I've only donned a suit twice in my twenty-four years. Once was for my college graduation, the other for my teacher's wedding reception. It hadn't occurred to me until recently to ponder why I avoid suits. Clothing stores often bewilder me with their choices, yet I never find myself lost among tuxedos or polished shoes. Most times, as I absentmindedly navigate clothing stores, my attention is ensnared by a myriad of choices. Yet, oddly enough, this mental drift never leads me to the aisle housing tuxedos or polished shoes.
But here I am, wide awake at 1:19 a.m., preparing for a Structural Design exam, and it hits me: I don't trust suits. Some might even say I resent them. There's an inherent skepticism I harbor toward the words of a man elegantly dressed in a fine suit. Can you blame me? What has wearing a suit ever truly achieved? Preachers don suits, meticulously dressing to present themselves before the public. It's almost as if the extra effort they put into their appearance is inversely proportional to their conviction in their message. It's akin to watching Dave Chappelle deliver brilliant jokes while puffing on cigarettes. A charm, a distraction.
Bridegrooms exchange vows in suits. Government officials parade in extravagant ensembles. White men seem particularly fond of these garments. Think of Jan van Riebeeck; his portrait speaks volumes. The names Thomas Arbousset, Eugene Casalis, and Constant Gosselin come to mind—yet, I digress.
Perhaps I'm approaching this backward.
