A dad’s lifelong devotion to black tees, military logic, and resisting floral print tyranny.

---

Wearing the same outfit every day? That’s not a hypothetical for me — that was life.
I spent most of my adult years in the military, where your uniform isn’t just clothing — it’s a routine, a mindset, and a welcome escape from the exhausting question of “What should I wear today?” Back then, getting dressed wasn’t a choice. It was automatic. Simple. Efficient. Honestly? That was one of the easiest parts of life. The uniform taught me that identity isn’t stitched into fabric — it’s how you carry yourself in it.

Meanwhile, back home, a very different clothing crisis was unfolding.

While I was out there in my neatly pressed gear, my daughters were launching daily fashion battles. I’m talking full-on wardrobe wars. Drama over shoes. Tears over tops. Shouting matches with closets that had more options than a department store. Watching them choose an outfit was like witnessing a live episode of Project Runway, with less time and more screaming.

One’s yelling, “I have nothing to wear!” while standing in front of a closet that could clothe a small army. The other’s pairing leopard print with glitter unicorns like she’s auditioning for a circus-themed fashion show. And don’t even get me started on the hair. The hair was its own saga. Bows, buns, braids, total breakdowns. It was like a reality show challenge: Can this ponytail survive until school drop-off?

In a moment of what I thought was parenting genius, I offered them a solution: shave your heads. Just like Dad. Minimalism at its finest. No combs, no tangles, no problem.

They were horrified. Naturally, they tattled to their mom within seconds.
She was… not amused.

I calmly explained that I was just trying to be helpful. I even showed them photos of me rocking the shaved look — clean, confident, streamlined. But no one was buying it. Not my wife, not my daughters, and definitely not the household consensus on “acceptable hair decisions.” Still, to this day, I stand by that suggestion. Bald is bold. Bald is practical. Bald would’ve solved a lot of tears.

Now that I’m out of uniform, my outfit hasn’t changed much. These days, it’s all about t-shirt, jeans, and boots. That’s it. Always has been. Always will be. My color palette? Black and blue. It’s simple, functional, and most importantly — mine.

But my daughters? Oh, they’ve got opinions. Suddenly they’re fashion consultants, calling me “boring,” offering unsolicited advice, and trying to inject color into my life like I’m a walking grayscale emergency. And yet — every time I dress up for a formal event in a sharp suit and tie — they light up. “Ooooh Dad! You look good!” Yeah. I know. My suit game is elite.

Still, the color crusade never ends. They’ll toss me a lime green shirt and say, “Dad, it looks good on you!” I answer with my world-renowned and often-lamented scowl. Doesn’t stop them one bit. They just keep up their absurd banter and — as if it couldn’t get any more dramatic — they now rope in my granddaughters for backup. It’s a full-on fashion intervention squad.

My response? Calm. Stoic. “That’s adorable.”

At one point, I even brought science into the mix. Told them Albert Einstein wore the same outfit every day to avoid wasting mental energy on small decisions. Genius, right?

Their response: “Einstein is stupid.”

Einstein. The father of relativity. Disrespected in my own kitchen.

Ever since, the care packages have started. Random boxes show up with shirts in every color of the rainbow — sunburst orange, flamingo pink, Caribbean teal — loud enough to disrupt air traffic. Their mission is clear: convert Dad.

I never wear them… unless I’m visiting. Then I throw one on, smile for the selfies, and play along. But the moment I’m back home? It’s straight back to black and blue. Reliable. Timeless. Unbothered.

Because when it comes to choosing one outfit to wear forever?

I already made that choice a long time ago.
And until Einstein gets his fashion redemption, I’ll be right here — black tee, boots, and unbothered.