On lightening one's load

I took advantage of the semi-annual Altkleidersammlung to get rid of seven suits that I haven't worn in years. One of them was last worn in the 1980's, none more recently than 1994 when I moved to Stuttgart.

I don't wear suits any more, except for truly special occasions like operas and 80th birthday parties. When I worked at the Great Big Computer Company in the late '80s, it was of course de rigueur to wear a suit and tie to the office; I bought two suits a year on average in those days. I enjoyed it actually, the "dressing up" aspect amused me and appealed to my vanity—because, if I do say so myself, I look very good in suits.

But I don't do that any more. Times have changed, and even the computer companies I deal with these days don't seem to impose a dress code. Perhaps it's a sign of the market having grown up: computers no longer need to prove their seriousness, they no longer risk being mistaken for playthings or (sneer) secretarial items by the corporate chieftains.

It tore at my heart to dispose of the suits, even if I haven't worn them in over a decade. Among them was the very first suit that I ever bought of my own free will, because I wanted and liked it, in the winter of 1985. Paul Smith, £500 which was two months' take-home pay at the time. I'd hate to think what it amounts to these days. It's unwearable, of course, my waist has expanded by nearly four inches since then. It was already close to unwearable by the time I began at the GBCC, to be honest; I might have given it away then, but I didn't for the same reason that I then hung on to it for another twenty years: It seemed to be the proof of my having arrived at a kind of independence.

I went to Paul Smith when I was in London in June, revisiting the old shop in Floral Street in Covent Garden where I had spent so much time and money. I didn't really know what to expect, I had completely lost touch with fashion and style and the manufacture of taste. I did expect that I might find something that I liked enough to have to dither over buying, which would have been a real dilemma given my straitened circumstances. It was a poignant moment, a kind of sadly-cheerful relief to find that there was nothing there for me, that I had moved beyond (or at least away from) that lifestyle. I don't do that any more.