SHIT YOU SHOULD KNOW

(You have to know I’m a man for the story I’m about to tell to make sense. So for those of you who didn’t know that already (damn ambiguous-gender names!), consider yourself informed.)

Just a few days ago, I got a DHL package in the mail from a company called Proper Cloth. Inside the package was a folded dress shirt. I removed the fancy little stainless stays they use to keep the shirt’s shape (no pins; that was a nice touch) and shook it out. Then I tried it on. It fit like a glove. 

It wasn’t that way last time I got this shirt, before I returned it to ask for alterations. Last time it was close, but a bit tight through the chest and with too much fabric around my lower back. I’m broad at the shoulders and narrow at the waist. It’s a hell of a shape to find a shirt that fits properly, so when my business partner, Sean, got me credit at Proper Cloth as a gift, it was cool to be able to order one specifically to fit. And when it wasn’t exactly right, it was cool to be able to take photos and send them in for analysis … and for the tailors there to re-make the shirt to fit even better.  

The second time, they got it perfect.

Such was the experience of my first made-to-measure shirt — just one rung down from true bespoke tailoring, which is what Stacy does in the book you’ve just finished.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m “into clothes,” but I do care how I look. At some point a few years ago, I noticed that half of my dress shirts looked like dresses on me. I even saw video of me wearing one such shirt at a speaking gig and it was like I’d donned a mumu. That wasn’t cool.

The shirts weren’t the problem; it was the fit that was off. That had to be fixed, because … well, you know how once you notice something one place, you start seeing it everywhere? I started to notice people who looked like hell but didn’t need to look like hell. I went in to see a banker and the dude was wearing a sport coat that was maybe three sizes too big. He looked dumpy and unprofessional — not like someone I wanted to trust with my money. I didn’t want to be that guy.

It’s not about vanity. It’s about unrealized potential. You are you, so shouldn’t you be all you’re able to be?

I had a public event coming up, so I donated my too-big shirts and bought some that were properly fitted. One was a bit off, so the store clerk suggested I take it to a tailor. That was when I started to realize that all garments are not created equal. And it’s also when I started to realize that having good clothes is not the same thing as having expensive clothes … something Hampton Brooks sure didn’t realize at first. 

Quality doesn’t have to cost more. A great fit doesn’t have to cost more. You can have one tough-as-hell shirt that fits you perfectly and it’ll last ten years. Or you can buy shitty shirts that cost half as much, and watch as they fall apart in a year. Plus, you never want to wear them because every time you do, someone remarks that you’ve gained weight. In the long term, quality costs less. 

And that, my friends, is the thing that Stacy and Hampton pretend they’re fighting about … although of course, we know they’re actually fighting about bigger issues. 

Most of the things that a good story appear to be about are not actually the things that matter. Surface-level readers might think this is a romance about clothes, but it’s so not. Stacy just happens to be a bespoke seamstress and Hampton just happens to own a disposable clothing chain. That gives them something obvious to argue about, but it goes deeper. 

Stacy doesn’t believe that care should go into straight seams and tight buttonhole stitching. She believes that care should go into everything. 

Hampton isn’t trying to take shortcuts with Expendable Chic’s manufacturing. He’s trying to take a shortcut through what he believes is a piece of life that’s easy to make efficient … because he has big dreams, and doesn’t want to take an unnecessarily long time to reach them.

But also like in any good romance, they soon realize that the differences between them aren’t always so different. Hampton does care about quality, just in different ways. And Stacy could, if she wanted, get more of what matters to her if she’ll just relax her dogmatic way of going after it. 

That, folks, is what makes the two of them a perfect fit for one another. It couldn’t be clearer (in my mind, anyway) than when Stacy subconsciously creates garments that fit their bodies to a T — a matched pair, meant to be together. 

Thanks so much for reading.

See you inside!

- Aubrey