So ... what's the first thing that pops into your head when I say "Men's Fall Fashion?"

Over the weekend, I went online and perused Esquire's coverage of the "hot fall looks" out of Milan.

Jackets! Pants! Sweaters! Scarves!

More scarves!

More Scarves!

Coats!

Et cetera.

I also checked out reader comments for all this cool fall hotness. Reviews were mixed:

"I want that jacket!"

"Um ... no."

"Are you [expletive deleted] serious?"

This dichotomy is pretty emblematic of the ongoing struggle to convince American males that new clothes serve a purpose.

Face it: For every man who says "I want that jacket!" another 2,000 say, "Are you [expletive deleted] serious?"

Mind you, that could be because so many of the "looks" in the Esquire photo spread were kind of off-putting. Come to think of it, so was the headline: "What You'll Wear Next."

That sounded a little too much like "1984" to me.

Or, "Hogan's Heroes."

You vill vear it and you vill LIKE it!

Actually, I probably von't ... even though many men are actually RELIEVED when someone (other than their mother) tells them what to wear.

Back in the days when I spent way more on clothing than I do now - - about $14 a year or thereabouts -- I went to a rather upscale store that had a mysterious old salesman lurking in the back somewhere.

I'd enter the men's department and look around for him. But I'd never see him. Then he'd appear, suddenly, by the trousers. Or the handkerchiefs. Or the bathrobes.

"Wear this shirt with this tie," he would tell me. "This belt with these socks. And these slippers with these pajamas. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Obi Wan! Thank you!"

Sadly, none of Obi Wan's striped shirts, plaid ties or fuzzy slippers prepared me for the LATEST from Milan.

A crocodile leather coat?

An orange and blue horizontally striped suit?

A sports jacket worn over ... short pants?

Uh ...

Do you know any man who would walk around wearing a sports jacket over short pants?

In my neighborhood, if you walked down the street like that, the townspeople would chase you with torches and bloodhounds.

Then there was that long, double-breasted powder-blue winter coat.

Powder blue?

I swear to you: This is the SAME coat my girlfriend Kathy wore in 1970 when I took her to see the Easter show at Radio City Music Hall.

Now, I don't want to be sexist about all this, but I think it's fair to say that, in general, women are a lot more interested in fashion than men. And far more likely to see a new coat, blouse or shoe and scream, "I have to have that!"

Although, a few years ago, a certain black steel-toe work boot (with a lugged Vibram sole) that I found in an Army Navy store did have me sweating, panting and drooling like Sarah Jessica Parker. (Who, as alter-ego Carrie Bradshaw, once saw a ridiculously expensive high-heeled dress shoe in a store window and cooed, "Hello, lover.")

The women in my life have always been obsessive when it came to fashion trends -- no matter how expensive that trend was. (A few years ago, one female friend, who makes $35,000 a year, scrimped and saved for four months to buy a $1,500 peasant dress.)

A couple of years ago, my sister-in-law showed up for dinner at my parents' house clutching an $1,800 pocketbook which -- I have to be honest here -- looked as if a kid had made it in school.

The only thing missing was the painted macaroni trim.

And you could probably feed a small country with the amount of money spent every week on shoes for the ladies of "The View."

I don't want to criticize them, though. Attractive, fashionably dressed women have always made the world a nicer place. They just never seem to understand that most men cringe at the thought that anyone will notice what we're wearing.

As another female friend recently told me: "For my husband, comfort and functionality are the most important things. To him, 'fashion' is trying a different color."

I guess that describes my approach to fashion, too. But that doesn't mean I'm getting a powder-blue coat this year. Or anything made of crocodile. Or a scarf that you have to twist around your neck five times.

Or, for that matter, anything NEW. New clothes are a pain. You have to wash them, take all those tags off ...

It's exhausting.

Actually, I'm still mourning a favorite old flannel shirt that I wore for 20 years -- until my mother, who became sick of looking at it, ripped it in half.

"That was my favorite shirt!" I screamed.

"Good," she replied. "Now you have two of them."

(c) 2012 Record, The; Bergen County, N.J.. Provided by ProQuest LLC. All rights Reserved.

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