Andrew disliked having to buy new clothes. It wasn’t so much the expense, as the difficulty he had in selecting what looked best on him. He would spend hours going from one menswear store to another. Trying this on and that on; looking in the mirror; hating what he saw; finding what he thought he liked but not in the right size. The sooner he found a lovely woman who would tell him what to wear the better. He was self-conscious even in the old clothes he had on now.
Then there were the insincere shop assistants. That looks great on you. That’s really YOU. You look sexy in that. They were no help. They wanted Andrew to give them his money and run.
It was depressing. He stood outside the door of a menswear shop in his worn jeans and torn pink shirt. His loose hooded aquamarine sweater, casually flung over his left shoulder, was something he’d bought online four years ago. He looked along the street. What were other men wearing? Black? White? 49 shades in between? He wanted a bit of colour; a bit of style; some panache without being overly bold.
A woman stared at him. Did she know him? Andrew thought she was a bit rude really, ogling like that. She entered the shop. Andrew heard her say to the shop assistant: “I’m shopping for my husband. How much is that sexy combination on the mannequin outside the door? It’s so simple yet so classy.”
Andrew went in and nearly bought the shop.