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The fancy-ass suit salesman at the fancy-ass suit store told me that no, that wasn't possible. The suit I was looking for to wear at our wedding was not available in his store, despite the 45,000 square feet of retail space and a clientele so well-heeled that there's valet effing parking for the customers.

Somehow Matt Katz (who has owned exactly four suits since the one I rocked for the Haftorah at my Bar Mitzvah) stumped the suit store salesman with the trademark slicked-back gray hair. I was apparently aware of a suit style that, gray hair said, "won't be found anywhere outside of Milan."

All I wanted to do was combine a little 21st century Eurotrash with some Beatlemania to create a simple, black, relatively fitted number with a narrow lapel and a skinny tie. "You won't find that in America in 2008, period," gray hair told Deborah and I.

And what about this Dolce & Gabbana advertisement that I'm sheepishly unfolding from my pocket? It was in last week's New York Times magazine, so surely it exists?

"Nah," he said. "They don't make those for real. That's just to get you interested in the brand."

Well if it's cool enough to get people interested, why wouldn't they just make it for real and put it on the racks?!?

Something was fishy.

So we left, dejected. And on the way home we stopped at Zara's, an upscale H&M-like place that is, literally, visible from our apartment. I tried on the first suit I saw. It was exactly what I was looking for, and it actually fit. NOTHING fits me without a tuck and a prayer. And it was affordable. Like, seriously affordable. We bought it.

The whole process took 15 minutes. Being a dude is awesome.