This weekend yound our humble servant (i.e., someone who clearly thinks very highly of himself) in Philadelphia. He walked passed a clothing store whose window displays featured tweeds. Tis the season. And he was dressed suitably: Tweed jacket (with a torn lining), and knit tie. As he waited for a table at a newly opened but already trendy cafe, the hostess exclaimed, “I love your tie.“ “Me, too,“ said another young lady, her arms cradling menus. The two said the tie showed tons of style, and we basked. We also explained it came from a New England shop that takes pride in refusing to change. The latest catalogue offers selections that could have been, and probably were, in the first. “That’s why you swing,“ the hostesses said, and we are not making this up. For at least one day it was time to toast dweebs and geezers. 

Do clothes make the man?