Lately I’ve been fetishizing suits. There’s something intangibly interesting about people who surrender their identity, passions, and morals in the name of wealth, power, and luxury-living. Are suits made or born? I don’t know, but my new job has taken me into the epicenter of Bostonian suits, and I’m finding them simply fascinating and entirely bland.
There was a suit walking in front of me today at lunch time, talking on his Blackberry. Among suits, this guy is an Alpha: Mid-40s. Impeccably groomed and attired. Intelligent face, strong jaw, broad shoulders, and a thick head of hair. His stride was resolute yet altruistic. His only fault was his tall, wiry body, as suits typical have a belly as a sign of puissance.
I couldn’t help but to zero in on his murmuring…
“It’s the last week of summer and the weather couldn’t be better… So do I go in the office? Or do I go to the golf course?… Yeah, in the long run, it’s much better for everyone if I go to the golf course… because otherwise, I’m going to regret it.”
