What happens when a man used to wearing a suit that costs over £3,000 swaps it for one worth £25?
I was in the office when I clambered into the full Asda outfit for the first time. I felt rather queasy at the idea of it, at the feel of the fabric (the suit's 100% nylon, the shirt's 65% polyester and the shoes are lined with some kind of artificial material) and at my appearance.
Expecting to be openly mocked even before I returned to my desk I felt incredibly conspicuous, but no one said a word. After an hour I plucked up the courage to leave the office to buy a cappuccino, terrified I'd bump into someone I knew on the street.
But if the staff in the local coffee bar noticed that I was dressed in a shapeless nylon suit, rather than a handcrafted Savile Row number, they didn't let on. On the way back to the office there was a terrible moment when the sun came out and the fabric sparkled in the bright light. I went home that evening a little depressed at the thought that my colleagues believed my ugly outfit was an expression of my taste.
It took three days before anyone pulled me up. When I finally asked my colleagues if they hadn't spotted my sartorial slumming everyone said that they just hadn't noticed the suit; it was, effectively, invisible.
My own conclusions are that while the George suit is just about adequate it affords no pleasure and has no style. While by luck it fitted me (although the trousers are far too long) the style is ugly, the shoes unspeakable and the fabric is revolting, particularly to the touch. It is to wearing a suit what having a Pot Noodle is to eating a meal - better than nothing, but only just. My regular tailor, shirt maker, cobbler and haberdashers can rest assured that they have nothing to worry about. I'm not going to defect to George. Mansel Fletcher
The full feature is on page 165 of the September issue.