Classin' it up

I am not much of a fashion person.  Like, at all.  My friends, roommates, and boyfriend can all tell you I wander around much of the time in jeans and t-shirts with various graphic prints on them.  I wear sneakers instead of flats or heels and I style my hair in that just-rolled-outta-bed look.


That being said, I tried to help my boyfriend pick out a suit.


Or rather, I critiqued the guy helping my boyfriend find a suit.


He was a quiet man, shorter than I (if that's even possible), and spent a whole lot of time taking measurements.  It reminded me a lot of when I used to dance and we would have to sit for measurements for all those sparkly sequined costumes.  Since I never bothered to pay attention to what people were actually measuring (and this time was no exception) it just seemed like a lot of extraneous movement that produced a magical number that became a piece of clothing.

Beats me

So the suit salesman took all those measurements that meant nothing to me and whisked the tape measure back to the dark hole from whence it came (his pocket).  This was not a trip for me, and indeed, the store was designed to scare away anyone vaguely identifying as female with its dull colors and impeccable racks of dark cloth and cuff links.  Seriously.  Not so fun.  So what do you do?


I tried to help.


Usually this doesn't go so well.

Shopping trips back home meant that I sneakily sigh over clothes and things I want until my mom suddenly finds herself walking out with a bag or two for me and none of the things we were supposed to get.


What am I supposed to get at a suit store, a tie??  No thanks.


So instead I started following the salesman around.  He was busily diving into a rack of fabric and debating the colors of each suit against my boyfriend's pale skin and dark hair.  First pick was a dark suit.  NOT black, as I was corrected.  Close, but not really.  The salesman helped my boyfriend into the suit and I swear, he had it on for less than thirty seconds before one of them said something to the effect of

Well, there goes that suit.  Maybe something lighter??  I started poking over the salesman's head as he pulled out different suit jacket sleeves from their home trapped against one another on the rack.  He grabbed one or two and pulled them out.  There was another one, kind of charcoal-ish, that I made sure came out with them.  That one was chosen to be tried on.

Now for a shirt........


Suddenly watching "The Devil Wears Prada" last week made me into an expert on fashion.  I was picking through ties and shirts, pointing out color combinations and complementary styles like a pro.  Now I was having fun.  The salesman and I came back to a little table where we displayed our findings for my boyfriend's inspection: ties with patterns, ties with stripes, shirts in different colors, more ties.  Each could be placed on the suit to have a mock up of what it would look like on.  And then we had my boyfriend try on the suit itself.

I thought it looked fantastic.  But then again, I'm quite biased in this.  So now, he's got a fancy new suit and looks horrendously dapper and it's fabulous.  Excuse me while I now go reevaluate my own closet and wonder why I don't have more classy things to wear.