I have a suit fetish. Leather pants don’t really do anything for me, but give me Paul Smith single breasted (or if you’re really cool, Thom Browne) any day! I should say, suits circa nineteen fifty seven. Think Mad Men more than than Wall Street.
The secretary and the boss, I know it’s a cliché, but it works for me. I think it’s because I started out in life wanting to be an artist and have ended up knee deep in the corporate world, a “creative” in a sea of Brooks Brothers. I grew up in an arty, academic environment, the world of business was the antithesis of everything I knew and everything I wanted. Now walking into a boardroom, I look at that long expanse of polished mahogany, surrounded by men (maybe one or two women—pathetic, but true) and think, I should be laid out naked on that table.
And sometimes, the straighter you look on the outside, the kinkier you are on the inside.