A Tale of Two Suits

Grosse Pointe is not a great place to shop. The word "boutique" tends to dominate descriptions of what the area has to offer. Not to mention "up-scale." Not a great source for the everyday articles we all need. There was a great store here once—it was a tad up-scale in some departments, but I bought kid's underwear, shoes and some of my clothes there. It closed: there was a clamor to bring in all kinds of useful stores, but the stores did not want to come. Maybe it was the high rents, maybe the understanding that "old money" didn't shop much and that Buffy and Muffy had inherited Grandmama's jewelry and furs—maybe even her underwear—and the indisputable fact of demographics that a circle radiating from here didn't contain as many potential shoppers as the CFOs need, because half the circle is lake.

The Internet has done away with some of the problems, but on Saturday, needing a gift at short notice,  I crossed town to a somewhat swanky mall. The area where I parked entices a person to enter the mall via Nieman Marcus—probably hoping that passing the David Yurman sparklies will encourage impulse buying. As I entered the mall proper, I passed a window containing this garment.

I found it appalling. Click on it and look at the details. Wrinkles top and bottom of sleeves, weirdly situated lapels, unpressed looking hem. Normally I would not have paid much attention, but before I left the house I was reading an article on the importance bankers attach to their clothes and how everything they wear can make an impression. 100% handmade bespoke suits in one of the 150 shades of grey they have to choose from, custom shoes, shirts costing over $400—well you get the picture. Bankers probably buy underwear to, none of this inheriting from Grandpapa.

And the name of the store selling that poor excuse for a jacket? Giorgio Armani.