(...though not literally.)
Girls dream of the day their crush loans them their high school gym shorts to sport in Myspace photos. Women wish for their partners to loan them their suit jacket on breezy walks in the night. Though it may be the sentiment of the ritual that appeals to these females, the act does not particularly "tickle my fancy." Growing up, I'd always sarcastically quote idioms like "Everyday is a runway," and "Fashion over comfort," to explain my actions. But there is truth in every sarcastic remark. Gentlemen, I apologize to your acts of chivalry, but I rather be chilly than be seen waddling around in something ten times my size.
And perhaps in a strange way, my denial to wear a counterpart's article of clothing is compensated by my attraction to those wearing mine.
Upon learning of a male's role in winning his team's football game one day, I sent him a congratulatory text message. Instead what I sent was an invitation to borrow my clothes for the night and the 'morrow. It went a little like this: guy replies with a thanks suggesting to meet up. Girl meets up. Guy announces hunger. Girl suggests free food event at her dorm. Guy asks to use shower. Guy doesn't live on campus. Guy has no other clothes except the sweat drenched pieces on his back. Girl, the size of a toothpick, offers the most stretchable pair of gym shorts and the largest tee she owns. Guy is satisfied. So much so he went through the next day without bothering to retreat to his apartment and change. And after noting that he rather just keep it, girl finally had her clothes returned to her a few weeks later.
A cuddle-able purple hoodie I had borrowed from me by another male didn't have the same luck. Though I can't remember why it was borrowed to begin with, I do remember consciously allowing said male to walk out of my front door with it, thinking I'd see it, and him, again soon. But as these tales often go, I didn't. Not before the favorite hoodie was replaced by a new one anyway: I met up with him almost a year later, and wouldn't you know it, he was wearing my purple hoodie. Except, it didn't feel like mine anymore. For the last time, I wrapped myself in its soft warmth, then bitterly removed it from my body.
Like the girl in her crush's school gear and the woman with her husband's penguin costume, it wasn't about aesthetics (as far as I know), but rather the idea of it. The idea of a college male going to class in my gym shorts is humorously attractive. The idea of someone "stealing" my hoodie is complimenting-ly attractive. But please don't shove your legs down my skinny 23's (00). Ironically, this is number twenty-three.