When I worked in Paris in the mid 80s I was given a ticket to a posh industry dinner at the Lido in the Champs Élysées by somebody whose dad was quite important. The chap who gave it to me told me he also had a classic St Laurent dinner suit I could borrow, so no need to hire. The suit turned out to be a 1960s job, double-breasted with massive lapels and brass buttons and a waist for a very fat man. We bodged it up by folding the waistline behind me and pinning it, in the knowledge that the dinner and show would be in gloomy light and nobody would notice. I turned up too early and the chairman of the local trade association who was hosting my table looked down his nose at me with undisguised disdain, said "And who are you?" then hastily rearranged the place labels so that I would be at the back, not the front of the table. I sat and waited like a spare at a wedding as the place slowly filled up with the creme de la creme of the French industry mafia, all impeccably dressed and suave in superb DJs, the women in designer frocks, air kissing each other and the men doing Alpha male handshakes. I found myself sitting next to the snooty patrician chairman of Givenchy perfumes and opposite a highly cultured lady who was PDG of the biggest perfume distribution company in France. The dinner was excellent and the show fantastic. At some point during the evening I noticed that my companions' champagne glasses were empty so I reached for another bottle of Moet and unscrewed the wire. The champagne was extra lively and without warning the cork shot out with a loud pop, bouncing off a metal theatre lamp above my head with a loud clang, sending a shower of dust down and landing on the adjacent table, causing all the skinny model women to jump and gasp loudly. The champagne was bursting out of the bottle so in desperation I placed the palm of my hand over it, which caused champagne to spray sideways soaking me and my snooty neighbours who all stared at me like the pure idiot I was, while making a show of mopping themselves off. A waiter hurried over and took charge and as soon as the show finished I got up and left before the lights came on. Happily the safety pin in my waistband didn't give up; that would have been the final embarrassment.
That's why you need to hire a decent suit.
