The Wide-Assed Sexlessness of a Dad.

"We are allowed a thirty-minute break for lunch. My co-Ambassador, Sammy, takes an hour and returns without a word of apology. I run to the Burger King on the corner. I wonder what it is about my uniform--an outfit consisting of a white T-shirt with navy banding at the cuffs, a blue-and-white grosgrain belt, white shorts, and white sneakers--that immediately marks me as wearing one. In college, I briefly favored pajama tops as shirts, until one of my professors leaned over one day and confidentially told me, 'You know, no one would know if it wasn't for the buttons.' She was right. They were the size of Mentos.

"Dad jeans" are also apparently now a thing. Wide-assed, sexless. Also a type of uniform?
 From Vanity Fair.
With my Hiawatha uniform, I think it's a combination of the fact that if you're all in white on Collins Avenue, that means you're in service, coupled with my clothes' fastidious cleanliness but rather casual approximation of proper fit. I'd hoped to be wearing something a little tighter and sexier. My present loose attire only accentuates my unmistakable forty years of wear and tear, the love handles, and male pattern baldness. I project the wide-assed sexlessness of a dad. In other words, I am invisible in South Beach. Exactly what a uniform is designed to do." (97-98)

Rakoff, David. "Beach Bummer" in Don't Get Too Comfortable. New York: Doubleday, 2005.

What an apt question: "What is it about my uniform that immediately marks me as wearing one?" Rakoff, the great observer.