I’ve never been known to color within the lines. Since a very early age I marched to the beat of a drum that others didn’t seem to hear.
Pushing the limits and testing the rules came second nature to me. As an adolescent, my life of petty mischief with a touch of hubris landed me a seat at the right hand of my stepfather every night for supper. I guess I figured since my siblings, for the most part, were sailing with the current, it was up to me to rock the boat.

As I got older, the rules stayed the same, but my wife and I became the grownups enforcing the same social etiquette upon our children. No elbows on the table, chew with your mouth closed, and say excuse me. But there was one rule that came around annually that I couldn’t seem to perpetuate. NEVER wearing white after Labor Day. I felt it best to leave this one for the refined socialite because I am anything but.

I can hear my grandmother now. She lived by this rule and would not hesitate to point out anyone that had the audacity to break it, just not to their face. After all there is a time and a place for everything, and any respectable southerner knows that you make these observations three pews back and whisper about it before the prelude sounds.

Although some may hold hard and fast to this tradition today, I can’t seem to adopt it. In my opinion, it’s kind of silly when you think about it. Not that I wear white very often anyway, but limiting your wardrobe based upon an outdated fashion rule seems a bit trivial. I for one live by a very different set of fashion rules or lack thereof. In the summer, I focus more on a sweat-ring-to-fabric ratio.

I’ll be in Oxford this Labor Day weekend standing in the Grove discussing college football, the astonishing growth of everyone’s children, and with a high of 87 degrees, the heat. Among these topics the heat will be at the forefront of my mind. Once I begin to sweat, I think about how much I’m sweating, and then it causes me to sweat more. This condition paired with white clothing begins to make my appearance resemble a farm animal.

White is the game day color for Ole Miss fans to wear this weekend. I can only presume because it coincides with everyone’s last chance to don their breathable cotton fabrics and say goodbye to summer. Every weekend thereafter will be painted in plaids, scarves, boots, and vests. Regardless of the temperature our whites will find their rightful place at the back of the closet and fall attire shall commence. Never mind comfort, the rules are the rules, I guess.

So where does the buck stop? When does the unacceptable become acceptable? Fashion is so ridiculous. I’ve stood in front of a mirror countless times grooming myself and alternating outfits until I felt worthy of appearing in public. As I’ve matured though, I’ve come to the realization that none of us are actually paying attention to one another. Most of the time we are so self absorbed that we make little time for shallow observations of others, a bittersweet result from living in such a selfish society. Times sure have changed.

Apparently the tradition of not wearing white after Labor Day was a social custom of wealthy New Yorkers that vacationed in white clothing in the summer. The return to the city after Labor Day signified a shift to darker more formal attire. It seems a bit ill considered that southerners adopted this fashion rule since summer likes to rear its hot head at Thanksgiving in these parts.

At this point, I normally leave my readers with my attempt at wisdom or hopeful rhetoric. This week I’m at a bit of a loss for words. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately and I’m not sure I have an inspiring thing to say.

Maybe that’s my message though. “Uncertainty.” We spend so much of our lives abiding by social rules and doing what we’re told that we fear uncertainty. It’s so much easier when someone or some set of rules tells us what to do. Not being sure can resemble fear, and fear can rob us of certainty.

But what if I told you that none of us actually ever know what to do anyway, let alone what to wear and when to wear it? Most of us are just grateful to be here and why wouldn’t we be? After all, ain’t life grand! And if I could be certain of one rule and one rule alone, it would be golden. As far as white goes, wear it when you want, but with our latest temperatures moonlighting as fall, sweating is to be determined.

Clay Bowen is a Columbus native who cooked professionally as a chef in fine dining for 12 years and appeared on the third season of Top Chef. He is also a licensed landscape horticulturist. Bowen writes in his free time and is working on a book about his experiences and travel. Email him at [email protected].