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I Hate Suits!
The quintessential wearer of suits is a nonessential jackass
I’m a VIP — a very important person. Today, I’m wearing my $2,500 Brooks Brothers suit, and I’m strutting around my corporate offices watching all my subordinates, my little busy-bees in their little cubicles.
Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have meetings with selected subordinates in the boardroom. Those days, I’m in my $3,000 Giorgio Armani. They’re in ready-to-wear. Guess who makes the decisions.
My secretary brings me an executive summary about something almost every day. I sit in my big-and-tall executive chair in my corner office with the door open and the page at reading level. Today, I’m in my Ermenegildo Zegna, $5,000. I can see one of my rumpled ready-to-wear guys turning page after page, making lots of notes. All day he’s making notes, notes, notes. Next Tuesday, he’ll have facts, facts, facts. But I’ll be the only one in the boardroom in a Zegna.
The wife sees to dry cleaning my suits. She keeps haranguing me about perc-something: a drop of perc-something in cleaning fluid getting spilled and going through concrete and into tap water. Neuro-something, she says, along with perc-whatever. I don’t believe all that environmental crap, and anyway, I drink Aqua Deco. The wife’s what is toxic. Drives me straight to Cashmere.
