They say, “The suit makes the man.” Well, I can think of no more appropriate setting for that maxim than the world of motorsport. As you may recall, last month I spoke here of my misadventures with a Shelby Cobra—heartbreaking—all dressed up and no where to go, as a result of a failed clutch. As I stood there in the pitlane, resplendent in my driving suit, helmet in hand, awaiting the stint that would never happen, I had more time than usual to contemplate my driver’s suit.
Back at the trailer, as I peeled off my suit, I suddenly became very aware of its age. The previously dark blue color has become badly faded, grease stains grace the “derrière” from too many Formula car rides without a proper seat and the once white cuffs and bodice now appear—what Starbucks would likely describe as— “moca-chino” in color. Perhaps it was just my misplaced frustration at not getting to drive, but at that moment in time my first thought was, “I need to buy a new suit.” Trouble is, it’s never that simple.
Editor
See, I’ve been racing in this same suit for more than 10 years and…well…like a historic car it has history—patina. I can still remember the day I bought this suit, rushing home to secretly strut around the house in it. I can remember what it looked like, felt like and smelled like the first time I put it on and the first time I raced in it.
Like everyone, I wanted to keep my new suit pristine. Once it was on, I would carefully get in and out of the car as if it might detonate if it came in contact with any solid objects. However, eventually I started to get careless. A quick adjustment to the carbs here, a peak at the suspension there, and voilà! Stains galore. Over the years, the stains and grunge, combined with event patches and countless washings, have given my suit a certain authentic, “patinated” look, not unlike an unrestored Bugatti or prewar Alfa Romeo. Like these early cars, each blemish and mark tells its own story. This dark spot on the right sleeve is where I nearly boiled half the skin off my body with a defective radiator cap. This oil spot on the knee is from breaking the world speed record for changing a head gasket between sessions. This patch brings back memories of a once-owned car, this one a fondly remembered race. In fact, the more I look at my old, crusty suit in detail, the more I realize that it is the physical manifestation of the last 10 years of my racing life, a single snapshot of a decade of racing memories. Cars have come and gone, tracks have come and gone, even friends (sadly) have come and gone, but this suit has remained the one constant in my racing life.
What’s really scary about all of this is that I can remember, when I first started racing, seeing the “old guys” who raced in suits that appeared to be held together only by the myriad event patches plastered to their surfaces. I can also remember thinking, “Sheesh, buy a new suit already.” Now, I’ve become one of those “old guys” and I now realize why they didn’t wear a new suit…they likely couldn’t bear to part with such an old friend!
Despite this long, shared history that my suit and I have, I know it will have to come to an end soon. While I would like to believe that it is perhaps due to excessive shrinkage during washing, my suit is a little tighter than I used to remember it fitting. Looking at some of the more worn areas, I also can’t help but start to wonder how much of a fire hazard versus fire deterrent my suit has now become. Yes, soon my suit will have to retire but, like a car or two of mine, I’ll keep it to preserve the decade of memories now enshrined within it. Indeed, in more ways than one, the suit often does make the man.
