Taking one for the team

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Of all the snappy little phrases that get tossed around in ad agencies, and God knows there are plenty of ‘em, the one I like least is “team player.”

Now, before you start getting your panties in a bunch, wagging your finger, stammering and screaming, “I knew it!” you might want to hear me out. Then again you might not.

My life will go on either way.

Anyway, just because I don’t like the term doesn’t mean I’m not one. For instance, I’m also not a fan of the phrase “slightly overweight” or "distinguished gray" but, well, never mind. Bad examples. The point is, as much as it goes against my grain, I’m a team player when I need to be.

New business presentations? My sleeves are rolled up, and I’m banging out manifestos and taglines faster than Bret Kavanaugh driving to a liquor store at closing time.

Client meetings? Point me towards the bagels and let me loose. I love presenting, the bigger the room the better. I have a slightly different way of measuring if it’s been a good meeting. Here it is: If I get the big laugh, it was a successful meeting. I know some people think if we sell the work or get the account that’s actually the measure of success.

Whatever. To each their own.

The off-campus pep talk/morale boosting/team building meetings? You don't have to ask me twice. I’d be there even if there weren’t luxury buses to shuttle me, and free food and liquor after. I just wouldn’t stay as long.

Where I seem to be unable to muster up one for the team is Halloween. To me, October 31st at agencies is like personalized license plates: once you’ve seen the costumes, the joke’s over. What starts out at 9 with everyone oohing and ahhhing over the costume you made winds up with everyone tired of looking at it by 9:30.

However, I have nothing but love for the team I work with. So when they decided our group would dress up as characters from iconic 90's movies, even though all my Jedi instincts were screaming no, I decided I'd do it.

I thought it would be good for me to get over my bad attitude and insecurities—and I know what you're thinking: besides my weight, bank balance, increased memory loss, receding hairline, bad skin tone, limited wardrobe, nine-year old car, complete inability to fix the simplest things around the house, having to wear glasses, feeling like an outsider, not liking sports and, did I mention weight, what do I have to be insecure about?

Perhaps I've said too much. You never read this.

The point is I eventually decided to come to work as one of my favorite characters and perpetual profile photo on Facebook—The Dude from The Big Lebowski.

I found an exact match for the Dude's bathrobe. I went not to a pop up Halloween store, but to a professional wig shop and got my long hair locks like the Dude. I bought L'Oreal Light Brown Root Control spray to match the Dude's hair color (I'll probably be hanging on to that). I bought the sunglasses and brown flip-flops to complete the look.

I was ready and set, but I didn't go. I just couldn't do it.

Was it that the look wasn't as exact and perfect as I wanted it to be? Or was it that I couldn't get past the image of me wearing a white t-shirt under the robe that, well, remember the "slightly overweight" phrase? Talk amongst yourselves.

And despite the fact I could've legitimately gotten wasted downing White Russians all day, told my creative director "Well, that's just your opinion man" and said things like "That rug really tied the room together" to stay in character, it wasn't enough for me to suit up.

But not wanting to let my colleagues down, I did finally decide to come in dressed as an older, overweight, gray-haired, married Jewish guy with kids.

I know, it was a stretch. But what can I tell you. I'm a team player.

Suit yourself

There are several ways to tell it’s not me in the picture. Let’s see if we can name them all.

First, the suit isn’t black. Complete giveaway. Next, the model is thin. Shut up. Then, my hair, although once that color, isn’t anymore (my dad went gray at 25 - I never had a chance). Finally, it's been a while since I stood in a spaceship, Frank Gehry building, stage or wherever the hell he is with a 50 Shades Of You Know What Happens Next look on my face. But in my rich fantasy life, that’s exactly how I look in a nicely tailored suit.

Which brings me to my next point: I need a suit. A real suit. A grown up suit.

I don’t have much occasion to wear one, although I have been going to more funerals than I’d like the past few years. Part of the problem is I work in advertising, an industry which lets me dress like a fifteen-year boy old most of the time. On the rare occasion I have a reason to dress up at work, it just means tucking my shirt in my jeans, and wearing the black New Balance sneakers instead of the yellow ones.

However, besides the funerals, there've also been some weddings as of late. Or as I like to call them, a waste of a perfectly good Saturday. Plus, I’m also a member of the Magic Castle, which, in its quaint, throwback ways still maintains a dress code. And while I’ve managed to get away with wearing an old suit I have, it’s so long out of style I may as well be dressed for my bar mitzvah.

By the way, the jacket I wore to my bar mitzvah was blue. At the age of thirteen, I hadn’t developed my affinity for a black wardrobe yet. I also hadn’t developed any affinity for Hebrew school, but did that stop my parents from sending me there? No it did not.

Anyway, the point is I can’t keep wearing the same out-of-style suit to functions and venues that require one. I need a new suit.

The ones I’ve always liked are made by Hugo Boss. I remember years ago, there used to be an advertising awards show in Southern California called the Beldings, and early on they used to be black-tie. I’d go out, rent a tuxedo and show up looking quite snazzy while I was losing in every category.

Nothing feels quite as good as losing in rented clothes.

This one time, as I was trying on my tux at Gary’s Tuxedo in Santa Monica, I noticed one of the mannequins wearing a Hugo Boss tuxedo. You know you’re in trouble when the mannequin looks better in a tux than you do. Why not – he had the nicer tux.

I asked how much it was, and at the time it was around $1700. So I did some cypherin’ and figured out if I rented a tux at a hundred bucks a shot seventeen times, I could own that Hugo Boss (alright, so the math wasn’t that hard).

Well, you know how this story ends. At the time I didn’t have the foresight to see how I’d ever have seventeen occasions to dress up, so I didn’t pull the trigger on the purchase. Of course I’ve needed one many more times than that in the intervening years.

Which brings me back to my point: I need a suit. My strategy is to lose a little weight first (which has been my strategy since 1985), then go out and buy myself a stylish little Hugo Boss number.

Can you guess what color I'll get?