Jeans fit the mature male one of two ways, both dirigible in

The wit of P. J. O’Rourke hides within jest a truth about age, appearance, and the merciless honesty of how the world perceives us. He declares that jeans fit the mature male one of two ways, both dirigible in nature. One makes a man appear as the Hindenburg, a disaster wrapped in fabric; the other as the Goodyear blimp, inflated but harmless, perhaps even amusing. Beneath the humor, however, there is wisdom: that clothing is not only fabric, but a statement, a reflection, a stage upon which dignity or absurdity is displayed.

The origin of this wisdom rests in the realm of satire. O’Rourke was a humorist, one who spoke truths through laughter, reminding society of what it prefers not to say aloud. He used jeans, the garment of youth and rebellion, as the symbol of a struggle that older men face: the desire to remain youthful, set against the reality of the body’s changes. Where once denim clung in defiance, it now betrays the truth of gravity and time. Thus, O’Rourke paints an image of maturity as a choice between two unflattering shapes—neither heroic, both memorable.

History has long paired humor with moral teaching. Consider the plays of Aristophanes, whose comedies mocked the powerful of Athens, not simply to make the people laugh but to warn them of folly. Or think of Mark Twain, who through jest laid bare the contradictions of society and human nature. Like them, O’Rourke’s quip about denim is not about trousers alone—it is about the vanity of man, the illusions of style, and the inevitability of change that age demands.

The Hindenburg, remembered as fiery tragedy, symbolizes the danger of trying too hard, of forcing what does not fit, of becoming a spectacle for the wrong reasons. The Goodyear blimp, by contrast, is safe and harmless but comic in its harmlessness. Together, they frame a choice that faces the older man: to risk ridicule by clinging to youth’s fashion, or to settle into a humorous acceptance of bulk and comfort. Neither is noble, yet both are honest.

And yet, in this comic image lies a deeper truth: the passage of time humbles all men. Our bodies change, our reflections shift, our clothing ceases to obey us. But what remains within our power is the ability to embrace age with grace, to meet its ironies with laughter rather than despair. The mature man who wears jeans, knowing he looks like a blimp, but walking with dignity and humor, is wiser than the one who hides in shame or burns with vanity.

The lesson, then, is this: treat the trials of aging with levity, for laughter shields the heart better than denial. Do not cling too tightly to the symbols of youth, nor fear their loss, but wear them with the wisdom that you are no longer what you were—and that is no defeat. What is destroyed in appearance may be redeemed in character. What is mocked in form may be honored in spirit.

Practically, this means to choose clothing not as armor against time but as expression of self-knowledge. Dress in ways that honor your body’s truth, and when laughter comes, let it be shared rather than hidden. Accept the Goodyear blimp if it must be so, and wear it proudly, for dignity lies not in shape but in the courage to face life with humor.

Thus, O’Rourke’s playful words are not merely about jeans, nor about men’s vanity—they are about embracing the transformations of life itself. Every wrinkle, every change of form, every failed fit is a reminder that we live, that time has carried us forward, that laughter is the gift that keeps us human. Carry this teaching with you, and you will find that even in the comedy of aging, there is nobility.