Entering politics has never been easier. It's easier to get a membership card than a suit. Politics requires both. The new politicians know it, they don't get out of their suits. But they look like they're still being stung by forgotten pinnacles. There's no way they'll find that last one. She seems to be constantly poking them and notes that they just got into their suits.
There's something about that garment that they say makes a man stand out. But nothing can wear a man down like a suit. It can look great on him, or not at all. There is rarely a middle ground. Or salivated or too bad. Too often it's the latter.
As it exists new rich (Skorojević) there is also a new politician. He crawled in. So they say. It can refer to the suit, but also to the other. Think overnight that he is what he would like to be. It crashes and flies. He thinks he can fly. Hence so many inconsistencies, kitsch and bad taste. The suit gives form, but politics is not a mere formality.
Style cannot be bought. Nor the attitude. It has to match, to please, to lie down, to be salivated. For some, the suit somehow fits, but the walk betrays them. And those few steps at the entrance to the parliament create a problem for them. That incoherent walk, the thrusting, everything betrays fuss and insecurity. They walk in a suit and new shoes as if they were at the prom, everything as if it were the first time. "Let's go, friends/like at the prom/uno, due, tre, quatro..."
Discomfort emerges and you can see that the suit still blisters them, that the collar of the shirt suffocates them and that they are oppressed, even though they are bursting with desire for everything to be right. They look at the screens even though they are looking through the phone. They pretend to be busy and in a hurry. Phones are ringing. They want to run past cameras and reporters on their way to some kind of meeting room. Too busy. But that last curve, when they have to run into the hall, they break and fall out of the curve. Knees collide. Damn knees!
They don't give up. Some have even thought of following trends that cannot be followed. He wants double-breasted suits, but she doesn't want them. They want plaid, but they are already square. He can't force it. Double-breasted suits were out of fashion. They are coming back, people say, but double-breasted suits require attitude. You don't buy an attitude, you don't impose an attitude, you either have it or you don't. It comes as a style. You can't decide to have it at any cost. It has no price, it's never even on discount, it can't be styled even in installments. Jaba in every city has a boutique called that, Style.
In vain Kingsman movies and stories about dressing up, in vain Gentleman (series and movie) by Guy Ritchie, even if they take a screenshot and give it to some tailor to copy. No. Ours wants branded, so everything turns out to be caricatured. They fixed the suits. Unfortunately, there is no better term. They stiffened, as if they were going to trample on the snow for hours, with such determination that they thundered out of their jackets. They thunder, but they don't say anything, and then they think, that's politics, because they're on stage. They are in the program, but they don't even know how to cross their legs. We don't know if they just caught fire, or if they lost it.
Everyone would like to be noble overnight. But they forget that their predecessors like Mig smelled their armpits in that parliament, to see hears did they like the suit. Whoever comes after him in those chairs, has to feels, one way or another.
Either that suit is too small or too big for them. Nothing is dark. But regardless of whether they are bought in installments or from a chain dealer, whether they are made of boiled wool or polyester, fake or original, whether they have their initials or EA, we will have heads in suits. Everything is an opportunity. Nothing was ever tailor-made for us. Too quickly they forgot the line "and now I wear it as it is tailored for me".
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