The Suit

This Armani suit cost over a thousand bucks twelve years ago -- at that price, the damn thing should never go out of date.


November 6, 2006

I finally got around to watching the Jackson Pollock film starring Ed Harris. There's Peggy Guggenheim living in extreme luxury while Pollock toiled day to day.

Things haven't changed much for artists. The value placed on artistic skills is capricious, the odds of making enough to raise a family so small, one is almost certain to live below the poverty line. That's why artists moonlight, doing what they can to get by, to keep at their art.

I've been fortunate to have had eight unencumbered years of writing fiction and songs. I worked hard to get that shot, I had a little luck too, but that's run out, and it's time to face facts, I need a job.

I heard a hit songwriter in Nashville say, "Take a menial job to preserve your brain power for writing."

There's a lot to be said for that, but I once earned in day what most menial jobs pay in a month. I can't see myself behind the cash register at Barnes and Noble, unless it's undercover for character research.

My means are modest, I drive a twelve year old car, but I've still got a mortgage -- interest rates have doubled my home equity payment. Last week I wrote about the oil hikes. Property taxes jumped too.

I was busy in the studio this month, and I picked up a free-lance writing gig at Poets and Writers, but it's not enough to keep the house here in Westport, CT, where most people earn well into six-figures.

If I have to get my butt back to work, I will, but I'll need some new clothes.

Although I was on the board of directors of HMV Records, mostly, I wore casual. On occasion I met with heavy weights like Donald Trump, the mayor of Philadelphia, the master architect, I.M. Pei. On those days I wore Armani suits, Egyptian-cotton custom shirts, hundred-dollar silk ties.

I dusted off a few of those Armanis and took them into local retailer Ed Mitchell's, an institution here in Westport, to see if I could get them refitted.

Mitchell's is the king of customer service. Bill Mitchell was at the door to greet me. "Would you like some coffee? What can I help you with?"

I wanted to see if I could get those suits readjusted in hopes of saving a few bucks. "No problem," Bill said.

He introduced me to Mark Taylor, a guy who has worked there twenty-two years. I put on one of the Armani jackets; that suit cost twelve-hundred bucks.

"How old is that?" Mark asked.

It was over ten, but I said eight.

"It's dated, shoulders today are tighter, it's a more tailored fit, the buttons are a good four inches higher."

He gave me an equivalent Armani to try on. It looked good, and it should since it cost almost two grand.

I asked it we could tailor my existing suits, update them. There were a few options, he said, but nothing could be done with the buttons.

Mark asked what the suits were for. I need at least one for interviews, but the clothing depends on the job I seek. Problem is, I haven't figured that out. I’m still hoping that someone will pick-up my novel. There are more freelance writing opportunities to explore. If I can hold off formal interviewing until the post-Christmas sales, I could save a bundle.

We decided I should try on that old Armani to see if there was anything the tailor could do. I was wearing jeans, a flannel shirt and casual shoes. Mark gave me a white oxford shirt and a pair of dress shoes, to make sure I had a good fit. I came out of the dressing room with that shirt draped over the trousers.

"Tuck in the shirt," he said.

I laughed. "I haven't tucked a shirt in for almost eight years."

"You're like the college grads that come in here. I've got to tell them what to do."

And there you have it: at forty-eight and still mistaken for an irresponsible college kid.

I could get depressed over this, but maybe it indicates there's still hope for me as a writer….