Is it even possible to write a blog about something as boring as buying a suit and somehow still make it sound interesting? I’m guessing not. But feel free to keep reading – just in case.
One never knows.
So as September reared its equinoxical head, your humble blogger and his Partner came to realization that they could no longer put off finding new suits for the wedding.
And on Monday the Partner called from work and said he had found a dark blue suit on his lunch hour. He had me hop on the subway and take a look at it before he bought it. It looked good. But the Partner looks good in blue… maybe it’s his blue eyes.
“And you better get out there and find one for myself,” he said as they swiped his credit card.
“I’ll do it later,” I said.
“We’re all out of later,” the Partner said. “Tomorrow afternoon we’ll go to Harry Rosen and Holt Renfrew to have a look.”
I shuddered. The Gay Groom loathes shopping for suits. In fact I haven’t done it since 1992.
But it’s not that I dislike dressing up. On the contrary, the Gay Groom can be one sharp dressed man when he scrubs up and dons his fancy party duds (in fact the words ‘hotsy totsy’ have been used on more than one occasion). It’s just that your humble blogger much prefers a cool blazer and dress-pants to suits. I’m not what you’d call a suit guy.
For me, suits are just too, well, matchy.
“I don’t like to match this much,” I said the next afternoon as the Partner looked through the 40 Regulars at Harry Rosen’s suit store in downtown Toronto.
“I know I know,” the Partner said rolling his eyes.
“And you know why?” I asked.
“I’ve heard this before…” he said pulling out a black suit.
“Because matching is fascist.” I said.
“Like I said… I’ve heard this before,” he said. “What about dark gray or black?”
“It’s like 4/4 common time in music… or symmetry in art – it’s all fascist,” I said. “Günter Grass wrote about it in The Tin Drum, you know.”
Of course the salesman zeroed in on us and had me in an overpriced charcoal Hugo Boss in no time flat.
And the suit looked fine. As well as a suit can, I suppose. I wondered why it cost so much. The last time I bought a suit (when the first George Bush was in office) it was much much cheaper. I tried to explain to the salesman that I’m not really a suit guy.
“You’ll be able to wear the jacket as a blazer,” the suit salesman said. “It would look good with jeans or nice pair of khakis.”
I doubt it, I thought.
The suit salesman turned to the Partner. “Are you two brothers?” he asked.
“No, we’re getting married,” I said.
“Well then,” the suit salesman said, “you certainly can’t allow a guest to be better dressed than you at your own wedding, now can you?”
“Sure I could,” I said.
Ten minutes later the charcoal Hugo Boss suit was lined with chalk for the tailor (apparently cuffs and pleats are out again) and your humble blogger was out the door.
“You know it’s the same colour as the last suit I bought in 1992,” I said to the Partner as we walked away. But that suit was double-breasted with cuffs and pleats. And much much cheaper.
“I don’t know why you think you’re not a suit guy,” the Partner said. “You looked like a million in that dark suit… maybe it’s your brown eyes.”
But Partners have to say that.
33 days to go.
Jeffrey, the Gay Groom