I served this man coffee. And I’m not sure which was hotter.

But Mr. Reynolds didn’t look THIS good at the time:

Now, I don’t know if it’s because I grew up with an impeccably-groomed father, but I can’t quite get why men are so afraid of wearing suits. At least five of my male friends have bitched in my proximity about suits lately. FIVE. And I don’t want to hear it anymore!

SUITS ARE NOT OF THE DEVIL.

I LOVE MEN IN SUITS.

Seriously.

Woo!

Suits don’t make you look stiff. Does he look stiff? NO. He looks elegant. And not just because he’s all tall and slim and well-dressed. Because he’s carrying himself with pride.

Suits are not supposed to be uncomfortable. If you’re uncomfortable, you’re in the wrong damn suit.

And no, suits don’t make you look like your dad or a salesman, unless you GOT the suit from your dad or you ARE a salesman.

And NO, SUITS ARE NOT DESIGNED TO ROB YOU OF YOUR INDIVIDUALITY. Do you know how many combinations of styles, colours, cuts, fabrics, and looks you can put together? You can look like you! You can feel like you… only slightly more put together for the right occasion.

My only quibble with Mr. Reynolds here is that… well, he stars in crap movies. That, and his pants are a bit short. I don’t know if that’s even a shade of wool I really like, but there’s something about it that works.

Here’s my firm belief: Every man should have at least one decent suit!

Everyone will go to a funeral or a wedding or a court case or a really good restaurant at some point in their lives.

Why be a schmuck about dressing for it? SO….

MEG’S RULES FOR MEN WHO WANT TO DRESS UP AND IMPRESS THE MEG

  • Cheap suits will always feel cheap, unless you’re just getting a really decent suit on sale. Linen is tough to keep looking fresh, but wool (summer weight or otherwise) is always a good bet. I wouldn’t even go for a blend. Stick with a single fiber unless you buy a lot of suits or sportcoats and trousers.
  • DON’T BUY A COLOURFUL SUIT. Leave the sage and the burgundy and the odd blues, etc. for Vegas entertainers and car salesmen. Most men will get the most wear (and look the best) in a navy, gray, black, or tan suit. Brown is pretty damn tough to rock, though, regardless of the neutrality of the shade, so proceed with caution. Note: pinstripes can be pretty damn hot with charcoal or navy suits. Huzzah!
  • Double-breasted suits make most men look like mafia kingpins or OJ Simpson lawyers. If you’re an OJ lawyer, SHAME. If you want to wear one anyway, don’t do up all the buttons, for the love of Pete. You look trussed! A nice two- or three-button suit is your best bet for comfort and elegance.
  • If you are crazy skinny, you can wear pleats in your suit pants. Otherwise, they will bunch up like you’re wearing an adult diaper. And if you’re wearing an adult diaper, well, ok. I just want you to be comfy. Wear whatever you want.
  • The whole matching-tie-and-shirt thing is a bit Regis. Monochomatic is always a good idea for looking sleek, but this vibe has been done, done, and done again. If you can’t match anything, your best bets are a white or light-blue shirt (oxford cloth or any quality cotton fabric, NO POLYESTER) with a nice tie. Leave patterns and stripes for later on in your fashion progression. And nothing shiny (except perhaps the sheen of the silk in your tie.) A shiny shirt is good for ballroom dancing competition, being David Copperfield and NOTHING else. And even HE should make himself disappear.
  • Novelty ties are about the most un-novel things on the planet. I don’t trust men in funny ties. I assume they are assassins. Get a solid colour, a stripe, or a pattern that doesn’t make people have seizures if they catch a glimpse of you across a room.
  • Your pants need to be long enough. Your pants need to be long enough. Your pants should not be too long. Your pants should not be too long. I said both things twice because they are IMPORTANT. Cuff or no cuff? I don’t care. But your pants should break or bend at the seam about 3/4 of the way down your leg. That means that they rest gently on the tops of your shoes without flooding them.
  • Get a jacket that fits you comfortably, and with sleeves that you can bend your arms in and shoulders that you can move in. Too big, and you’ll be floating. In fact, you’ll look like you’re wearing Dad’s suit. Which you might be, actually. Too small, and you’re the bassist for a neo-new wave band. Which is fine. But unless you’re doing New Order covers, loosen up!
  • Your shirt collar should let you run a finger comfortably underneath, all the way around your neck. No portion of neck should bunch over your collar. OW.
  • Novelty socks are for assassins. Patterns are fine. WHITE SOCKS ARE NOT. Keep your feet low key, and for the love of everything that is good and holy, wear a decent lace up or slip on shoe in leather (or decent faux leather for the PETA peeps.) If your shoes are a mess, shine them up, or get someone to do it for you. Nothing ruins a nice look like missing those little details. Wear a belt that coordinates — or simply doesn’t clash — and you’re set.

And finally?

The only way to know what really looks good on you is to go try things on. In a reputable shop. With an actual man with an actual tape measure standing around to help you out.

Did you hear me? GET YOUR SUIT TAILORED. Seriously. It’s just a few more bucks, and you end up looking like a MILLION bucks.

If you don’t know where to go, ask people who look good (in your office, on the street, at the opera, at the hockey game, on the bus, wherever) where they go to shop, or who does their alterations. Not only will you flatter them (or freak them out horribly, though usually only if you try and touch them), but you’ll get good insider info.

And just to be clear, taking a woman with you is NOT an ironclad guarantee that you will make wise fashion choices. Woman do not have innate style. Women wear gauchos and slouch boots and half-t’s and floral jumpers.

At the end of the day, knowing the basics and getting comfortable with suit-wearing is the only way you’re ever going to stop scoffing about it or feeling like you’ve dressed up as a mortician for Halloween. Then you can start adding the details that make you feel more at ease (NO NOVELTY ITEMS, ASSASSIN) and putting your own finishing touches on everything.

Remember, it’s your body, your face, your hair… everyone’s still going to know it’s you, anyway. And if your clothes are the most prominent thing about your look, you’re probably being worn by THEM anyhow, and not vice versa.

And yes, I understand that different people want to look like different things. Go nuts. Really. Embrace your style. Be mad crazy and fun.

But get a sense of occasion as well. Show people respect in how you carry and present yourself when a certain kind of decorum is what’s called for. A little grace goes a long, long way.

Even the edgiest, most counter-culture boys I know have ended up liking how they looked in a suit that, well… suited them.

Granted, one of those suits was orange, but some rules were made to be broken, right?

Heh. I love irony.

And boys in suits.

(Also? Sticky-uppy boy hair. LOVE THAT. Not the gelled spikes or the Pee-Wee forehead wave, but the product-y swooshitude Mr. Reynolds is pulling off here. MMM.)

who the hell are YOU?

Every day I put stuff up on this blog, and people read it.

Or at least they come to the page and stare at the screen.

That’s all I can really verify. Except for the people that comment on the posts, everyone might be going, “Well, I have no idea what the blazes she’s talking about.”

And that, my friends, would be cool, too.

But I want to learn about you, the people that have ended up here. By intention, by chance, by government-sponsored torture… however, really. I like to do this now and again. It’s pretty illuminating and snuggly and stuff like that.

SO.

If you have read this entry, you need to now bring your personal magic to the comments by replying to the following questions.

REALLY. SERIOUSLY. DO IT. IT’S FUN.

And in doing so, you become an automatic part of a true community: The People Who Come To This Web Site.

Sound illustrious? No? Well, dammit. Do it anyway.

  1. What’s your first name? Or if you refuse to tell because you have some cool internet “handle”, what do you wish it was or like it to be?
  2. What the heck do you do for a living? And if you don’t know what you do for a living, what would you LIKE to be doing for a living?
  3. How the heck did you end up here?
  4. Do you know my middle name? Or did you before this comment stream?
  5. Are you freaked out by the term “comment stream”?
  6. Why do you spend time online? Work? Play? eBay? Blogging? YouTube addiction?
  7. If you are a blogger, why do YOU blog?
  8. Tell us why you live where you live.
  9. Tell us your all-time favourite thing to eat.
  10. Tell us your all-time favourite place to go.
  11. Tell us your all-time favourite thing to do.
  12. Tell us a song you’d recommend we listen to.
  13. Are you wearing pants?
  14. Tell us what you’d like to see more of on MegFowler.com.
  15. Can I have your lunch?
  16. Give me, Meg, one piece of advice that will change my whole life.
  17. Why the heck did you answer all these questions?

I will win. You might be bigger, but I WILL WIN.

Vancouver and I have a bit of a thing going on right now.

Not a good thing, mind you, though this is a good city and I’m a good girl and there is much goodness to be had.

No… we’re in a wee bit of a spat, and it revolves around the weather.

As you know (and have seen!) I bought shoes last week.

Structured shoes!

Pointy shoes!

Shoes with heels!

I think my feet went into shock the second I put them on.

“But! But! Where are our PROPER SHOES? The ones that make the FUN NOISE? The SOFT SHOES?”

They really, really missed their flip flops. But I was determined to be a grown up and make this wacky closed-shoe technology work for me. I figured that they’d get used to it.

Even if it took a few blisters to get there.

Right?

Well, this was before I remembered that blisters are #$%&@ OUCHY.

And that my one knee? The trick knee? The ancient track knee? Yeah. Not a huge fan of heels.

So it’s been a little more rough than I thought. And Vancouver’s been forcing my hand with a bit of torrential rain. And my body’s been forcing my hand with a wicked ongoing cold.

I have to wear shoes.

Clearly, push has come to shove.

But today, I shoved back. I’m wearing flip flops. The blisters from shoe pair #3 actually began to scream audibly at me on my way home yesterday and I decided that I would yield. For a day.

A day when Vancouver seemed to both drop in temperature and explode with bone-chilling mist.

Frick.

I don’t remember the last time I had cold feet — actual cold feet that is, the other kind plague me all the time — and OF COURSE IT WOULD BE LIKE THIS ON A DAY WHEN I COULD NOT, WOULD NOT, CANNOT WEAR SHOES.

Seriously! My entire pinky toe is a BLISTER. THAT’S ALL IT IS.

Damn you, Vancouver.

I’d tell you to chill out but I COULDN’T TAKE IT.

I’m going to try putting the shoes back on tomorrow, but I think I’m going to have to invest in Pair #4, which will HAVE TO be soft and comforting like a blanket for my feet instead of rockin’ and sexy and hard-core.

But I refuse to have grandma feet or nurse feet or mom feet or wear the damnable UGGS, so I’m not sure what to do.

Trendy sneakers? I’m not that hip.

Meh.

If you have any suggestions, let me know.

For now, though, my blistered, shivery feet will just have to survive.

DON’T THINK YOU’VE BEATEN ME, VANCOUVER.