I can remember exactly where and when I was when I decided I liked flannels. Battle Mountain, Nevada. August or September 1996. I had been wearing a white shirt and tie everyday for closing in on a year and a half, like 60 hours a week easy, every week. The weather was fallish. Our neighbor was out raking leaves. He looked so comfortable and at peace with the universe, so utterly carefree and simple. Something of a contrast to the intense, supermonk lifestyle I was in the middle of. He was wearing a flannel. and walmart jeans.
When I'd wrapped up my sidewalk preacher days and thrown away some rather ratty white shirts and slacks, and gotten some even rattier jeans instead- and tennis shoes- it was 1997. I was a college student, and flannels, untucked and unbuttoned, as part of a sort of grunge/pearl jam look was still just barely in vogue. This I embraced. I was sort of seeing this girl who was what you might call "troubled" (married her). I still had my missionary trench coat, and of course she owned a trench coat as well-- I mean, how could you look like you were potentially going to go shoot up a high school with out a trench coat?-- We used to enjoy wearing our boots, trenchcoats and backwards ball caps together.
Whether has turned fallish again. Today I broke out my fannel. Makes me happy.