I feel for men when it comes to fashion. Women have so many more options in that department. Guys, well, they have suits and khakis with button downs for work, tees and jeans and maybe a polo shirt or two for casual Fridays and the weekends. But unless they're gay or extremely metro-confident, average Joes rarely blaze their trails off the beaten path into the world of alternative pattern, color, and cut.
Except, for some reason, in golf. I'll admit it. I watch golf in part because I love the fashion. Sure, it used to be strictly grins and giggles. After all, where else but on the golf course could one watch this many grown men try to pull off this much pastel polyester? But over the past decade things have changed. Golf clothing manufacturers have really kept up with the times, venturing off into the more sophisticated wicking properties of PowerDry Mesh, Coolmax, and Supplex nylon. Not only that, they've taken up the banner of stylish fit and color with surprising elan.
Conditions at Augusta National are making for a tough Masters this year. Players are plodding along like a parade of elephants with only one or two barely clinging to below par scores. But if the play is clunky, the outfits, at least, are fabulous.
Just look at what the past couple days have wrought:
1. The normally frumpy Phil Mickelson looking almost dashing in a lime green cashmere sweater and crisp navy slacks.
2. Australian hottie Adam Scott kicking it up a few more notches in an argyle Burberry half zip sweater and slim black pants.
3. Shingo Katayma strutting his stuff in a white Nike cowboy hat and flashy, Vegas-style belt buckle. (The Japanese, you gotta love 'em. They take to fashion with the determined aplomb of NYC socialites at a sample sale.)
4. Golf fashion plate extraordinaire, and my hero, Tiger Woods, rocking the ultimate power color, shocking hot pink.
As temps plunged back down into the fifties during today's play, the players outfitted themselves in more restful ensembles. Lots of beige and camel, woodsy greens and chocolate browns. But, here and there, a burst of pumpkin orange, a flash of lipstick red, a hint of aqua green.
Unfortunately, none of this has yet to affect the Masters' long-suffering caddies. While everyone else gets to trot around in oh-so-casual chic, these poor folks are forced into shapeless pairs of over-sized white cotton coveralls, which lend them the disturbingly disheveled air of escapees from a redneck mental institution. How much trouble could it possibly be to outfit them instead in some understated khaki pants and white button downs? After all, if Tiger's silky pink polo isn't a challenge to the National's Dead White Guy ethic, what could it hurt, moving the caddies just a wee bit fashion forward?