Another Day in the Endless Procession of Days
This day is a good day. I got my graded worksheets from my German exam; thereon, in the blood red scrawl of an editors ink I see a number. 94. Does not the sun shine brighter than it did this morning?
To Every Hobo a Suit...or Not
A sad reality has struck me. I have known it for a long time, but only now do I actually feel the enormity of what it was I saw. Men do not wear suits, and those few who can be found in a suit, really do not wear them very well. The suits I see have rolled collars, gaping necks, puckered backs, strained buttons. Men seldom make the mistake of choosing a suit that is too large; they but suits that cling to them in the hope that it will be slimming. They don them in this shameless style because they do not understand the marvelous metamorphosing power of a decent suit; the power to broaden your shoulders and make your gut appear, not bloated, but as part and parcel of your steady, consequential, masculinity. Last week I fitted at least four gentlemen of more than forty years who claimed never to have purchased a suit. All of them ultimately elected the cheapest available option. All seemed chagrined over having to buy a suit, and almost seemed to wear the fact that they had never worn ...
Comments
Post a Comment