Wear Your Special Clothes Every Day

A few years ago, I walked into a fancy store to get a bespoke suit. For years, I'd worn off-the-rack suits, and I'd seen how much better a suit looks—and feels—when it's made just for you. Everyone's body is different. A tailored suit respects that.

I have deep respect for any craft that takes years to master. You can find tailors easily, but a great one? That's rare—and expensive. This place wasn't expensive because of its brand, but because it had the best process. Everything was made around you. I wanted that.

It was noon, sunny outside. I showed up in a T-shirt and jeans, wondering if they'd even take me seriously. I didn't look like someone who shops there. But I pushed the doubt aside and spoke to the woman who greeted me.

"I want a suit made for me," I said.

"What's your budget?" she asked.

I had no idea. Rookie mistake.

We wandered around the store for hours, wasting her time. Eventually, I stopped and asked her, "How much was the last suit you sold?"

She gave me a number instantly. I nodded and said, "That's my budget. What can you do with that?"

She smiled. She knew exactly what I wanted.

It ended up costing ten times more than what I usually spent on a suit, but it was worth every penny. The fit felt like a glove. Light, soft, perfectly balanced. I remember barely feeling the fabric. It didn't wear on me; it wore with me.

I wore it once—for a friend's wedding. And that was it.

It felt so good and was so expensive that I became afraid of ruining it. I figured it was better to keep it safe in the closet than risk something happening to it.

So there it stayed. Collecting dust.

Years later, I was with a friend who owns a rare Ferrari. The kind of car you'd expect to see in a museum, not on the street. I asked him, "Aren't you afraid of ruining it?"

He smiled. "The point of having nice things is to use them. That car wasn't built to sit in a museum. It was meant to be driven, seen, and experienced."

That stuck with me.

I remembered my suit, and one day I decided to wear it, just because. No special occasion. Just because I felt bad seeing it collecting dust.

To my surprise, it no longer fit.

My body had changed. Five years had gone by, and the suit no longer matched who I was—literally.

That moment hit me hard.

Nice things are meant to be used. I'd been holding back out of fear. Afraid of damage. Afraid of waste. However, in the end, the real waste was letting it sit untouched and unused.

I wasn't protecting the expensive suit—I was avoiding life.

Don't fall into that trap.

Use the nice things you own. The clothes, the cars, the watches. Don't wait for a "special occasion." The moment you're alive is special enough.

Because the truth is, you might not get the chance to.