An open letter to Sam Winchester, on his 34th birthday
Sam, I know everyone is taking this day to talk about how brave you are, how kind, how compassionate, how strong, how smart, how thoughtful. And all of these things are true. But I'm here to talk about something else.
Your fashion sense.
Or lack thereof.
This orange jacket in particular.
On the one hand, I understand how you end up with items like this, and it does fit in so well with your character. Growing up in the shadow of your gorgeous brother, you never thought of yourself as particularly attractive. Dean isn't vain, but he knows he's attractive and he dresses the part. Maybe it's for hunting reasons and maybe it's his armor against rejection and maybe it just gives his self-esteem a little lift. But you tend to wear whatever you can find, I suspect. If the sleeves are long enough, it's your style, am I right?
Would you have drawn the line here? Or would you still be wearing this jacket if it were purple?
But here's the thing, Sam. You deserve better. We, your admirers, deserve better.
I'll admit that sometimes you get it right on the nose.
Right on the fucking nose, dear boy.
But much of the time, you're obviously choosing clothing based on function alone. And I understand. The orange jacket fits close to your body, it has large pockets, it seems sturdy and warm. It works. But did you think beyond that? Did you find it in a Goodwill or a Farm and Home Supply and get as far as "it covers what needs to be covered" and then stop right there?
(Are you secretly color blind? Hmm.)
My point is, something as lovely as Sam Winchester shouldn't be wrapped in "whatever fits." And yeah, I know you won't believe me when I wax rhapsodic about your unnatural (dare I say supernatural?) beauty. I know you don't think you're the pretty half of this duo. But let me explain it to you in terms you can understand. If you were Tolkien characters, Dean would be the most handsome man in Middle Earth. And you would be an elf.
I know it's awfully forward of me to ask you for favors on your own birthday. But I also know you're the kind of person who would grant them. So please, for me, and all my like-minded friends. Fewer burnt orange jackets. More black shirts. (And if you see someone headed your way with a can of hairspray, run.)
There. That's better.
Happy birthday, Sam Winchester.
Your fashion sense.
Or lack thereof.
This orange jacket in particular.
On the one hand, I understand how you end up with items like this, and it does fit in so well with your character. Growing up in the shadow of your gorgeous brother, you never thought of yourself as particularly attractive. Dean isn't vain, but he knows he's attractive and he dresses the part. Maybe it's for hunting reasons and maybe it's his armor against rejection and maybe it just gives his self-esteem a little lift. But you tend to wear whatever you can find, I suspect. If the sleeves are long enough, it's your style, am I right?
Would you have drawn the line here? Or would you still be wearing this jacket if it were purple?
But here's the thing, Sam. You deserve better. We, your admirers, deserve better.
I'll admit that sometimes you get it right on the nose.
Right on the fucking nose, dear boy.
But much of the time, you're obviously choosing clothing based on function alone. And I understand. The orange jacket fits close to your body, it has large pockets, it seems sturdy and warm. It works. But did you think beyond that? Did you find it in a Goodwill or a Farm and Home Supply and get as far as "it covers what needs to be covered" and then stop right there?
(Are you secretly color blind? Hmm.)
My point is, something as lovely as Sam Winchester shouldn't be wrapped in "whatever fits." And yeah, I know you won't believe me when I wax rhapsodic about your unnatural (dare I say supernatural?) beauty. I know you don't think you're the pretty half of this duo. But let me explain it to you in terms you can understand. If you were Tolkien characters, Dean would be the most handsome man in Middle Earth. And you would be an elf.
I know it's awfully forward of me to ask you for favors on your own birthday. But I also know you're the kind of person who would grant them. So please, for me, and all my like-minded friends. Fewer burnt orange jackets. More black shirts. (And if you see someone headed your way with a can of hairspray, run.)
There. That's better.
Happy birthday, Sam Winchester.