Ours is a visual culture. One of uniforms – cops wear blue, soldiers wear green, hipsters wear skinny jeans. The uniform of the American grown-ass man is no exception. I remember back when I wrote copy on Madison Avenue, the guys who sold campaigns were the ones who shaved and showered with some amount of regularity and bought their haberdashe at J.Press or Paul Smith – sometimes people like the singer and not necessarily the song. Enter wool – the stuff emotes good taste, Savile Row pedigree, poise, and class. Wear one and see what I mean.
When I wear my favorite gun barrel grey wool suit on the streets of NYC it turns heads (handy with Valentine’s Day just around the bend). You get that wry invitational smile from women who are dressed up too. They appreciate the gesture, gentlemen. Wool suits bear a certain cachet and reflect a maturity and control. Presidents seem to sleep in them. So as NPH would say, “Suit up!” and pick one up today. Drop the “child” and “manchild” and get ready for the looks. Believe me they will come.
