If the suit fits

I was young when I first heard the phrase “The clothes make the man.” Even then, as a kid, I didn’t buy it. The man makes the man, I thought; the clothes merely prevent him from being naked.

Clearly not everyone shares this opinion. My workplace has an extremely lax dress code -- the only articles that are outright forbidden consist of t-shirts with swear words and slinky lingerie -- but some of the men still wear ties, the women fancy dress suits. There’s certainly nothing wrong with classic business attire, and it looks good and all, but unless you’re dealing with people face-to-face it doesn’t seem strictly necessary. Personally I’d feel more comfortable, and get more work done, if I were wearing sweatpants and a mustard-stained Red Sox hoodie.

On rare occasions I’m forced to dress up, and I’ll admit that I do walk with a certain swagger in such instances. I was sent to a conference in Orlando this summer and rocked my single three-piece suit, feeling very Wolf-of-Wall-Street-ish. But that’s because I was essentially playing make-believe. It was the same sort of swagger I get when I dress up as a Batman villain for Halloween. During the conference I was playing the role of Jeff Rockjaw III, finance expert and world traveler, and this fantasy took me out of myself, allowed me the novelty of wearing someone else’s skin for a while. When I got back to the hotel room it was right back to my typical summer uniform: cargo shorts and a t-shirt so old it’s practically a vapor.

To be sure, there are certain clothing items that should never be considered acceptable, under any circumstances, ever. Fishnet shirts, for example. Or suit jackets with shoulder pads. Or pretty much anything worn in the 1980s.

Think of how much more relaxed we’d all be if “work attire” was a thing of the past, though. There’s a law firm in the building where I work, and oftentimes I see well-suited men and women walking the halls with a kind of self-important air, a detectable aura that screams, “I am a very big deal.” And look, there’s no doubt that their jobs are, indeed, important. Without lawyers, who would blast us with an $80 charge for a five-minute phone consultation? And to think I could have bought food with that money.

The problem with look-at-me-I’m-a-big-shot suits is that they do nothing to help these lawyers actually do their jobs. Sure, they’d struggle to maintain credibility if they showed up in court wearing tracksuit pants and a Pokemon t-shirt, but that’s only because business attire is the norm in that situation. If all of the nation’s courtrooms issued a new proclamation tomorrow -- “Suits optional everyone, just wear what you want” -- I can guarantee you things would be a lot looser. The atmosphere would be less clenched, and there’d be a lot more smiles on a lot more prosecutor’s faces. “Hey, your honor, what’s up? So yeah, this guy right here? He totally did it. Like, not even a question. See this evidence? Boom, in your face, public defendant!”

School principals would be more approachable. Accountants would have more fun. CEOs could put their gamesmanship aside and focus on the things that are truly important, like lowering their golf handicap. This is the nirvana I envision: a suitless world in which people can finally breathe.

Things are slowly moving that direction, with the definition of “formal” becoming more and more relaxed through the centuries. The Victorian era was marked by stark formality; a poorly-worn necktie or an ill-fitting waistcoat could earn a man a reputation for being an outright ragamuffin (a word that should make a comeback, in my opinion). In the Edwardian era, things got a little simpler. Post-World War I, the scene was simpler still, with long coats giving way to the previously informal lounge coat. If the trend continues it’ll soon be acceptable to conduct business in a pajama onesie meant to look like a cartoon bunny.

If men are better off this way -- and they are -- I can only imagine the relief felt by women, who a few short lifetimes ago were expected to squeeze themselves into apparatuses more complicated than the inner workings of a Japanese motorcycle. Bras with hard wires, girdles, frilly dresses with more layers than a Russian nesting doll … all a little overkill. I’ve never been curious enough to wear, say, a ladies’ outfit from the Victorian era, but the complexity seems prohibitive. I’d have to start getting dressed at four in the morning to be ready for lunch, and removing the outfit would probably involve a set of industrial-strength scissors, possibly even the jaws of life. Pantsuits get a bad rap nowadays, but at least you can change in and out of one before your roommate is done slow-roasting her Butterball turkey.

In our relaxed new era, I walk into my office wearing an untucked polo shirt and feel perfectly at home. In another 20 years, who knows? I may be wearing sandals, gym shorts and an Anthrax hoodie. Socially conservative members of older generations may be lowering their heads, pinching the bridges of their noses and muttering things about the depravity and loosy-goosy dress standards of modern life, but bring it on, I say. I find it hard to get work done while wearing a suit because I’m constantly aware of its essential suitness. I adjust my tie and tug at my shirt incessantly, petrified that any loose knot or bunched island of fabric will undermine my professional veneer and spell doom. Frumpy clothes don’t make me feel this way. They just make me feel comfortable, and in the winter they disguise the belly I obtained by nibbling on vegetable chips and cheese-stuffed pretzels.

And I feel no hit to my core maleness in the bargain. Because it turns out, after all, that clothes don’t make the man. They just make it a little less drafty.