I’ll Wear Shorts If I Goddamn Want To

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Memorial Day weekend is coming to mark the start of summer, and once again I find myself confronted with assholes all over the place telling me I can't wear shorts. First there's designer Tom Ford:

A man should never wear shorts in the city. Flip-flops and shorts in the city are never appropriate. Shorts should only be worn on the tennis court or on the beach.

Then I have The Awl bitching at me about it too ("Men should not wear shorts. That is all."). You listen to me, you anti-shorts gay mobsters: I WILL WEAR SHORTS IF I GODDAMN WANT TO.


I don't give a shit what you deem appropriate or tasteful. I live in Maryland and for the next four months it will be 50,000 fucking degrees outside, and it'll be so goddamn humid I'll have to wear flippers to swim through the air. It's HOT. It's fucking deathly hot already. They don't even have spring here anymore. There's winter, then it rains a for a couple weeks, and then the entire landscape turns into A FIERY PIT OF HOT LAVA. There are elephants basting themselves with rain puddle water down my block. It is hot as shit.

Oh, what's that? Linen pants are breathable? Oh hey, that's great! Let me just plunk down $200 for a pair at Banana Republic, because that's totally within my price range. Organic fabric only for me! Oh, and look! They don't have any waist sizes above 28 inches! Because everyone who shops at Banana Republic is some kind of magical skinny Eurofairy who stays reed thin on a diet of cigarettes, cocaine, and gross self-absorption! BLOW ME. Take your fucking edict and DIE. I'd love to dress like Danny Ocean, but the sale rack at Old Navy isn't cooperating.


I know men don't have the prettiest legs in the world. They're hairy. They're gnarled. Sometimes I see an old man in shorts and his veins look ready to shoot out of his leg and wrap around me, asphyxiating me to death. I get that. But it's fucking HOT. Now, maybe it isn't hot for you if you're Tom Ford, and you weigh six pounds and a slight draft sends you rushing for your manpashmina because you decided to live your life like a fucking tuberculosis patient. Not all of us have a goddamn tennis court to retire to, cuntflap.

For NORMAL men, there are issues like swamp-ass that we have to deal with every day, and shorts help alleviate that problem. Not all the way. Sometimes you're sitting in your car and you can feel the sweat pooling up in your ass because your ass is trapped between your body and the scorching hot leather interior and God that's an awful moment. But at least your legs aren't dying, because you were smart enough to wear shorts.

It's only May and already my inner thighs can melt fucking steel right now. So I'm gonna wear shorts. Oh yes I am. I'm wearing them right now. Really sloppy looking shorts too. Mesh. You can see the outline of my dick in the fabric, they're so loose hanging. I look like a jobless hobo. And you know what? I DON'T CARE BECAUSE I'M NOT GOING TO DIE OF FUCKING HEAT STROKE.

I'm gonna wear my shorts and I'm gonna walk around like an uncivilized American caveman who would make Tom Ford gasp in fright and clutch his carryall. And if he doesn't like it, he can throw on a snowsuit and sit in a fucking kiln. Shorts are awesome.


Drew Magary's novel, The Postmortal, is available for pre-order on Amazon. Image via.