Another blog on fashion. A rant, per chance, but a light hearted one despite my tendency to come off otherwise. I am by no means a consistently serious person, though it may be argued that I am. I feel more akin to Beatrice from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. Insulting, blunt, and honest, but all in good fun. If you take me too seriously, it's your own sense of humor that should be examined.
To the matter at hand: I can't claim to be an expert on suits. I don't wear them, nor do I tailor them, but I can admire them. I also can't claim to have a perfect sense of fashion, but I know I have good taste. I'm something of an artist and I'd like to think that I have a good sense of what is aesthetically pleasing. Not only this, but there are just some things that should be common sense, and if you wear any sort of suit or really anything above the casual fashion tier you should be well aware of some of the rules.
First of all is fit. I had a whole slew of bad suits come in to work within a six hour period, and these are the mistakes I want to address. One particularly ill worn suit that came in was obviously what I'd call a returned missionary, or RM. It was a dark navy, from what I recall, or something fairly nondescript from a Mr Mac store and likely bought for that extra dollar. The chap so adorned was obviously too small for said suit. This is what makes it (the suit, not the gent) an RM. This suit looked like it'd been around; apartments, shacks, single family homes, churches, and Heaven knows where else. It had been walked and biked all over tarnation, and the body enveloped in its cheap fabric had, in two years, lost considerable body mass in all that work. This suit, which had fit perfectly two years ago, was now too worn and hung like baggy old skin. Gents: when you get home from your missions I would implore you trade in your old suits for something better fitting. No one will take you or even your God seriously if you can't take your attire seriously.
The next two examples pertain to ankles. The first was a pinstriped gray suit with a cheery butter yellow shirt and tie set. Cute. Not my choice, but cute. In considering this ensemble walking over to the registers, I had to give it a full look over. Aside from the yellow, I rather liked the suit itself. The fit in the shoulders was near perfect, the fabric was well cared for, and the pants were nicely pressed. Which brings the eye down to the cuff and the socks and the shoes. Strike that. Reverse it. Shoes... socks... oh dear. This poor suit, for all its promise was seriously lacking in length. I mean, it's as though the owner took the trousers in to the tailor and said "I have an important client looking at some property in the Everglades this afternoon, can you hem these so I don't get swamp muck on them?" I can understand that it's a bit frustrating to have hems fray and tatter, but that is why there are guidelines to be followed. Men haven't had to wear knickers and hose since the end of the Regency period. Tailors have had nearly two hundred years to figure out the perfect place to set a hem, and it's not above the ankle. You should never EVER be able to see socks. Thank you though for wearing black trouser length.
Unlike your friend from the library. Walking to work I typically meander mentally to some alternate reality unless some interesting fashion ensemble catches my eye. Today it was a lad coming up the stairs in the library. His suit was a gorgeous navy worthy of a monarch. The well pressed shirt was in a deep violet sans cravat. A bit casual, but it framed his face well. There was a hint of seventies leisure in the fit. He had one hand in his pocket, showing off the cut of the jacket very nicely, his head bent over an iPhone. Now the eye comes down to the knee, the cuff (slightly flared and sitting where it should), and his ascending lift to the next step shows just a bit of skin. Skin. No socks. Oh dear deities, the boy isn't wearing any socks?! Okay, so maybe I get a bit crazy and overtly critical of the way people wear their clothes, but really? Do you have any idea just how perfect you look, how dashingly perfect, and your lack of proper socks (of ANY socks) turns all of that image on its head and you are nothing more than a hipster with a suit. You may as well be wearing sandals. Ugh.
Last, but not least, is the waistcoat. Whether alone or incorporated into a three piece, the waistcoat always looks good, right? Well... I'd beg those gangly lads with height to be wary. If you've got a long torso, you definitley want to forgo that courderoy vest all together. Waistcoats shouldn't be so short fitting that you get a bunch of shirt showing between that and your belt. I hope that one guy doesn't read this... He looks good and he knows how to put together some flamboyantly colored sets with some panache, but when he adds a waistcoat it just looks downright bizarre. His choice in footwear doesn't help either, but that's another blog entirely.
That felt nice. I had to get it out. I have several other atrocities I could cite, but it may bore you to tears. I don't even want to revisit that deplorable bus ride to work with the man that could not match colors to save his life. I felt like a cat in water. I would just like to leave you with this piece of advice: unless you're on a yacht, don't ever wear a navy jacket with white(ish) trousers. Boston is not to be trusted on this one. I will magic a straw boater from thin air and stick it on your head. Really. It's like... wearing your old prom dress to a state dinner. That's great that it still fits you. It looks good. It's formal. But it's not appropriate for anything but a prom.
No comments:
Post a Comment