He knew the power of a good suit, it had gotten him in and out of all sorts of situations. He was the whole package, not only did his suit look good, he looked good. As much as he was a conformist he knew he was different.
Unlike the sheep who whore suits simply because they were told, because that’s what a business man wears. So old school thinking, as if a suit gave you an increased IQ. What smucks many of them, it was as if the ties the knotted in all sorts of perversions of the Windsor starved them of oxygen reducing their sense.
He was different, he wasn’t incompetent, he knew he didn’t know anything at all about banking, he didn’t really need to, none of them really needed to. Incompetence to him was when you thought you knew something, thought you were good and yet you were not. All he needed was his suit and his confidence. Eventually once he climbed the executive ladder all of those things would be come easier.
All these sheep in suits, yeah, they’d benefit and make some money by getting caught up in the flow. That didn’t matter, eventually they would all be his minions. He was going to be one of the chosen ones in the longer-term. An anonymous board member getting paid a bucket load to look good and speak well. So far removed from reality that they believed saying things like ‘Good to Great’, ‘We will succeed’ and other blah actually makes a difference.
Tugging his suit sleave to cover his shirt cuffs just so, he slipped his iPhone into his breast pocket and strode out the door knowing, confidant in himself that it was all about him and no-one else mattered. He would eventually be a powerful man in the background, making millions and that everyone would be at his service. Be they Luietenants carrying out his every wish, or mere human flotsam, just another person to be consumed for his benefit.