They say, “The suit makes the man.” Well, I can think of no more appropriate setting for that maxim than the world of motorsport. As you may recall, last month I spoke here of my misadventures with a Shelby Cobra—heartbreaking—all dressed up and no where to go, as a result of a failed clutch. As I stood there in the pitlane, resplendent in my driving suit, helmet in hand, awaiting the stint that would never happen, I had more time than usual to contemplate my driver’s suit.
Back at the trailer, as I peeled off my suit, I suddenly became very aware of its age. The previously dark blue color has become badly faded, grease stains grace the “derrière” from too many Formula car rides without a proper seat and the once white cuffs and bodice now appear—what Starbucks would likely describe as— “moca-chino” in color. Perhaps it was just my misplaced frustration at not getting to drive, but at that moment in time my first thought was, “I need to buy a new suit.” Trouble is, it’s never that simple.
