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ThreadsMy Life Behind the Seams in the High-Stakes World of Fashion
By Joseph Abboud
HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.Copyright © 2006 Joseph Abboud
All right reserved.
Guy in the Gray Flannel Suit
Doctor. Lawyer. Indian chief. Fashion designer.Most guys don't do surgery on a daily basis, or sue somebody, or open a casino. But everybody deals with what I do: fashion. "What'll I wear?" Comes up every morning.
The CEO says, "Does this tie work with that suit?" The art director wonders, "Should I wear my cords with a T-shirt or a cable-knit?" Even people who don't give a damn about fashion have to admit it into their lives.
There's covering our nakedness, and then there's image. A man's clothes tell the world how he wants to be perceived. Whether he's wearing a pair of rusty jeans or a beautifully cut Italian suede jacket, he has an image of himself in mind. All clothes make a statement. The right clothes make a statement that will open doors.
That's why most businessmen wear a suit. It's easy. They don't have to think too hard about it, and they always--well, almost always--look correct. A suit says, "Take me seriously." It's subliminal, but it's real.
My very first suit was a little white cotton three-piece, bought for my first communion at Holy Name Church in West Roxbury. I wore it with white bucks, a white shirt, and a white bow tie--right out of Truman Capote. I looked so angelic, so holy. But a communion suitdoesn't count.
My first real suit was a beigy, tweedy mod thing from Jordan Marsh, and being able to buy it at a famous store in downtown Boston was a pretty big deal. It made me feel legitimate. But I was sixteen, and the suit wasn't expensive, so nobody took my tailoring requests too seriously. When I went to pick it up, disaster! I looked like a clown. I'd wanted the sleeves lengthened and the pants shortened, and they'd done exactly the opposite. My first suit experience wasn't a good one.
But it should have been. Buying a suit is a major event, because it makes you look--and feel--important. At twenty-one, every young man should have a great navy or gray suit that he can wear to an interview, a bar mitzvah, a funeral, a wedding. He also needs a navy blazer and a pair of chinos. With those three fundamentals, he's covered for any event. On his feet: anything from penny loafers to wingtips, but shoes should never be outlandish or detract from the outfit.
An observant guy looks around and notices how others dress and walk and decorate their homes. Sooner or later, he makes up his mind how he's going to look--and how he's going to be. Is he going to be flamboyant? Is he going to dress like the guys in the stockroom or dress like the boss? Depends on where he's headed.
A young friend of mine named David Black, who was toiling in the mail room at a publishing company, came in one day wearing a suit, shirt, and tie. "What are you all dressed up for?" somebody asked him with a sneer. The answer: for himself. Working in the mail room didn't mean he couldn't dress well and look professional. He wasn't going to let other people's perceptions of him keep him down. And they didn't. He quickly rose through the ranks to become a prominent literary agent in New York. No, it wasn't just the clothes that got him promoted, but he had a certain image of himself, and the clothes helped him project that image. The first time we met, a few years ago, David was wearing a putty-colored dress shirt with a soft collar, a soft-print tie, and a navy blazer--all Armani, so he made some kind of apology. I didn't care whose label he was wearing, because he looked great. He had a lot of other things going for him too, of course, but that strong first impression made a difference. We connected, and now he's my agent.
There's a migratory pattern to developing your wardrobe and taste as you become more successful. It's like traveling. The first time you travel, you feel lucky to get on any flight from anywhere at a price you can manage. You don't care if you sit with the chickens. Then, as you get a bit more successful, you fly coach. When you're a junior executive, you can travel business class. And then, as the CEO, you're going first class. It's an obvious analogy, but it's exactly what happens.
For example, most guys who are starting to move up the ladder relate to a pinstripe suit almost instinctively. They figure, "It's been done before--by my father, my boss, my father's boss--and it's a classic. I'm the boss now, so it's my turn." If you remember the musical How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying, you'll remember the final scene of the movie, in which the outgoing chairman of the board is wearing a navy chalk-stripe suit with a soft butter-yellow vest, a white shirt, and a silver tie--and Robert Morse, being introduced as the incoming chairman of the board, appears in exactly the same suit, vest, and tie. He's not just following in the boss's footsteps; he's following in the boss's suit pattern. It's a spoof, but a spoof with a lot of truth behind it.
The other best choice is a beautifully cut solid or chalk-stripe gray suit with a white or white tattersall shirt, a silver woven tie--nothing too bright or too flashy, no tone-on-tone thing happening, no tricks-- and a pair of dark brown suede shoes. (Brown with gray shows confi- dence, and it's one of the dream color combinations for the powerful guy. It's sophisticated, it's soft, and it doesn't scream.)
Excerpted from Threads by Joseph Abboud Copyright © 2006 by Joseph Abboud. Excerpted by permission.
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