Suits You: Confetti Magazine
Title: Part 3: Suits You.
Author: Jonathan McCrea
Date: 18th November 2009
Publication: Confetti for publication
It is officially 6 months until the big day, which is mildly terrifying. It’s not that I’m afraid of the commitment to my fiancée Dara, it’s just that I have this vague feeling that we should be a little more organised. Actually, it’s not vague at all: It’s about as vague as an air-raid siren. Dara’s wedding planner thingy best demonstrates where we stand at this particular juncture. It’s a sweet little illustrated book that give you advice and tips about planning a wedding. In the section entitled “6 months to go! Hurray!” there are balloons and birds flying around the text and a cute drawing of a skinny, smiley woman writing addresses on invitations. Underneath, there are 27 tasks listed on the to-do list. So far, we’ve managed to cross off a grand total of 3. I hate that book.
The three things we’ve locked down are: The booking of the church (after sweet-talking what seemed like half of the prelacy of southern France), the reception venue, and my suit for the big day. Weirdly, the suit was actually the first thing we sorted.
It had been firmly “suggested” by the future Missus that I buy a new suit rather than wear one I already have. I couldn’t really argue because I only own two suits, one of them being a double-breasted pinstripe that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Bugsy Malone. Dara and I had decided that formal was out: I wasn’t having black tie in 32 degrees of sunshine; I’d melt like butter on a hot scone. Morning suits were out too; grey waistcoats are for butlers and those swirly gold print ones always remind me of bathroom tiles in country hotels – something I’d rather not be thinking of on my wedding day.
I had no clue what I was supposed to be looking for, but I did know the quest for a wedding suit is a solitary journey. No-one stops talking about what the bride is going to wear for a wedding, but precious little time is spent discussing what the fella’s supposed to wear. Not one of my mates was likely to call around with a look-book or cut me out clippings for “inspiration”. And the language that greeted me when I suggested they might pencil in a few appointments around town while I tried on a few things? Well, it’s simply not fit to print.
I was convinced that the search would involve an eternity in changing rooms, like one of those never-ending shopping montages you see in cheesy rom-coms. I’m that guy shop assistants hate, the one who tries on everything in the shop and ends up buying nothing. Fortunately, fate intervened: the first suit I tried on also turned out to be the last.
I happened upon it by chance. I was in town and got caught in a thundering rainstorm and stopped inside a men’s “boutique” to get some shelter. It was obvious that I wasn’t there to browse (I was wearing a hoodie with the word HOBO emblazoned across the chest), but the unguarded stares of contempt from the snooty staff irked me. As a form of childish protest, I started pottering around asking pretentious questions about things I could never afford, dripping water all over the floor. Is that Herringbone? Hmm, not keen on Herringbone. What about this, is it Merino cashmere or cashmere tweed? Can you please check? The manager – a tall pointy sort of man – tired of this game remarkably quickly. Just as I was about being herded back out into the unholy maelstrom that awaited outside, it caught my eye.
It was a pale blue three-piece. The colour was not miles off the tuxedo worn by Jeff Daniels in Dumb and Dumber: I had to try it on. Without the comedy cane and matching top hat, it looked a lot less ridiculous than I imagined. Even the pointy man said, “Very snazzy Sir.” I’m still not sure he wasn’t being sarcastic. I rang Dara and described what I was wearing. She thought I was joking – I’ve been known to experiment every once in a while. I own a certain Sherlock Holmes-style wool coat with that will never again see the light of day after the public ridicule which I endured from close friends and complete strangers alike.
“Well the man in the shop thinks it’s snazzy” I said standing in the mirror. She laughed and after a moment’s pause she told me to go for it. It was a decision based on either blind love or blind faith, and it’s exactly why I’m marrying her.
When I got back home I modelled my new purchase and she loved it. Which was handy because it was on sale and non-refundable. That night we proudly ticked off “Groom’s suit” in Dara’s wedding planner… only to have to scribble another task in its place. Can someone please tell me exactly what sort of shoes are you supposed to wear with a powder blue suit?