Compared to the gruesome tortures fashion inflicts on women, my complaints would be more in the nature of clothing as an inconvenience. And for this, it has to be the events demanding formal wear, the dreaded tuxedo. There was a time when such events were more or less routine and so frequent that I kept 2 setups on hand in sealed bags. You know, when you think of it, the infrastructure, expense and waste required to keep a peacock in the field is considerable. Again, those negatives are a joke compared to the warehouse requirements of the woman on the arm of a male fashion plate. These days, every once and a while, I will for some reason open one of those drawers to have the smell of cedar waft up while I stare at the litter of cufflinks or braces, garters, handkerchiefs, whatever. Like life itself, it’s all so silly. The dry cleaning bills alone were ridiculous.