i’m a bad dresser

I cannot tell you how much shame I am dealing with right now.
Go to Google and do an image search for bad dresser. The number one result is a childhood photo of me.
The only saving grace is that the bad-dresser tag is much more fairly applied to the two other people in the photo (which is circa 1983): My grandmother, rockin’ the lapels at stage left, and my mother, resplendent in polyester and some sort of shiny chemise. (Honestly, I look pretty hot. The pocket square is a nice touch, I’d say.)