Plaid
Plaid us home. Plaid is protection in a flannel lumberjack’s jacket. It is warmth in a pair of red and black pajamas. Plaid is dad’s Saturday work-in-the-garage shirt and mom’s spaghetti sauce stained cooking apron.
On the physicist’s shirt, its metric lines reflect the inner core of organization—the mind’s linear thoughts visible on the body’s curved outer shell. The intersecting lines of color—some broad and some narrow—converge like beams of information, forming a grid of interlocking knowledge.
The strong red, black, and gray bars on a logger’s jacket provide fortification against the elements. A modern day knight, the lumberjack rides into battle on his ATV with his axe as a sword and his flannel for a shield. The simplicity of the pattern lends strength to the wearer (and, indeed, bearer) of the crosses.
Plaid is sensible. Plaid is stronger and more dignified than his brother, Stripe (who could always be found hanging around baseball teams and prisoners), yet he retains the quiet, austere humbleness his cousin Polka Dot so noticeably lacks.
Plaid is not noble. He will never be President, a CEO, nor a lawyer. However, plaid will be the silent strength behind these people. He will be the one to make sure that the job gets done—correctly and on time. He will be the crossing support beams on your shirt, your jacket, and your skyscrapers. Plaid is the silent hero
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