I am often asked for the secret to my success. There is, of course, an easy answer; but only for those who can understand it. For these people, all that is needed is a gentle push - a silent nod - and they will rise. Such pedigree is a rare and precious find. I seek such individuals like a delectable treasure. On them, I do not need to waste my time explaining what cannot be taught.

Those who do not understand are invariably poorly dressed. If the clothes make the man, "poor" is what they are. They literally wear their ignorance for the world to see. They do not even realize it. So be it. I would rather kill a man than tell him how to dress. He is failing well enough on his own. It is not my duty to dispel such ignorance. A true master chooses his students. I reserve my advice for only those who will receive it.

A man's wardrobe imbues his essence. It is an extension of his character, for better, or for worse. His clothes are a mirror reflection of his mind.

A foolish man is unkempt and ugly, inside and out. He is weak, unable to manifest a harmonious version of his state. His choices are random and chaotic, mismatched and uncoordinated. He is plain and unremarkable. His fashion sense, if it can be called that, is dictated by settling for only the cheapest, most common choices, if he makes a choice at all. He allows his clothes - inanimate objects! - to choose how the world will receive him, without even realizing how much of his personal power he is sacrificing. Those who know this laugh at his ineptitude. To the successful, he is a pawn - unfocused and lost, desperate for a strong mind to lead him. Or use him. He is easily intimidated by what he does not understand, and so, can be manipulated or humiliated with the barest effort. He resents his failure, but he is helpless to surmount it. He gives up, and chooses (despite his awareness) to accept that fashion is "not for him". He remains stagnant and unrealized. His confidence evaporates. He is an embarrassment to those around him. They avoid him, and soon forget him. He is tattered and worn, a useless eyesore of no redeeming value, fit for disposal.

A successful man is sculpted by his perfection. He has designed his being through realizing the power of his choice. He has used this awareness to educate himself on higher standards. He applies his knowledge without reserve, to filter and focus his personal style into a precise cut of form and appeal. His manner is immaculate. His appearance is timeless and immediate. He commands the attention of those who surround him, who cannot deny his superiority no matter how they may despise him - and they must, as he reminds them so acutely of their own shortcomings. The superior man does not bother to care. He knows such negativity is rooted in fear and envy. He exists beyond the pettiness of those beneath him. His success is not measured by money or power, though he no doubt possesses both in abundance; rather, his measure is implicit, by the simple purity of his being. He is the living embodiment of his finest ideal, a manifestation of his deity. He exists in the highest possible state of his being. The light of his centre illuminates all. He is a source of inspiration and admiration to those around him. They covet not just what he has, but what he is. To others, his wardrobe seems out of reach, exquisite and expensive, impossible to the common man, but this alone is neither the source nor the function of his power. It is simply the mark of his sophisticated choices. He is known not to settle, not to compromise, not to clothe him-self in the rags of paupers, or the cheap gimmickry of poseurs. He has honoured his being by selecting only those items that elevate it, accepting excellence as his only standard. He has adorned himself as a champion, in the regalia of his lordship, in service to his divinity. He controls his attire as sharply as his destiny. He sees his clothing as a function of his business, executed with the same refinement of value and judgment that exemplifies every aspect of his success. He has made fashion his own with the command of an absolute master. The world around him bends to accommodate his essence. The gravity of his authority influences all who witness him. It is he who decides what value to hold, and in doing so, those he effects scramble to measure up to his supremacy. It is he who decides what is disposed. The clothes do not make such man. He is the man. The clothes are made for him.

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