Dear Dr. Perfect,

Where I live, the temperature is brutal. Around this time of year, I wonder about the sartorial prohibition against wearing white or summer fabrics before Labor Day.

I suspect the prohibition comes from superstition, or some latent trauma deriving from malingering winters with belated snowfall that can drive a poor mortal insane. Why tempt the evil weather? 

Not every climate has this problem, however. 

I, for example, live on Mars.

(If you ask the CIA to confirm this fact, they will neither confirm nor deny my presence, naturally.)

When I wear my orange space suit, I find myself blending into a world of red that leaves me both hot and crazy. If I hold up my arm to take a selfie of my self-contained dome, there is something so comforting to seeing my arm appear in white, in contrast to the red dust plain of this angry planet. 

But my commanding officer demands I observe the fashion rule against white. 

My commanding officer might be Satan, incidentally. 

What do you think? Do I dare defy the antichrist of fashion?

Warmly, 

Lost in Space

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Dear Space Person,

Mars, eh? That must be a different scene altogether. No traffic or power lines. No urban sprawl. I bet you don’t even get spam calls out there. Well, I’m sure they find a way. I’m most impressed with how you managed to send a letter from there.

I envy anyone who can get away from the 8 billion dopes on this planet. Perhaps that’s what motivates astronauts to pursue spaceflight in the first place. They spend a few weeks (or months) orbiting the globe without a care in the world. Up there amongst the stars, it’s just them, the hum of their spacecraft, and their astronaut ice cream. Galaxies of infinite measure await discovery far removed from petty political squabbles. That’s good living.

In case you haven’t been paying attention, things aren’t so positive here on Earth, specifically the good ol’ USA. Leave it to people who reside in the only habitable planet in the entire solar system in the most geographically advantageous landmass to find ways to screw it all up. 

Whether you’re actually on Mars is not the point. I get about 5 letters a week from readers claiming residence on different planets, like “Lonely on Neptune,” who asked for extraterrestrial dating advice. I’ll take your word for it.

I understand where your superior officer is coming from. If I were to walk outside wearing green slacks and a sky-blue turtleneck, I’d probably get shot. Conversely, if I were to wear blue slacks with a denim shirt, I’d get laughed right out of town. Neighbors would avert their eyes in embarrassment. Dogs would howl. Sometimes, I wish I had studied to be an astronaut.

I often ask, could I be more perfect? 

Mars needs discipline now, Lost in Space. But Mars also needs novelty. Suggest a Wacky Wednesday with cowboy hats or something fun or Freaky Fridays where everyone paints the outside of their space helmet while wearing leather chaps. Tell your superior officer to lighten up. Is he going to fire you from Mars? I think not.

Throughout Homer’s Odyssey, Odysseus faced endless peril in his journey home. Beavis and Butt-Head faced insurmountable odds to recover their stolen TV in Beavis and Butt-Head Do America. Happiness is an uphill battle no matter where we find ourselves in the galaxy.

Fear not, space friend, the answers lie in the stars. At least that’s what my horoscope told me.

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Dr. Perfect has slung advice across the globe for the last two decades due to his dedication to the uplift of the human condition.