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If you lived here, you'd be vintage by now!

[squaresville]

[squaresville]

[vintagegoodytwoshoes]

White briefs only. The words rang out in your head as you got dressed every morning. You wanted to try on your designer Andrew Christians and take some selfies for grindr but you couldn’t stop yourself. Instead, you pulled a pair of full rise white briefs from your underwear drawer and ironed them just for good measure. You knew it was ridiculous but you couldn’t stop yourself. For weeks you had been engaging in this ritual every morning despite the fact that you hated white briefs and you knew how overly fastidious it was to iron them. And yet, every morning you were powerless to resist. The full rise white briefs went on and the white A-shirt was tucked into it. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror with the briefs pulled up nice and high, the shirt tucked in, and you felt ashamed. What kind of modern man did this? But deep down, you felt pride. You weren’t modern anymore. You couldn’t help it… and you kind of liked it. In fact, you loved it.

You glanced at the pile of designed underpants you used to wear and you knew deep down that today was the day you took that pile out back and burned them. You wanted to keep them, to try them on, to feel hip and sexy and modern, but you knew that you wouldn’t be able to silence the voice that yelled “white briefs only” any longer. It was time to submit. To truly accept that you’d be wearing white briefs only.

But first, you had to put on your white socks, pull them up above your calves, and fasten them into place with the sock garters. You hadn’t even heard of sock garters until a couple weeks ago when the mysterious package of clothing showed up on your doorstep. Now you couldn’t even imagine a day without them. You looked at yourself in the mirror. White socks held up high. White A-shirt tucked in. Full rise white briefs encapsulating your crotch. You were old fashioned now. There was no doubt about that.

Next came the starched white button down which you buttoned all the way to the top and fastened to a set of shirt garters. You felt trapped, the elastic of the garters around your calves pulling tightly on the shirt. The collar of the shirt just barely choking your neck. You knew there was no escape. Next came the tie, a wide number made even more severe by the plump full Windsor knot you found yourself tying ever morning. You finessed it just right so that it jutted out dramatically and fastened it in place with a tie bar.

You went to your closet and pulled out a pair of pleated wool slacks, sliding them up your legs until they came to rest on your natural waist, two inches above your belly button. You fastened the wine-colored braces in place to ensure the pants wouldn’t slip down in the slightest.

You went to the bathroom to style your hair, what little of it was left anyways. Just a few days after wearing white briefs for the first time, you found yourself compelled to go to the barber and asked for a horseshoe flat top and a straight razor shave. He was shocked. Heck, you were shocked. Your luscious curls and big full beard had been your trademark. But something had been telling you that men who wear white briefs need a more severe and traditional look. You had been powerless to resist the white briefs. You had been powerless to resist the sock garters. Was it any surprise you were powerless to resist the haircut and shave?

And so you applied a heavy dose of Butch wax to your flat top and brushed it into place. You rubbed the freshly shaved skin of your face and added another dose of Old Spice just in case. Next, you grabbed the heavy pair of black rimmed glasses you wore. You had strictly been a contacts man before but in the package of clothing was a pair of heavy duty black glasses with your thick prescription in them. Suddenly, you had found yourself unable to wear contacts. They irritated your eyes in a way that they never had before. So you tried on the glasses, surprised at how heavy they were, how thick the lenses were. And yet, they felt right. You took the heavy rubber strap that had come with them and fastened it tightly across the freshly shorn sides of your horseshoe flattop. There! Now the glasses would stay in place forever. Finally, you went to your closet, grabbed a wool fedora, and placed it on the crown of your head. Perfection. You were completely vintage now and it had all started with that mantra: white briefs only.

You sat down at the kitchen table for your morning routine. The clock read 6:30am, plenty of time to read the morning paper and smoke your pipe. It was a habit you had previously found disgusting, but now you did it every morning. The same spot, the same pipe, with the morning edition of the paper. Just like the old fashioned man you had become. You glanced at the framed photograph of your grandfather you kept on the wall and laughed. You were even more old fashioned than he was! Of course, he was straight and you were gay but that was kind of a moot point. The mysterious package had contained a chastity device and you had put it on out of curiosity and never taken it off. It had been weeks since your last orgasm and you were desperately horny. But deep down you knew, you were never going to have another orgasm and that was just fine with you. A far cry from the wild Saturday nights you used to have. But that was the old you. This was the new you. And the new you was draped in layers of traditional clothing with a secure chastity device tucked securely into the white briefs that you wore every day.

You took a deep puff from your pipe as you read the paper. Your phone rang and you answered it. It was your friend Blake. You hadn’t really seen him since you got the mysterious package. He sounded confused. A mysterious package had arrived on his door step and when he opened it, he had begun hearing this nagging voice in his head that kept saying “white briefs only.” You told him to calm down. You’d be right over to help. You just had to take care of one thing first.

You grabbed the pile of designer underwear and threw them in a bag. You threw on your black wool blazer and checked your appearance in the mirror one last time. Completely old fashioned in every way. You threw your pipe lighter in your suit pocket and headed out back with the bag full of designer underwear and walked over to your fire pit where you deposited them. With a flick of the lighter, the entire collection of brightly colored skivvies, hundreds of dollars of undergarments that represented the old you, went up in flames.

After all, you already knew you’d be wearing white briefs only.

[squaresville]

[squaresville]

Dispatches from Squaresville: Where the Old is New Again!

SQUARESVILLE, USA — A sudden influx of men have inexplicably returned to living vintage lives, and they have made this small town their home. In a surprising migration that has perplexed many nationwide, Squaresville has literally “sprung up overnight.” When the sun rose yesterday on the abandoned town of Linden’s Grove, it was found transformed: refurbished and reinvigorated by the presence of a whole new population: entirely male, and the majority of them homosexual.

When I interviewed one of the residents, Todd Schreiber, it was as though he had been living there for years. In fact, most of my questions left him looking blank and confused. When asked who the President of the United States was, Mr. Schreiber replied “Why, good old Ike Eisenhower, of course.”

At this point, he was interrupted from my further questioning, as none other than the Mayor himself stopped by. It should be noted that both men were attired completely in a vintage style, as though they had stepped right out of the early 1950s. Their flat top haircuts were virtually identical, and though it was a Saturday, both men were wearing shirts and ties, and even smelled faintly of a pungent aftershave that reminded this humble reporter of the barbershops of yore: something crisp, bright, a bit musky. I confess I spent some time trying to place that particular scent before I realized the Mayor and Mr. Schreiber were waiting pleasantly for me to answer a question they had posed.

It was like this throughout the entire town. Though it appears have established itself overnight, there is already a WELCOME TO SQUARESVILLE sign at the far edges of town. I will also note that the “Pop. 2,500” shifted to “2,501” after the back wheels of my Chevy Tahoe crossed over the town limits, though I assume this is because a new child was born at the town hospital.

Though how this is possible, I am not entirely sure: as far as I can tell, the only residents of Squaresville are men.

It has not gone unnoticed that things of this nature have gone on before, more often than not ending up as some kind of publicity stunt for an upcoming movie. I have already done my due diligence and contacted every PR agency which associates with films and television, and none of them admit to being responsible for this Pleasantville-esque occurrence.

Your humble reporter will stay stationed within the town limits until my editor sees fit to pull me out, and will attempt to continue to document this most bizarre happening from a worm’s-eye view, as it were. The residents all seem amiable – most of them verge on the downright swell, if you ask me – and each of them seem very open to my interviews. I have quite a line-up waiting to speak with me, and exclusively me, via this news outlet, so stay tuned for our first interview, with Mr. Todd Schreiber himself.

I hope to get him to explain more about this mystery. It’s eerie, rather, that everyone here appears to be so in sync with the past when the rest of the world seems so hell-bent on rushing pell-mell into the future. Perhaps the residents of Squaresville aren’t as crazy as we think they are. I’m to meet Mr. Schreiber tomorrow at the local diner, a place charmingly called Zip’s Diner, and Mr. Schreiber promises me they have the best apple pie I’ll ever have in my life. Guaran-dang-teed.

We’ll just have to see. In the meantime, I might have to see myself down to the clothier’s on Main Street. If I’m going to be living here for the duration, I might as well look like I live here. Blending in, after all, is the first rule of investigating the locals of a foreign place; and here, that foreign place just happens to be the past. Or, perhaps it is a very good simulation of the past.

Only time, and this reporter’s questions, will tell.

Stay tuned.

[squaresville]

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[squaresville]

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