On Wearing a Suit Everyday

There is no feeling in the world that can be equated to the joy I felt when a complete stranger came up to me and said:

"Sir, can you give me directions please?"

I was dressed in a suit, en route to the metro for work. It was approximately 7:50 in the morning and "the event" happened right in Dupont Circle.

Someone called me sir and thought I looked official enough to ask for directions. That is the power of the suit.

I gave the nice, 50-60 year old woman directions even though I had no idea where she was going because, let's face it, I was in a suit, looking spiffy, and should know where everything is. And despite my lack of knowledge of the subject, I felt important enough to pretend.

I have to admit, I enjoy putting a suit on every morning. Scratch that - physically putting the suit on is a terrible experience, but once it is on, oh man, what a feeling. My attachment to suits probably started when I was around 12 years old. My mom took me shopping for a suit to wear to all my friends' bar mitzvahs. I would try one on and then, hands clasped together in front of me with index fingers extended, I would wander around the store pretending to be James Bond, humming the theme music and jumping around corners.

This behavior has since continued to plague my mother and the good, patient folks at Macy's for the past 8 years. She decided, when choosing my wardrobe for work in DC, to "surprise me and have me try things on at home" instead of in the store (Yes, my mom still does my shopping - No, I don't know my sizes. Yes, it is pathetic, but if you had a Greek mother, you would understand - I promise). This course of action was probably the best for all parties involved except yours truly, who only had a younger sister to impress with sick secret agents moves.

So now every morning, I head out to work looking great enough to be called "sir" and asked for directions and feeling great enough to give directions without knowing the way.

Life is good.