Ask anyone: I like suits. They feel good. I look good. Vegas pit bosses seem to think I’m the prince of Qatar or some similar billion capita desert country, worthy of comp’d cabanas and lobster cocktail, whenever they see me in my one. Chalk it up to the genetically inherited fashion sense of an absentee father who’s paisley silk ties and tailored 110 wools were his only legacy worth remembering…or just that I’m metrosexual enough to realize that a closet of bespoke 3-buttons is all that most of us bums need to hid our physical sins just long enough to let the masses realize the true worth of our words and might of our character.

Due to my recent embrace of frugality - and love of spending cash of food, drink & friends over clothes and other material goods - I’m an unabashed economical convert to Calvin Klein off the Men’s Wearhouse rack. They keep your measurements nationwide so you can call in a fitting in most major U.S. cities with a minimum of guff and a max 1-day turnaround to replace the wedding tuxedo American Airlines already lost with your luggage…and offer same day pressing for premium members for the wrinkled number you threw in the bottom of your carry-on 20 minutes before O.J.’ing it to SFO on the way to that (as always) last minute funeral trip.

But back when I was flush in dot.com bucks and ex-model ex-wives, Brooks Brothers was my weapon of choice. So, if you’re down with the comfort of a few wonderfully tailored suits at the right price, I strongly advise you check out the deal they’re running right now: buy one clipped-to-fit 2-piece, get $400 off the next. I imagine Rocket, AMF, Mexican Ben & Sir Andrew Brown as the prime targets for this unsolicited advert in the guise of blog post…but I encourage any cat with a desire to look severely slick at a price that’s right to check out this sweet promo.

And if this post makes no sense to you…? Grow up, already, Doris. Every guy over 30 should have at least 3 unique suits: one for births, one for deaths and one for the promise of death till we part.

Ask anyone: I like suits. They feel good. I look good. Vegas pit bosses seem to think I’m the prince of Qatar or some similar billion capita desert country, worthy of comp’d cabanas and lobster cocktail, whenever they see me in my one. Chalk it up to the genetically inherited fashion sense of an absentee father who’s paisley silk ties and tailored 110 wools were his only legacy worth remembering…or just that I’m metrosexual enough to realize that a closet of bespoke 3-buttons is all that most of us bums need to hid our physical sins just long enough to let the masses realize the true worth of our words and might of our character.

Due to my recent embrace of frugality - and love of spending cash of food, drink & friends over clothes and other material goods - I’m an unabashed economical convert to Calvin Klein off the Men’s Wearhouse rack. They keep your measurements nationwide so you can call in a fitting in most major U.S. cities with a minimum of guff and a max 1-day turnaround to replace the wedding tuxedo American Airlines already lost with your luggage…and offer same day pressing for premium members for the wrinkled number you threw in the bottom of your carry-on 20 minutes before O.J.’ing it to SFO on the way to that (as always) last minute funeral trip.

But back when I was flush in dot.com bucks and ex-model ex-wives, Brooks Brothers was my weapon of choice. So, if you’re down with the comfort of a few wonderfully tailored suits at the right price, I strongly advise you check out the deal they’re running right now: buy one clipped-to-fit 2-piece, get $400 off the next. I imagine Rocket, AMF, Mexican Ben & Sir Andrew Brown as the prime targets for this unsolicited advert in the guise of blog post…but I encourage any cat with a desire to look severely slick at a price that’s right to check out this sweet promo.

And if this post makes no sense to you…? Grow up, already, Doris. Every guy over 30 should have at least 3 unique suits: one for births, one for deaths and one for the promise of death till we part.