Please leave my torn shirts alone

AS I WAS minding my own business and getting dressed one recent morning, my wife asked: “Do you know the shirt you are wearing is torn in the back?”

- YOGIN DEVAN

I replied I was aware and added: “So what? People wear torn jeans all the time. In fact, they buy them with far bigger holes than the tear in my shirt. And pay even more than normal jeans.”

Of course, my dear wife — she is the thread that stitches my soul together (pun unintended) — did not accept my contention and left the room mumbling that it was embarrassing for her to be seen in public with me dressed like that. This minor disagreement got me thinking about our value system.

A shirt with a small tear might get side-eyed at a formal event, but a pair of jeans with gaping holes indicates impeccable grooming. And the price tag? Often higher than pristine ones, because that “lived-in” look is carefully engineered. What used to be a sign of wear or poverty is now a badge of style and rebellion.

Ripped jeans have gone from “why are there holes?” to “how much for those holes?”

Pre-distressed jeans such as Levi's and Diesel that command premium prices are the perfect example of how culture reclaims imperfection and turns it into identity.

In a world obsessed with perfection, wear and tear often get dismissed as damage. But look closer, and you'll see something far more profound in well-worn garments: a quiet celebration of life, resilience, and authenticity.

I do not wear jeans that are deliberately torn in the name of fashion. I believe it is a waste of money to buy destroyed jeans. But I have a pair or two of house brand jeans with hems frayed from age. I also have scuffed shoes and shirts that have faded from too many washes. The woman | am destined to spend the rest of my life with often threatens, with the support of my daughter, to get rid of all my old clothes.