It must be awful to show up to dinner only to find out that the restaurant abides by the antiquated “jacket required” policy, ex post. The maitre d’ escorts you to a closet full of old wares. Befuddled, you do not know whether to choose the 54L or 34S—it’s as if no man of normal proportions had ever eaten at such establishment before. You choose the miniature iteration. As you leave the vestibule, you find yourself ramming your appendages through the 8 inch armholes and tugging mightily on the coattails in hope that no one notices that you are busting out of your blazer like Kuato out of that dude George in Total Recall. All that embarrassment just to endure an overpriced tasting menu at Daniel. C’est dommage.