I figured that since I happened to be suit shopping, I could work my way down the ladder for a change. Usually, its check the clearance rack and save an extra eighteen bucks by getting the close-enough-for-work mismatch jacket and pant combo (you know, a whole goddamn suit for $87.50 – no-wrinkle/no-stain). So, today I thought that I would conduct kind of an experiment, but without all the messy control groups and random assignment business. I tried on a $2,700 Italian suit today.
FUCKING SHIT, dude! Now I know how people could spend $2,700 on a suit. Now I know why the first thing an NBA pick does is buy a $2,700 Italian suit. Now I know why Ken Lay fishes in a $2,700 suit. Now I know why Bill Gates cleans his toes with a $2,700 suit. Now I know the very reason the Mafia even exists: the $2,700 Italian suit.
I felt like the Motherfuckingshit. Like I was going to walk out of the store and have to duck to avoid all the pussy that would be flying right at my face (I’d duck so that I wouldn’t wrinkle my new $2,700 Italian suit). I felt like I'd never have to spend another dime on haircuts or soap or toothpaste or toilet paper or razors because my bitchin’ new $2,700 Italian suit was going to more than compensate for lice and ticks and B.O. and missing teeth. I felt as if I could be homeless and beg for money and because I looked so fly, I could easily make enough in a couple of hours to buy me another $2,700 Italian suit. How I felt led me to realize that Superman’s costume is merely a manifestation of how dudes feel in a $2,700 Italian suit. I could fly, resist bullets, and change the rotation of the planet.
But a fella can't easily reconcile spending the equivalent of sixty bags of weed (1998 prices, last time I checked) for something that would come out of the closet once a year, if that. When's your funereal? Shit, when’s my mother’s funeral? Shit, when is my Italian tailor’s funeral? That'd be the next time I could wear it. That suit is what SurroundSound’s SurroundSound sounds like. It’s all spinning gold 22” rims and private jets. I’m hubcaps and coach.
Instead, I laid out the equivalent of eight bags of weed for a perfectly nice suit, tie, and shirt (I would had to have laid out another several hundred dollars for a tie, shirt, and cufflinks worthy of my new $2,700 Italian suit, so now I’m up to like 3,500 bucks!). My new suit feels like heavy, new denim lined with sandpaper though. And it kinda looks like a hand-me-down from Bill Lambier. Sure, it’s a fine suit for a really important business meeting my boss invited me along “for experience.” I could probably wear it on a business trip and easily pick up on a drunk MILFy sales rep from Toledo in the bar of the Hyatt. Sure, I could even wear it for really important occasions like Federal court or to propose marriage or something. But shit, I don't begrudge anyone who would lay out the dough for a $2,700 Italian suit.
Ahhh, if only I had me a $2,700 Italian suit…I could rule the world. I could even rule the corporate world.
The moral: Never drive the Porsche first. You’ll be too easily spoiled and the Toyota will feel like garbage. Drive the Chevy first, then you’ll be happy as a clam with the Toyota. Same goes with dating porn stars or playing the Hollywood bowl first.
Just be as you are. Keep your cubicle clean and don’t drive too fast.
Shit.
