While I have certainly been noticing cultural dissonances between the women and men I interact with here (by ‘interact with’ I obviously mean ‘avoid eye contact with and pray to god they don’t try to engage in a conversation with me in French’) there are many notable similarities. The most striking of these congruencies involves those who, were I able to speak the same language, might be considered my peers. These young gentlemen seem to be between 22 and 30 and yet there is a striking contrast between them and myself. I notice this phenomenon also in the States, though not to the same extent (probably because this group of young men occupy their own individual vehicles on their way to their destinations rather than stand armpit to armpit clutching the “holy crap I’m falling” rail in the middle of each metro train and, while we may have shared I-85, we shared no semblance of human interaction). As you may have guessed it, the striking difference between this group of my peers and myself is the following fact: They wear a suit to where they’re going.
I have deduced that there are three subcategories of men in their mid-twenties who wear suits in public (not counting those on their way to a funeral). Also, being that I observe their behaviors while on the metro or walking down the street, and given the fact that I happen to be an astute judge of character and a mind reader, I also have a fairly good idea of what these men are thinking as they head towards their suit-necessitating destinations.
Group #1: The “That’s right, I’m Wearing a Suit” Mid-Twenties Suit-Wearers. They are proud. They are borderline smug. Their hair is neatly quaffed and gelled. I take great joy in scuffing their shoes as I shuffle by them with my sneakers, jeans, and school purse. They see their reflection in the metro windows. They think “That’s Right, Pierre, you are wearing a suit. Look at that schmuck, with his jeans, and purse reading a book. Wow, my hair looks phenomenal. This gel works wonders. My, I must say that I am also quite clean-shaven. I look good in this suit! Flow charts. Consulting. Productivity analysis systems. I am handsome!” They are well aware that they are on the way to evolving into tomorrow’s movers and shakers and suit-wearing twenty-something hirers.
Group 2: The “I’m not Qualified to be Wearing a Suit to my Destination, but I have to, but it makes me Insecure, I Don’t Know What I’m Doing and Probably Won’t be Rising up this Company’s Organizational Chart and Keep Having to File Papers and Fetch Coffee and I Hate This Job but There’s No Other Alternative” Mid-Twenties Suit-Wearers. These are a worrying bunch. They have the same look on their face as my Basset Hound (may he Rest in Peace) had when he tried to sneak a baguette from the table while there were people in the room – almost confident that their goal is attainable but they know someone else will get it, and they don’t seem to want to go for it. The greatest thing about this group is that they are the first to say “pardon” and get out of your way on the metro. They don’t know how they ended up in a suit and they aren’t happy they got there – if they could figure out the moment their life started creeping down this path they would surely try to change something. Until then, they humbly walk through the metro, careful not to get in anyone’s way, and go somewhere to get someone’s coffee.
Group 3: The “I Don’t Get Paid Enough to Buy a Decent Suit that Fits, But One Day, I’m Going to Make It and Buy a Suit Like Pierre’s!” Mid-Twenties Suit-Wearers. They are full of all the eager optimism of someone who doesn’t realize that they actually belong in group two. But their suit pants drag four feet behind their person and they could tuck their sleeves into their socks. They believe that the massive amount of gel they used makes them look like a Pierre and they accidentally nicked themselves shaving. They are eager to get to their destination to prove to whoever they need to prove something to that they are worth every penny of a promotion – and every penny of that will be spent on a new suit appropriate to that position (and one that might actually fit). I honestly feel worse for this group than Group 2, I hope the best for them and, yes, periodically I even get out of their way in the metro or on the sidewalk. They are a pitiful bunch, but – hey, they are important enough to wear suits to work.
If you aren’t a Pierre, or in group 2, or 3, and yet you are a mid-twenties suit-wearer; consider yourself proof that most paradigms of this sort – which divide a large mass of people into a conveniently small number of categories – tend
to fall short when applied to reality: write that down.
Seriously.
Thanks for reading.
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