I never use to bother about fashion.
To be honest, I still don't. For years I thought Abercombie & Fitch was a disease afflicting bird breeders.
Without embarrassment, I bought the cheapest clothes.
I'd read somewhere that the most successful people don't have time to think about which clothes to wear so they would have seven of everything. Although clean and tidy in their fresh, daily, attire, from afar observers consider the billionaire to be an unsightly tramp with poor personal hygiene.
I had this very affordable t-shirt with the face of a male model wearing designer sunglasses.
To me, that was cutting-edge fashion. Thinking about it now, I looked an utter gimp.
I've not progressed very far.
However, I do, every once in a while, go a little mad and buy an item of clothing that costs a little bit more than my average purchase.
Frequenting Great Yarmouth racecourse and Grosvenor Casino you see a melting pot of fashion. It is literally rags to riches from slag heap to Queen of Sheba.
I'd seen a few well-dressed gentlemen at the races, which, to be fair, were few and far between. There's more chance of seeing some bloke with a knotted handkerchief on his head than a man about town with a Panama hat on his bonce.
I decided I would buy a Ralph Lauren oxford shirt. A beautiful pastel shade of blue. It cost about £100. I was thinking, that's about 25 t-shirts in old money.
However, I was feeling like a million dollars with that little logo telling the world at one time this bloke had about four ponies in his purse. Well, that's if they didn't think I had borrowed the money or paying on the never-never.
God forbid anyone who can afford a Ralph Lauren shirt who is in debt.
Well, the shirt worked like a dream. It was like I was part of the hidden rich club that no one knows exists until you adorn a certain brand. It was like the Masons for shirts. Instead of a funny handshake, I just unzip my jacket to reveal a man on a horse with a giant wooden hammer, and my drink sat on the bar a little faster than usual.
At the casino, any sign of wealth can transform the oddball into a raging VIP.
I'd gone from Mr... (What's your name). To a bon viveur.
There was a buzz around the casino. Someone had won a couple of grand. I had people asking if it was me. Obviously, I said it was as I wearing the said shirt. I was aglow with aspiration.
The old saying, in the fashion and business world, if you want to get ahead get a hat. That may be the truth, but if you want to show the world you are the next big thing at the casino get a shirt with a man of a horse, with a mallet in his hand.
It's the definition of a winner!