Seriously, though, what's with the tracksuits?

It took me a while to catch on to this, which is probably because the extent of the Irish men I was meeting the first few weeks in this country were 60-something-year-old men sitting in pubs in the middle of a weekday afternoon, but once a few of my friends insisted they were everywhere, I couldn't help but start to keep an eye on the attire of the younger Irish men in this city. And let me tell you, once I noticed it, I really noticed it. I'll never forget the day I was walking down O'Connell Street minding my own business when all of a sudden some kid with a faux hawk and a blue tracksuit (fully detailed with white stripes down the sides) walked right by me. At first I couldn't help but laugh pretty much right in his face because all I could hear in my head was the voices of my American friends trying to convince me these tracksuits were everywhere. Then, more quickly than you can imagine, the situation went from funny to legitimately scary. One second I was giggly about some guy making a poor decision when he got dressed that morning, and the next second I was drowning in a sea of tracksuits. It was like once I saw one I started noticing every single Irish guy in Dublin who was covered from head to toe in polyester. I think within a 4 minute period I counted 17 tracksuit-wearing Irish guys (some of them in groups wearing matching suits) walk by me, and at least 5 of them were sporting that faux hawk I was talking about. I mean, I get that maybe they could be comfortable, but so are sweatpants? Do these men THINK they actually look good when they look in the mirror before they leave their house, or do they just not care? Is it possible that all 17 of these men could really be coming home from the gym, or playing a game of football with their buddies somewhere? Because that's pretty much the only excuse I would consider taking. If I walked out of my house and met up with 4 of my friends, all of whom were wearing an identical outfit to what I was wearing, but in various colors, I would be mortified. We would just be some pathetic version of Destiny's Child without the dancing or singing or cameras. Which, in case I haven't made this clear, would not be cool. So, Irish men, it's time to give it up. Have some respect for yourself, invest in a pair of jeans, or at the very least a pair of sweatpants, and throw those damn tracksuits away. Just don't burn them, because no one needs the city smelling of melting plastic.