I know I’m not the only one who complains that getting my husband to buy a new suit is a miserable drag — the endless trying on, the decisions, the time it takes… not to mention the price tag. Can a basement in Teaneck really be my source of salvation?
There are times when moving into a cave seems like a very sound option. My husband needing a new suit is one of those times. Last time this happened was before my brother’s wedding. My husband finally agreed to look for a new suit, but even with the yagata, there was no matzasa. We went everywhere, tried on almost everything, but nothing fit, nothing was the right style, nothing was in our price range. He ended up wearing his old suit and swore off suit shopping for eternity.
Okay, fine, that’s not entirely accurate. Just a few weeks after the wedding, he succumbed and bought a custom-made suit. He’s still wearing it two years later, and he intends to wear it until the fabric disintegrates from overuse.
They tell me it doesn’t have to be this way. Guess if I believe them. They also all tell me to go to Naomi Klinger.
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