Warning. This is a gay post. I’m not gay, but this post will make you think otherwise. So proceed with caution.
Looking back, I think it was the mob-glam suits Robert DeNiro wore in the movie Casino that made me realize how transfixing a slightly over the top tailored men’s suit could look, even if it was in hellishly dizzying monochrome. My interest in men’s suits continued to develop throughout high school, reaching its apogee my Senior year. I remember appreciating the tastefully commanding iridescent fabric of Stone Phillip’s Dateline haberdashery. And never mind David Letterman’s very expensive 3 piece double breasted bespoke jobs. I’m sure they all cost far more than I ever imagined, and these guys were wearing a different one every night, almost. The closest I came to getting a righteous suit of my own was when I visited my fried Scott at Legigh University in Easton, PA in 1998. At the time, in addition to harboring a Crayola Factory and flocks of post-steel, impoverished crack people, Easton boasted an impossible number of pimp suit shops, which sold all sorts of zany Michael Irvin Deon Sanders suits. These suits weren’t too far from the ones Bobby DeNiro wore in Casino. I wanted one, but I needed to buy beer and $50 worth of fastfood that weekend so it didn’t materialize.
Tonight I’m sitting here watching a very old David Letterman doing his monologue and he’s not wearing one of his signature, razor-sharp 3 piece getups. Instead, he’s rocking a baggy 3-button thing you’d expect to see on a pimply, post-creatine bloat ivy banker douche riding the 6 train.
If I wanted to buy a cool suit now I could, but I don’t even want one.
Here’s an old 90s video of D Letterman in a fine suit introducing the equally once fine band, Megadeath!
I’ve spied these utterly ridiculous sandal concoctions on many women lately. They look like flesh sleeves for the foot.
