pic nicked from here

I have an upcoming appointment with my tailor.  Though I am, as usual, giddy as a schoolgirl, my mind has turned to a different type of suit.  The used suit.

Though I will never call them “vintage” –that’s pretentious bullshit– I have a deep and abiding love of the used suit.  They’re affordable, can look great and offer an entry point into the sartorial for those who want to know more but can’t invest hundreds, let alone thousands, of dollars finding out.

There is absolutely no shame in owning, wearing or loving a used suit.  There is only shame in owning, wearing or loving an ugly suit.  Beauty is beyond money.

You might not guess it but I’m deeply frugal.  I will spend $2000 on a suit but I usually spend $25.  Curiously enough, the cheapest suits have been bespoke and the most expensive suits have been used.

And I see you there, thinking cheap means bad and expensive means good.  Well, clear that bourgeois nonsense from your mind, old chum.  We’re not speaking that language.  We’ll leave that language to the vulgar.

When I say expensive, I mean that I bought a suit, didn’t like it and never wore it.   Flushing even ten dollars on something that you dislike and never use is expensive.  Spending a fortune on something you love and use is good value.  It’s cheap.  Good bespoke is cheap.  Bad used is expensive.

Even so, I work for a humble wage in a menial job and no matter how careful I am, I’ll never be able to afford more than one or two bespoke suits a year.  Yet I must get dressed.  To do so, I first learned how to steal a used suit, then I learned how to buy one; A task more difficult than having a suit built from scratch.

For you lucky sons of bitches who are about to read past the jump, I’m about to drop some hard-won knowledge on you.

The first rule is FIT. I cannot emphasize this enough.  Fit needs a slogan.  Such things have certainly popularized nonsense rules like “No brown in town” and “No white after Labour Day.” So here’s one:  If it don’t fit, it ain’t shit.

Used or new, there are only two basic types of suits.  Bespoke and what needs to be altered.  As for what needs to be altered, if it’s off the rack, it’s second hand.

Whether its from Holts, Zelllers or Salvation Army, any off the rack suit was built for a different person than you.  You’re wearing a mannequin’s hand-me-downs.  So, before you turn your nose up at used suits, you need to ask yourself — Am I going to pay $1900 for second hand or $25?

The answer should be obvious.

But even when spending hundreds, men have a aversion to changing rooms.  I share it.  When spending thirty, no one will get you into one.  But assessing fit can be done, quickly, easily and imperfectly.

Try on the jacket.  The sleeves should come to your wrist, the armholes should be in your armpits, the collar should hug the neck and the body should fit snugly around yours.  Move around and listen for a ripping noise.  That noise is a bad sign.  If you hear it, quietly return the jacket to the rack.  If someone else hears it, wave a hand around your buttocks and pretend to have farted.

Generally, if the jacket fits, so will the trousers.  You should know your waist size and check it.  Then hold the trousers flat against your body to determine the length.  Starting from your belt, they should touch your shoes.

At this stage the fit does not require perfection.  It just needs to be in the range of what your local tailor can alter.  Err big but not too big and keep in mind that, having the armholes reduced will shorten the sleeve length.  Chances are that the armholes will be a problem.  They usually are.

Now, I said the first rule is fit.  And I stand by that.  But you’re not going to go through all the racks trying everything on.  So leave FIT until you find something you like and are deciding whether to buy it.  No matter how much you like it, if it don’t fit, it ain’t shit. Just leave it for someone else.

(Unless you’re in a “If I can’t have it,no one can” mood.  I’m not above this.  Occasionally, no one deserves that item except me and I’ll buy it just so they can’t have it.  I’m sorry if my usual cheeriness has led you to think my mind is always a pretty place.  Sometimes it’s quite petty indeed.)

To narrow your selection, forget your eyes.  They will lead you astray.  Walk through the racks, running your hand over the material.  Touch is the first and best indicator of quality.  When you feel something good, you’ll know it.

You’ll also know when you feel something strange.  Don’t confuse the two.

Having felt something good, look at the colour.  Can you live with it?  Well, that depends on the FIT.  The more outrageous the colour, the better the fit must be.

Navy, grey and black will forgive imperfection.  Bright green, hot pink or plaid will not.  Don’t fuck with this rule.  Better men than you — that is, me– have tried.  It has no exceptions.  If it did, I’d be one.

I’m saving you money, embarrassment and a whole list of other ills by telling you this: A suit’s colour is directly related to the quality of its fit.

Barring a miracle, when it comes to used suits, you want something drab.  Dress it up with a good quality tie and a bright shirt.

Most used shirts fit badly but this can be massaged.  Make sure your sleeves are too long rather than too short.  Too long can be solved with pins.  An unattractive torso may be covered with a vest.  Even without those measures, an ill-fitting shirt will be less apparent than an ill-fitting suit — becoming visible mainly in the sleeves and felt mainly in the collar. The collar must be right.  All else is gravy.

Having said that, a well-fitted shirt is incredibly visible and well worth the money.  Having good shirts will make used suits look much better.

Now you’ve felt the fabric, you’ve tried it on and the fit relates to the colour. You’ve decided to purchase the thing.  You just have to take it to your local tailor and spend a few dollars to have it altered into something you can be proud of.

It will look good.  Congratulations.

But there’s likely a few things going through your mind.  You might be thinking, your average person is easy enough to impress but will the people who know suits be impressed by this one?  Or will they call me out as a fraud in front of all the good people at the ball? By getting above myself, am I merely setting the stage for some terrible, humiliating comeuppance?

Well, let me put your mind at ease.  Yes, you are.

But that, old chum, is the thrill.  Seeing what you can get away with is the fun.  If you fall and hurt yourself in bluejeans, people will help you.  Should you stumble in a tophat and tails, they’ll just laugh their asses off.  That’s the nature of the thing.  You are daring yourself.  Buy the ticket, take the ride.

No bitching allowed.

As for the people who know suits — no, they won’t be impressed.  But here’s the good news:  You don’t know these people.  They’re not average people because they’re very rare.  The few of them who actually exist, probably don’t travel in your circles. Even if they did, the only thing that will impress them is their suit.  It’s bespoke.  And, by definition, they’re vain.

So don’t worry about them. Or us, rather.

I can’t even afford to get ugly these days.  My enemies await it.  My every error succours them. And my friends aren’t much better.

But, if you are worried about us, let me fill you in on a few things.  The cost of your suit is of no importance when compared to the quality of the man inside it.  Our vanity has freed us from judging your surface.  We’re too busy judging ours.  Chances are, we hardly notice you.  There are other things on our mind.  There should be other things on yours.  Like us.

Besides, if we were so vulgar to be interested in money, we’d just wear a bunch of labels and buy a lot of expensive crap. The best way to show off cash is to waste it on garbage.  People in good suits are not that type.  Well, not usually.

If we do condescend to actually notice someone, it will probably be a woman.  But, if it is you and your suit, it’s not to criticize but because we see the good things.  The bad can no longer disturb or interest us.  It’s quite easy to blend into the ugly, amorphous mass of humanity.  That shit is ubiquitous.  Invisible. Unworthy of a glance.

But, you, old chum, are something different,  You’re any port in a storm.  We’ll notice the slightest attention to fit and watch how you utilize colour and texture.  Then we’ll notice your lady friend.  (We’re looking for things to steal.)

We might notice the buttons on your sleeve.  If they do not work, it’s irrelevant if you paid $1500 or $15.  You’re off the rack.  If they do work, we have a brother in cloth or some competition, depending upon our mood.

If you’re not wearing bespoke, don’t worry about those who are.  Don’t worry about anyone.  The fact is, you don’t need to fool anyone and you only need to impress yourself.  Sometimes, the best way to do that is to look like a million dollars for thirty.

It speaks to ingenuity.