Because I’m a man of more than sufficient class and taste (I’m neither of those things), but less sufficient means, I’m selective when getting new things. Because I know very little about doing clothes (seriously, the button fell off my most common pair of pants and now they’ve basically fallen into non-use. I don’t own a needle or thread (causing me to keep the frayed thread that previously united button and pant), so I’d contemplated just throwing them out. Surely I’m a better person than that? They’re nice pants and only cost me $3 from a thrift store, but I want them to remain in my life. What’s a boy to do? I think that while clueless, I’m clued up enough to sew on a button. At least it’s not as difficult as ironing a shirt. That’s some SWAT team shit), I don’t buy new ones. I don’t know how to match stuff with things (though this result of 5 seconds’ googling should be a help), so I kind of need help finding fabrics and stitchings that work in concert with what I’ve got going on. I’m a hot mess that sometimes works out by some divine concordance. My disinterest in funnelling a lot of funds into something I’m fundamentally broke at achieving means that I place a limit on what I purchase. So when I find something that I can take home and make friends with, I’m afforded no small amount of personal satisfaction.
What I’m saying is that I now own a suit.
This means a suit is now something I could wear just whenever. Going to the dairy for a bottle of milk? Bam! I can now make it look like a business expense. In the line for an unemployment benefit? Bam! I now look like a formerly successful businessman who’s empire has fallen. I could even sleep in a suit if I so wanted, because it’s mine. That’s power.
It’s not much of a power suit though. It’s brown and would be crisp looking if it didn’t spend the last 24 hours sitting in a bag. So now I need to iron it. Damn, my weakness. It’s very 60s, so I’m working on a lavish moustache to go along with the thing. The thing that caught me the most however, was the price. Procured from a vintage boutique and starting at $275, it got priced down to $135 to shift it out the door. That didn’t work, so they just dropped it to $9. $9 for a full suit. Come to think of it, that’s how much it probably cost in its heyday. I spent more than that on breakfast this morning and breakfast didn’t open up a whole new world of costume possibilities. It also makes you question the abstract nature of value. How can something be perceived to have a particular price, then drop to 1/27th of that and still have it be acceptable? Money doesn’t mean anything, peeps. We’re living in a flawed system.
Anyway, the store was kind of neat. Called Cabaret Vintage, they had a store full of decadent old dresses and dapper blazers. They also had a basement where everything cost $9. Dress ups ensued. I tried on 10-15 suits, only finding one that fit (and even then, it wasn’t a perfect fit. It’s tough wearing a suit when you’ve got shoulders. How are you supposed to raise your arms? The whole experience was excellent though. Things ranged from the kitsch to the classy. There was an old raincoat that, judging by the weight, must’ve been made of lead. Putting it on, it barely stopped short of my toes. I felt like I was three children stacked on top of each other pretending to be an adult. The shirts were absurd and parachutesque. Everything sported ruffles and had cuffs that could only be secured with cufflinks. Things just felt too large, for the most part. A peculiar experience for me. I was like a child who’d raided my grandfather’s closet. My fingers barely cleared the sleeves and these double breasted suits could’ve likely fit if I’d had a third breast (on that note, I should ask a scientist how to get a third breast in case of necessary suit-wearing). Still, it was fun to take a little time travel to the 60s and understand that my non-standard body shape would make it just as tough to find a fit back then too. Time, the great equaliser.