Geoff Duncan

The other day I'm at a local clothing retailer trying to find something to wear which isn't basically jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers—a topic which has caused me much consternation in the past. I've already struck out on shoes (they had a pair I'd have considered, if they were available in my size and at about half the still-ridiculous "on sale" price) and moved on to shirts, selecting four remote possibilities from hundreds of... well, let's just say there were hundreds of non-possibilities. I head for the mens' fitting rooms.

It happens that this retailer has an in-house tailor for alterations, and the tailor's work area is right next to the men's fitting rooms. As I walk in a gentleman is standing before some mirrors, pulling on the sleeves of a dinner jacket, and speaking with an older man in shirtsleeves with a tape measure around his neck who is looking very tailor-like. I like the cut and color, the gentleman is saying, but it's baggy in the shoulders. I agree, sir, says the tailor, but the changes are simple, and the sleeves are perfect. I can have it ready for you this afternoon. Excellent! says the gentleman, shrugging out of the jacket.

I feel like I've stepped off the Earth I know and into some ’50s movie where Pillars of Industry sit around a gentleman's club puffing clouds out of stogies and sipping cognac or single-malt scotch. I hustle to an empty fitting room without making eye contact with anyone.

In the fitting room, I have my usual spasm of incomprehension: I can put on all the items, but, looking in the mirror, I have no idea if they fit. Some seem looser and baggier than others, but those same baggy ones feel constricting and tight through the neck and shoulders. One has sleeves which extend well past my fingertips, but I essentially never wear long sleeves: do I care how long the sleeves are if I'm just going to roll them up? I can't button the top button on one shirt; on another, I can't button either of the top two buttons, but otherwise it's billowy and baggy like a cape.

Outside the dressing room, I hear a voice: Excuse me, sir? Can you tell me if this fits? A pause, then a voice I recognize as the tailor. I'm sorry: they do not, and I don't believe I could alter them to fit. The fabric, you see. I peer around the curtain of the fitting room and see a man trying on what appear to be generic pleated-front slacks, and I can't see anything wrong with the way they fit. The man is frowning. The fabric is synthetic, and it must be re-pleated for a proper fit. There would be marks. The man mumbles a thanks and steps back into a dressing room. The tailor steps back into the doorframe of his work area, re-folding a shirt.

I step out of my dressing room, carrying all my possible purchases, and hope to beat an unheralded retreat out of the fitting area. The tailor looks up, quickly looks me up and down, and says No luck, eh?

"Uh, no," I stammer. "I, um, can't tell if anything fits."

A moment, please. The tailor touches my shoulder, turns me about a quarter turn, and looks me up and down. Mmm. I can see why. Unless you have clothes made for you, you may never have worn clothes which fit properly.

"Excuse me?"

Yes, you see, your shape is not good for off-the-rack clothes. He steps forward, raising one of my arms. Your waist is narrow, but only front-to-back: side to side it is normal. Belts and pockets will not sit properly. More appraisal. Your chest is medium, but your shoulders are large while your arms are somewhat short. Your neck and head are unusually large. Any shirt which fits your shoulders and neck will be too big everywhere else and will be a balloon tucked in. Any shirt which fits down here, he gestures to my stomach and hips, will be too tight upstairs.

During all this, the tailor does not so much as touch his measuring tape. I guess when you've been doing this long enough, your eye gets pretty accurate.

"I, um, wasn't always built this way. I lost some weight to pneumonia..."

You would have been easier to fit, but appeared much squatter. Better this way.

"Oh. Um, thanks."

So that's me: apparently I'm a big-shouldered, short-armed, tree-trunk-necked mutant with a really thick skull.