Why Is the Events Industry Trying to Ruin my Suit?

When I decided to become a professional speaker, one issue I had to address was . . . what to wear.  Some people can get away with that “rumpled professor” look, but that was not for me.  I had spent too many years as a musician wearing a tux or tails every night to feel comfortable performing in casual attire.  Besides, professional speaking is a little bit like bullfighting.  It’s essential that one should be extremely confident.  Feeling good about how you look is a big part of that.

Since my preexisting collection of ragtag suits was definitely not up to the task, I popped over to the men’s department at Bloomingdale’s and said, “Okay . . . I want something SHARP.”

They had just the thing.  Absolutely beautiful suits, shirts, and ties.  All Italian.  I won’t be so gauche as to mention cost, but I did figure out how some of them got their brand name.  At the end of the transaction, the salesperson said, “Well, it WAS your money, but now it’s all . . . Armani.”

So far so good, but now that I have invested in these spectacular duds, I never cease being amazed at just how many things there are in the events world that seem to be intent upon messing up my suit.

The first thing trying to ruin my suit is . . . name tags.

Some name tags are benign enough, but many of them are designed with a spring-loaded, kung fu death grip, interlocking cobalt steel clamp, which is apparently intentionally designed to pinch the cloth, and either cut it, stretch it, or put a permanent crease in it.

Those are bad enough, but then sometimes you get the crack-and-peel adhesive labels.  Again, some of these are very benign (in which case they are doomed to fall off within 10 minutes), but others are designed to adhere permanently to any surface.  When my dry cleaner sees that stuff, he inevitably gives me “the look.”

(In case you’re interested in the ideal name tag solution, I recently appeared at an event where the planner had name tags that were held on by magnets.  Super strong, yet totally flat, and no sharp edges, so no damage to one’s front pocket was even possible.  I could have kissed that planner.)

The next threat to my new suit . . . is wireless lav microphones– or perhaps I should say, the razor-sharp, piranha-esque teeth that are often on their clips.  Granted, you don’t want the microphone falling off, but I was planning on wearing this suit more than once, and it’s hard to do that once you rip a huge gash in the lapel.  This chronic problem has taught me to always bring some gaffer’s tape to wrap around the clip’s teeth, thereby lessening their ability to tear and rend delicate silk fibers.

You would think it would end there, but it doesn’t.  Some airlines don’t have suit hangers anymore, so despite my best efforts, I sometimes unpack a wrinkled suit and have to put in a massive hotel-room effort to steam the wrinkles out.  Worse, even in the best hotels, the irons are usually clogged with rust-laden starch residue, and, Murphy’s Law being what it is, when ironing my shirt, the rust always comes off on the front of my collar.  I have learned to either carefully clean these irons before using them, ask the front desk for a brand new one, or just bring my own.

So the big day arrives.  So I am at your event, and we have all sat down to dinner.  I have managed to keep my suit clean, pressed, untorn, and free of rust stains and adhesive residue.  I don’t have to speak until after dinner, so I can finally relax and enjoy the meal before standing up in front of several hundred people to give an entertaining talk.

And then I see the menu:  a choice of spaghetti, spare ribs, or in-shell crab claws, with complimentary red wine.

Hey, what could possibly go wrong?

© Justin Locke

To discover just exactly what I speak about, please visit my website.

(This article originally appeared in midwestmeetings.com)