A Letter to a Blazer

Dear Boglioli size 36 wool/silk/cashmere K Jacket with Prince of Wales check,

I should have known from the start that it wasn’t going to work out. You were miles out of my league, and there were men far richer than I trying to get you. But I’m still a young guy, full of hope and delusions of granduer, and for that fleeting moment I thought it was worth a shot.

I put you in my YOOX dream box, hoping – praying, even – that you would stick around until the Fall/Winter sales started. “Give me a few months,” I thought, “and this could work.” It was a long shot, but your warm horn buttons and soft patch pockets beckoned me, and I was powerless to resist their siren song.

Sure, a navy blazer would have been more versatile. I know, it can be hard to wear gray odd jackets. And yes, your sumptuous cashmere flannel probably would have been too warm for our mild San Francisco winters. But I didn’t care. I was young and in love, and I wanted to have you. In my eyes, you were perfect.

But then you were gone. No parting words, no “last item available” email. Just gone.

We could have been great together. Everyone would have been jealous of us. I would have taken you out to nice dinners and fancy shows, treating you like the rare gem that you are, but some undeserving punk with a nice car and expensive double monks stole you from me. I never got to say goodbye.

I can’t hold on to this impossible dream anymore. I’m moving on.

I’m sorry.