing now. Sometimes I wear them five days in a row (Levis 527 boot cut going for $40 at Macy's). I would fully recommend the jeans, but I'm second-guessing my endorsement after the dressing down by Riddle.

 
 

Click here to see more photos of Charlie and his jeans.

I mean I still feel that I look like I did 20 years ago. But that's on the inside. Outside, I now see I am just an older guy wearing tight jeans. Under the tight jeans I have a sagging, speckled rump, hair in strange places, wrinkled kneecaps and flat feet. Maybe I should dress my age. Perhaps tweed and corduroy and loafers.



On second thought, forget about it. The English professor thing doesn't look good on me. If I start dressing like that, there's no chance in hell I will ever again get felt up by Monica Conyers.

I might be on the back side of life's journey, but I second the emotion of Welsh poet Dylan Thomas, no stranger to denim himself:

Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.