With other plans for boxing day, it took until the 27th to brave Myer in Sydney for the sales. This year I had a distinct plan of attack: I wanted a rejuvenation of my work closet. I had trimmed back the fat, and now it was time to buy a handful of nice items, hopefully on sale, in order to look like I have some idea what I’m doing come Monday.
I was expecting to enjoy the process more than I did, but rather found myself quickly frustrated. Not by the crowds, for they weren’t that wild, but by the high proportion of business clothes that had been fashioned for Goliath sized men*. Poor Nico was in tow to carry things and alert me when I was beginning to resemble a character from Glengarry Glen Ross. I realise that I probably didn’t accurately show my gratitude as I bounced off the bottom of the escalator and loudly declared, “these clothes are made for man giants!”, nor when I poked my head above the racks and announced “I feel like I’m in Gulliver’s Travels… but one of the little ones.”
The hardest thing part was (of course) letting go of the money. I’m a long-time op-shopper and I’ve snapped some incredible bargains in my time. Even when I splurged on a fancy vintage shirt I loved in Melbourne a few months back, it only set me back $20, but I realised I was going to have to spend money. Real money**. My coping mechanism was to simply close my eyes and forget the money. I figured even though the tide was receding, I could expect it to my lapping at my ankles shortly (if not knee-deep).
We walked and shopped for hours before my energy and enthusiasm quickly wintered and I declared it was time to go home. In the end I came away with a suit, three shirts, a pair of pants, three ties, a belt, a cautious opinion of capitalism and a significantly altered self image.
* Perhaps some skew here as I am mildly petite.
** I came to this conclusion after recalling two childhood experiences; one where I tried to use Monopoly money as tender, and the other when I renounced capitalism and decided I didn’t agree that the checkout lady ought to control ownership of the Batman figurine. Both brought me admonishment.
Well if I may rebut: it’s about bloody time. I own five or six business shirts. Prior to this last few months I was unable to find a single one that was slim fit and yet didn’t untuck from my trousers whenever I sat down.
Now I’m able to wear practically everything Myer sells. That’s progress!
These suits were more for the horizontally giant men, rather than the vertically giant men (like you). Aren’t business clothes just fun?
Oh yeah, that’s even worse. I think there was a massive global conspiracy a while back that changed the generally accepted size of a medium t-shirt from something that fit tight to something that fit loose.
Business shirts are OK now but business *pants* suck for skinnier guys. Made worse because trousers look especially bad over-tightened with a belt.
It’s a hard knock life, eh?
I have five suits for work and all came from an op-shop. Best of all for a shorter, more rounder figure? They’ve already been put up and fit perfectly.
Kit – I agree. Pants are tough, because too often they look like you’ve just taken a dump and don’t care who knows it.
James – You have my deep respect for that! Alas, I’ve never found a suit that was small enough in an op-shop, though I do on the occasion pick up well tailored pants.