Pee-wee Herman & Savile Row
Once upon a time, in a drab corporate office, I had a boss who was so stupid you could cram his brain up an ant’s ass, and it would bounce around like a BB in a boxcar. I tried like hell to cater to his many shortcomings—lack of humor topping the list—but Pee-wee’s inability to lead was too tall an order. I had to bite my tongue so many times I almost lost the ability to speak. He was arrogant, had a massive ego, and believed he was handsomer than he actually was—just like me. Other than that, we were polar opposites.
We fought incessantly, and it drove him nuts. I was so aloof that most of it rolled off my back, which made him hate me even more. One Monday morning, when I could bite my tongue no longer, he asked me why I was so insubordinate during our dreadful one-on-one meeting, and I answered him honestly: “You’re a terrible leader and you’re not an honest man. And you need to lighten up… no one likes you.” His eyes were the size of golf balls and his jaw dropped—comically speechless. I’ll never forget the look on his face. After a few seconds, he shook his head quickly, took a deep breath, and proceeded to squint his eyes with the seriousness of a grade school teacher who’s about to discipline a nine-year-old. There was no way I could take this guy seriously—and he despised me for it.
A week or two later, his boss asked me into his office. To this guy’s credit, he saw the humor in my attitude but said there was no room for it in the office. They had unsuccessfully groomed Pee-wee into a manager and couldn’t afford to have him quit over an insolent smart-ass. As I was packing my stuff, his boss asked what was up with the Cool Hand Luke attitude. I answered, “Because I have something lined up.”
I had been working weekends at a haberdashery in Atlanta because I knew I wasn’t going to make a career out of my nine-to-five. In fact, a pink slip had been waved in front of my face more than once. Pee-wee put me on a Performance Improvement Plan (known as a PIP in the rancid halls of corporate America). Our PIP conversation went as follows:
Pee-wee: “You know, Brad, this is a big deal; we don’t take it lightly.”
Brad: “Gotcha.”
Pee-wee: “I don’t appreciate your attitude. This is not something to joke about.”
Brad: “I’m late for a happy hour.”
Pee-wee: “Management and I are expecting you to adhere to the guidelines we’ve laid out. I’m afraid you’re not taking this seriously… did you just say… happy hour?”
Brad: “First off, the greatest salesman on Earth couldn’t hit the numbers in the PIP; you know it, I know it, and management knows it, so you can save the bullshit for someone else. Second, I just told you I’m late to a very important meeting.”
Pee-wee: “An important meeting?! You said you’re going to a happy hour!”
Brad: “I know, and I’m out of cigarettes, so I have to pick some up.”
Pee-wee: “You’re getting dangerously close to losing your job, and you’re worried about cigarettes?!”
Brad: “Surely you don’t expect me to drink without a smoke?”
Pee-wee’s brain started imploding. The look on his face was a distorted amalgamation of unhinged rage and being lost in an episode of the Twilight Zone. I wasn’t just under his skin—I was living rent-free in his brain.
Several weeks before, I had read about a former Savile Row cutter turned entrepreneur named Thomas Mahon. He was the first guy in the world to have a blog about making bespoke clothing. I found it fascinating. Thomas wrote about hiking up mountains and sailing with his clients who visited his shop in England. Peppered in were tales of working for King Charles III and his sons. Again, I was working weekends at a haberdashery but hadn’t committed to taking the plunge. But with a dickhead boss and an impending PIP, the time was right to seriously explore a new career path.
Fortuitously, Thomas was traveling to America to meet clients. After stops in Boston, New York, and D.C., he was coming to Atlanta. Not only that, but the hotel he was staying in was across the street from my apartment in Buckhead.
The following emails were sent:
11/12/07, 5:51 PM
Dear Sir,
My name is Bradley Evans, and I live in Atlanta, GA. I actually reside less than 1/4 mile from the hotel you stay in during your visits to Atlanta/Buckhead. It is my dream to start a custom shirt business in Atlanta. I have read about you and your company, and to be honest, I aspire to have a business like yours someday. I understand you are a busy person, and I certainly respect your time. I would greatly appreciate any advice you could give me. If you should find yourself with a spare moment on a transcontinental flight and happen to have your laptop handy, I would be eternally grateful to hear back from you.
Thanks again for your time,
Bradley.
11/17/07, 6:28 AM
Dear Bradley,
We are very tight for time this visit. However, if you call me at the hotel, I’ll try to arrange something.
Kindest regards,
Tom Mahon.
Ten days later, I was having drinks with Thomas and his assistant at their hotel. I couldn’t have found a more polite and helpful gentleman on all of Savile Row. For starters, he was dressed impeccably. I had never seen a better-fitting suit in all my life. In fact, even today it’s the benchmark by which I measure how a man looks in a suit. I was quietly gushing over it and must have asked a hundred questions. He enthusiastically answered every one of them in great detail.
Around midnight, and after several beers, I told him about the choice I had to make: take a stab in the clothing trade or find another (much) higher-paying corporate job. He didn’t think twice: “Chase your dream. You’ll probably only get to do it once.”
And that’s what I did. I started working at The Miller Brothers in Atlanta full-time and had the time of my life. I’ve had a lot of cool jobs… in fact, why not stack rank the top five:
College summers in Jackson Hole. Without a doubt, the best job I’ve had.
Haberdasher at The Miller Brothers. I had fun E V E R Y S I N G L E D A Y.
Selling Christmas trees at Home Depot and Pike Nurseries in college. Everyone was happy and left big tips.
Working weekends at Orvis after college. Loved it and got a MASSIVE discount on my gear.
Trying to build a submarine exploration outfit. It failed spectacularly, but it was SO much fun.
Honorable Mention: Working at a BBQ joint with a cast of characters. I have never written about this, but I will.
Anyway, meeting Thomas Mahon changed my life. His advice was spot-on, and I was at a point in life where I could take advantage of it. Nowadays, as much as I’d love to move back to Jackson Hole, work in the clothing trade, sell Christmas trees, work weekends at a fly shop, or attempt to build an exploration business, I can’t. Gotta strike when the iron’s hot. I’ve had a lot of ups and downs professionally, but one thing I know is I won’t have any regrets—whatever that’s worth.
I’m middle-aged these days, which, if I’m honest, isn’t much fun. I’m sandwiched between being the only child of aging parents (my brother is dead) and teenage children whose college tuition bills are waiting in the wings. I feel ill-prepared for all of it. Add to that, and I am probably way behind the eight ball with this; I’m just getting to understand myself and what I want out of life. Life has been a rocky road for several years. Gone are the days of the aforementioned happy hours. It's like I woke up one day and I was an adult. Hangovers went from tolerable to evil, and midweek tee times disappeared. By the way, where did my weekly squash games go?
I’m currently building a company in New York City, and I am having the time of my life. Don’t get me wrong, I’m drowning in stress, but only half the time—actually, a quarter of the time. I’m better at managing the odds and ends of life these days. I probably won’t ever have a job as great as those college summers in Wyoming, but this new venture in Manhattan is a close second.
I rolled the dice the day I quit corporate, though I didn’t know it. I simply followed my gut. And after years of blindly following it, I came to learn my gut is a degenerate gambler. It is incapable of seeing risks and is highly delusional. Rose-colored glasses don’t begin to explain it.
But I’ll keep on keeping on. Not because I’m a hard worker, but because I’m too far in to quit. I’ve long been obsessed with explorers and their adventures. I may not be on the Greely Expedition, and nor do I want to be, but in my own 21st-century way, I’m on my adventure. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that you must be honest with who you are. If you’re an artist, you damned well better hone your craft. And if you’re an entrepreneur, you damned well better accept the life you’re getting into because it’s BRUTAL. And if you’re doing anything else, well, I don’t know how to help you. I would literally lose my mind if I had to be under the thumb of another Pee-wee Herman.
