I know I inherited this thing for clothes from my dad. He wasn't outwardly fancy, just what I would call classic, impeccably classic actually.
I don't know what they called guys like that back then..., stylish maybe? I'm pretty sure nobody ever called him a clothes whore.
Nobody ever calls me a clothes whore either, to my face anyway. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I just like to think I am. That would be a little embarrassing, to call yourself a clothes whore when really nobody else ever thought that.
And here I am in the clothing business. I have to go into men's clothing stores all the time. It's like a nurse with more than just a passing fancy for morphine.
Venus And Mars was pretty incredible. The woman's end I thought much more so than the men's.
But that might have had more to do with my wife talking me out of everything I picked out for myself. So I ended up rifling through the women's racks right along with her as she was pulling out these stellar, 60s elephant bell, one piece pantsuits (is that redundant?) that were museum quality. They were crazy just to look at.
This has got to be a mecca for motion picture and theatre production, wardrobe and stylists.
And to top it off, Talvin Beville, the store manager working the till, was a gracious and genuine host.
I like it when people like their jobs.
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