November 24, 2003

• Today I bought a suit.

  I hate suits. I mean, people in suits are the ones who lie to you, simple as that. It's like if you see someone in a clown suit, you know someone's gonna get a pie in the face, and if you see someone in a silk suit, you know someone's gonna get lied to.

  But I needed a suit, so I can go to a funeral. I wandered into The Men's Warehouse, mostly because it's close to where I live. I was wearing khaki Dockers, slip-on shoes, a Houston Texans long sleeve shirt (only because it was clean, and also because you can take the man out of Texas, but you can't take the Texas out of the man), and my green hooded pull-over. "Hello, how can I help you?" "Howdy. I need a suit. I'm going to get on a plane tomorrow and go to a funeral, and I don't have a suit."

  This guy was an imposing figure wearing a dark grey silk suit with a black mock turtleneck shirt, and the shiniest black leather shoes I've ever seen. He had big glowing cufflinks and gold rings. His hair was... He must have spent an hour making it look like that. I instantly distrusted him. Let's call him Jack. He told me, "Allow me to hand you off to Joe, the finest in the biz." "The finest?" "Yes, of course."

  Joe rocked. Joe knew instantly what to gather from the racks. In seconds, Joe had assembled a suit, an array of shirts in different colors, a handful of ties, a variety of socks, and some deer skin shoes. He was wearing a brown suit, glasses. He was older than Jack. He kept talking about how he'd been in the business 35 years. "I've been in the business for 35 years, and this is the best kind of [whatever].." "I've been in the business 35 years, and trust me, you can wear a black shirt with this." And so on.

  Jack's schtick was to be slimy through and through. Joe's schtick was to be the nicest guy in the world, who just happens to blur your purchase process with overwhelm, so that you end up buying way too much stuff.

  Joe asked me my name, and he said "Yeah? Homer's my grandson's name, and we're all very proud of him." He said this twice, once when we first met, and once as I was leaving. He was sure to offer condolences about my loss, the funeral I was going to. He had declared himself a part of my family. I didn't instantly distrust him the way I did Jack, but I went from benefit-of-the-doubt to distrust pretty quickly.

  Then there was the tailor, who fitted my slacks. He was obviously gay, and kept finding reasons to come back out front, and to flatter me on my choices, and to send as many signals as there are to send in polite company. And... What's that? It's Jack! He's looking at me, too, eyeing me up from across the store. He looks even more slimy, but I can't tell if it's because he thinks I'm cute, or if he knows I'm about to be financially eviscerated, and he'll get his share of the carcass. Maybe there's no difference between such things for Jack...

  Throughout the whole time, I couldn't help but be bemused, at the scurry of activity surrounding me. Joe would bark out orders to the tailors, tell people to go get stuff, and in general act like I was a movie star and he was my sycophant. It was like being in a 'living theater' production, where the only barrier between you and the role you're supposed to play is your willingness to play it. Unfortunately (for you at least), the role you're supposed to play is someone who has wads and wads of cash, and who will spend it all on a silk tie and a pair of shoes. It's the illusion that you're the powerful one here, when in fact, you're being guided along, sure as cattle to slaughter.

  They got me my suit, and it's a nice one. They tailored it up right then, no waiting. I got the shoes, the shirt, the tie, the overcoat. What the hell? I've never had a nice suit, just ones that I got at the thrift store. Not because I'm poor, exactly, but because suits never seemed that important.

  But all of today, while I got ready to get on the plane tomorrow, I dreaded going to buy a suit. I didn't want to get a shabby one at a thrift store. I also didn't want to go to Gender Warehouse. But then I thought about sitting in my hotel room in Nashville, trying to get out the door, worrying that I wasn't dressed properly, and there it was: This suit is magic. It will prevent me from having an anxiety attack. And that's a big deal.

  • 4:11 am
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