Never too early

I am close to ordering a Zan watch from Nooka for my cousin's birthday.

He has been hinting that he wants a watch for more than a year—this after years of bragging that he did not need a watch because he had a mobile phone—and for several months has been stealing watches from his father when he feels that he needs to wear a watch.

His birthday is in November.

Normally it would be silly to buy a birthday present nine months in advance, but this will be my cousin’s 21^st birthday, a special birthday in the United States, requiring a special present, and if I wait until his birthday is near, I may not have the opportunity to buy him a Zan.

The Zan, Nooka's only analog watch, disappeared almost two years ago. It had a recessed circle dial in a square mirror case, no markers for hours or minutes, glow-in-the-dark crosses at the ends of the hour and minute hands and a glow-in-the-dark circle at the end of the second hand.

In pitch black, the crosses and circle were all that could be seen. It was a nice effect.

4:50

I am not aware of any official explanation for why it was apparently discontinued, but my guess was that it was because it was an analog watch.

The Zan was a nice- and distinct-looking analog watch, but there was (and is) no shortage of nice- and distinct-looking analog watches. A start-up company like Nooka had little hope of competing against the Nixons, Alessis and Fossils of the world.

Especially since Nooka had made a name for itself with nice- and distinct-looking digital watches, a category that it almost singlehandedly brought back from the dead. If you were interested in getting a Nooka watch, chances were that you were interested in getting a digital watch. That made the analog Zan, as nice and distinct as it looked, an oddball to other oddballs.

Interestingly, the success of Nooka's digital watches has caused established watch companies to produce their own unique-looking digital watches.

Anyway, someone must have discovered some lost Zans in the back of a warehouse, because the watch has returned to Nooka's Web site.

But they will not last. "Limited quantities were produced and few pieces remain," claims Nooka. If I am going to get my cousin a Zan for his birthday, which is in nine months, I need to buy it now.

Meaning, a Zan will give my cousin a nice- and distinct-looking watch to call his own, and he probably will never see anyone else wearing the same watch.

That is plenty special.

Authoritative, intimidating salesman

All that I wanted was a suit.

Well, two suits.

Though I wear a dress shirt almost every day, I rarely wear a suit. Still, a suit is a required part of a man's wardrobe, and I had been aware since my sister's pre-wedding party in July that my three-year-old suit jacket looked dated. (And that the then recently-purchased slacks that I wore with that jacket at the party did not quite match, but my father was the only person to say anything, and he liked the slight contrast.)

So when I heard that The Men's Wearhouse was having a buy one designer suit, get one designer suit free sale, I decided that there was no better time to go shopping for suits.

The suits were all that I wanted to buy. They both included a pair of dress slacks, so that would be enough pants for now, and I already owned more than enough dress shirts and ties.

But I was intimidated to tell the salesman this.

Immediately after he helped me choose my suits—which, not surprisingly, were suits that I was considering before I entered the store—he placed several dress shirts on a table and asked me which ones I would be buying.

He did not ask me if I wanted or needed dress shirts; he more or less told me that I would be buying dress shirts.

I chose four shirts. There was a buy one dress shirt, get one half off sale going on. I probably would have stopped at two otherwise. Never mind that I previously had no intention of buying and dress shirt, and certainly did not need any.

Then the salesman did the same with ties. Like the shirts, he did not ask me if I wanted to buy any ties; he talked to me about ties as if it were a given that I would be buying ties, which intimidated me into buying ties. Though at least with this he let me participate in choosing which ties went on the table.

I chose four ties, for the same reason that I chose four shirts. And again like the shirts, I did not want or need any ties.

Only when this salesman tried the same tactic a third time with dress shoes did I build up enough nerve to say "no."

Actually, I said that my current dress shoes were fine. That was not true; my current dress shoes are dated-looking and falling apart, but I was already going to be spending quite a bit more than I had intended, and I did not want to risk getting on this salesman's bad side. Besides, there are a few pairs of dress shoes sold at Banana Republic that I prefer.

Normally I am not one to give in to a salesperson's demands. I can be stubborn. A salesperson can ask me over and over again to add something to my order or choose something that costs more, telling me about all sorts of benefits of such items, but rarely is one successful in getting me to buy more than I intended to buy.

This was different. I had never experienced this sales tactic before. I know how to say "no," but when you are not given the opportunity to say "no," what do you do?

You have to interrupt, and that's usually rude.

This is why I did not buy any dress slacks (besides the ones that came with the suits). Unlike the shirts, ties and shoes sales pitches, the salesman did not show me slacks and ask me which pairs I would be buying; he asked me if I wanted to buy any slacks.

I might not return all the shirts and ties.

Coraline Jones, I love you

But only in a platonic way. You are maybe 10-years-old, and fictional.

Coraline, a children's novel written by Neil Gaiman, is about Coraline Jones, a young girl, and her discovery of a door in her house that leads to a fantasy world in which her parents always have time for her and give her and let her do anything that she wants, animals can talk and almost everyone and everything is surreal and happy.

But something is not quite right about this fantasy world. Outside the fantasy version of the house, things are vaguely detailed and surrounded by an unusual mist. People in this world have black buttons sewn on top of their eyes, and they want Coraline to sew a pair over her own eyes. Coraline's fantasy world mother, her "other mother," while devoted to making Coraline happy, is excessively possessive of her. And soon Coraline's real parents disappear.

A movie based on the book will be released next month.

But enough about the plot. One scene from early in the book stuck with me.

Coraline saw some Day-Glo green gloves that she liked a lot. Her mother refused to buy them for her, preferring instead to buy white socks, navy blue school underpants, four gray blouses, and a dark gray skirt.

"But Mum, everybody at school's got gray blouses and everything. Nobody's got green gloves. I could be the only one."

Can I ever relate to this.

Like Coraline Jones, I want to be "the only one" wearing something, and increasingly that "something" is something bright.

Not Day-Glo-bright, though I have been getting dangerously close to that in the last few months. (And I prefer orange to green.)

Some of this is personal style preference and my greater willingness than others to wear more striking colors and shades, but it is also for the sake of standing out from the crowd.

I need to show the world that I am a unique individual. With my ability to accurately predict color trends in advance, wearing otherwise normal-looking clothing in interesting colors is the best way for me to do this.

White dress shirts are an important part of a man's wardrobe, but I do not want to wear one every day. One day I will wear a white dress shirt; the next day I will wear an orange one; then green; then purple; then yellow; then indigo; then that bright, bright, bright shade of blue that I like but everyone else seems to like far more; then black. Along with complementing or contrasting sweaters and T-shirts. No one else seems to wear clothing in these colors, at least not in such striking shades, and I look professional without looking like everyone else.

And as a bonus, because this is visual, people know that I am a unique individual without me having to say anything. There is no hey, look at me.

Which is a good thing. I need to show the world that I am a unique individual, but I do not want attention for it.

Watch lust, redux

Remember the $1200 watch that I might have bought if it did not cost $1200?

I almost bought it.

Every few months or weeks, I will go to a watch or jewelry store to lust after this watch. I never have any intention of buying it (because it costs $1200), but I like the way that it looks enough to pretend that I do.

When the time comes to buy, I say that it feels too heavy on my wrist—it is noticeably heavier than any of my watches—or that I need time to think about it.

Yesterday, while going through the motions yet again, I asked how much this watch cost.

It was on sale for $900: 25% off the suggested retail price; the maximum discount that Movado allows, according to an employee at a local jewelry store. And, I had $80 in credit card-branded gift cards, lowering my price to $820.

$820, while less than $1200, is still too much to pay for a watch, but I knew that this might be the only time that I could ever buy this watch that I lust after for this low a price.

I was tempted. I asked the employee all sorts of questions about this watch, most of which I already knew the answers to, to give myself time to decide if I genuinely was willing to give up $820 in exchange for a watch.

It almost fell from the sky, and $820 almost fell from my wallet.

I asked how long the warranty lasted. I asked if the case was scratchproof. I asked how durable the bezel was. I asked how durable the band was. I asked if the date could be adjusted without adjusting the time. I asked to see the black version so that I could better compare it with the silver one that I lusted for. I asked the employee to remove links from the band so that I would know exactly how this watch would look and feel on my wrist.

All of this questioning must have taken up around 30 minutes. I still was not sure if I was willing to pay $820 for this watch, but with the amount of time that I had spent with this employee inquiring about a single watch, I did not know how I could say “no” without coming off like a jerk.

The watch itself turned out to be the solution. Even with every link removed, it was loose on my wrist. It was not so loose that I could not wear it, but it was loose enough for me to not buy it and still seem like a nice guy.

So, no watch, but I have money because of no watch.

Faint

Hello, I almost passed out yesterday.

Playing with phones in a nearby AT&T store, all of a sudden I felt nauseous.

I ignored the feeling for several minutes, but it soon became clear that it was not going to go away.

I told an employee that I needed to go out to get some air. I must have looked as awful as I felt, because she asked me if I was ill.

Standing just outside the store made no difference. I walked a bit to see if that would make me feel better.

Mistake.

My vision became impaired. Soon all I could see were the brightest lights.

My mind was apparently also affected. If it were working properly, I would have stopped, but it was not, so I continued walking, barely aware of what was around me.

Only after walking into a few things—probably garbage cans, mailboxes and fences; I don't know for sure because I couldn't see—was I convinced, in my less than full mental state, that it would be dangerous to continue walking.

I felt around for a wall to lean on. Within minutes, my vision slowly started returning to normal. I discovered that I was standing behind a sheltered bus stop with a bench, so I moved to the bench.

After sitting on the bench for a few minutes, my vision returned almost fully and I felt well enough to walk home. (Though now I had a massive headache.)

I was not capable of thinking about this at the time, but now that I can, I realize that this was a scary incident.

It was dark outside, I could not see, and I was walking on some of the busiest sidewalks surrounded by some of the busiest streets in the United States.

I could have been hit by a car. Or if I had fainted, I could have been pickpocketed, or worse.

I am thankful that luck was on my side yesterday, and I have since fully recovered. Otherwise, who knows what could have happened to me.

Not interested, not even for free

Express, an American clothing retail chain, sends me some interesting promotions via e-mail.

I buy a lot of clothing at Express, probably more in the last few months than I have at Banana Republic. So in August, when an Express cashier asked for my e-mail address, I thought, "why not," and gave it to her.

I figured that it would be a convenient way to be informed of sales and new styles.

And it has been. E-mails from Express have made me aware of when sales are on; that online, printable coupons are available and when new items are about to show up. Without these e-mails, I might still be searching for a bright orange dress shirt.

But Express' e-mails rarely appear to be targeted.

The only items that I have purchased at Express are dress shirts and sweaters. Express knows this, so it should be able to assume that I am male and therefore not interested in women's clothing.

Yet many of the promotional e-mails that Express sends me are aimed at women.

I don't care that I can "try [the new Editor Pant Skinny Leg] on at Express." I don't care that leggings are "one sexy style with countless sexy options." I don't care that that I can "steal the spotlight" with The Little Black Dress because "if sexy has a color, it must be black."

Getting these promotions is amusing in a morbid way, but there is nothing that Express can do that will convince me to buy women's clothing, much less wear women's clothing.

This might be changing, though--the lack of targeting in Express' promotional e-mails, not my unwillingness to buy or wear women's clothing. A few days ago, I was sent a promotional e-mail informing me that I could "take an additional 20% off everything! in-store and online" at Express, and if I shopped at the Express in Chicago on Michigan Avenue, I could take an "extra 5% off" the "additional 20% off."

Hey, I live near there!

That is about as well targeted as possible. The Express on Michigan Avenue is a few blocks from where I live, so I shop at that one more than any other Express. Few promotions are more likely to get me in the store than one like this.

But the e-mail that I received from Express two weeks ago was especially morbidly amusing. I could describe it, but you are better off seeing it for yourself.

How to confirm that you dress better than everyone else

This year, my parents; my sister and her husband and my aunt, uncle and cousin gave me the same present for my birthday.

Banana Republic gift cards.

My birthday was a week ago, but because it is so close to Thanksgiving and because the family is together on Thanksgiving, we celebrate my birthday (and my cousin's, whose is a week before mine) on Thanksgiving.

I did not request Banana Republic gift cards (or anything, for that matter) for my birthday, nor is anyone lazy for giving me a gift card instead of a gift.

People are afraid to give me presents.

The people around me know that I buy a lot of clothing. Often they see me wearing something that they have never seen me in before and ask where I bought it.

"Banana Republic," they hear me say more often than any other answer.

After this I often go on about why I chose to put specific colors or rant about my inability to locate an article of clothing in a specific color or shade.

This is where their eyes glaze over.

For example, about two months ago, when my sister and her husband were visiting me, I told them that I spent the day before running from store to store futilely looking for an orange dress shirt.

"Don't you already have an orange dress shirt," my sister asked.

I told her that I did, but it was last year's shade of orange, and that last year's shades were too dark for this year. I needed a bright orange dress shirt.

My sister and her husband didn't get it. Orange is orange to them.

(I did find dress shirts in the proper shade of orange a few weeks later at Express, and bought two of them.)

This is why I was given multiple Banana Republic gift cards yesterday. People know that I buy a lot of clothing. People know that a lot of my clothing comes from Banana Republic. But people also know that I know more about (and obsess over) colors and color trends than they could ever hope to understand, and that any articles of clothing that they buy for me at Banana Republic (or anywhere else) will not look as good as the clothing that I buy for myself.

It still feels impersonal.