Four Of A Kind

Chapter 63: [2.36] Old Money vs New Money

Felix threw his hands up. “You’re overthinking this. The whole point is to embrace the lifestyle! These clothes send a message!”

As Felix continued his rant about brand identity and status signifiers, my mind drifted. Maybe I should have brought one of the Valentine sisters instead. Vivienne would be too controlling, Cassidy would make me try on embarrassing things for her amusement, and Sabrina would probably just watch silently while I suffered…

Maybe Harlow?

My brain immediately conjured an image of Harlow Valentine in a clothing store, her eyes sparkling with manic energy, twin tails bouncing as she pulled me from rack to rack.

“Ooh, Isaiah, try this one, it has sparkles! No, wait, this one has bows! And look, LOOK! This one is PINK!”

I could see myself being dragged through a boutique, arms laden with shopping bags, soul slowly leaving my body while Harlow sucked my social battery dry through a metaphorical straw.

No. Definitely not. That would have been a different kind of terrible.

“Are you even listening to me?” Felix’s voice snapped me back to reality.

“Not really.”

Felix sighed dramatically and dropped onto a nearby bench, pulling out a pretzel from somewhere in his jacket. Stress eating was his coping mechanism for my apparent lack of fashion ambition.

“Fine. I give up. We’ve been at this for an hour and you’ve hated everything. What do normal guys wear?” He asked through a mouthful of pretzel.

That was actually a good question. What did normal guys wear? Not the ones at Hartwell, who walked around in cashmere hoodies that cost more than computers. Not the guys at the Velvet Room, who dressed to impress women with too much money and not enough attention.

I pulled out my phone and opened TikTok, typing “men’s fashion” in the search bar.

Big mistake.

My screen filled with videos titled things like “5 Wardrobe Items That Give You Dark Masculine Energy” and “How to Lookmax Your Way to Alpha Status.” One guy was demonstrating something called “mewing” to define his jawline, which looked suspiciously like he was just clenching his teeth very hard.

“Is this what the internet thinks masculinity is? A sharp jawline and a black turtleneck?” I muttered. “I’d rather wear the three-sleeved cult leader shirt.”

Felix leaned over to see my screen. “That guy’s jawline is pretty impressive though.”

“His dentist bills must be too.”

I kept scrolling, hoping for something, anything remotely useful. Then I saw it. A stitch. The first part showed some influencer-type displaying an absurdly expensive designer jacket, preening for the camera. The second part was a fashion student breaking down how to get the same look—the same silhouette, the same color palette, the same overall vibe—using high-quality basics from accessible brands.

“It’s not about the brand,” the guy said. “It’s about the fit and the silhouette.”

Ah… I understand it now.

I didn’t need a $2,000 blazer with weird buttons and an avant-garde cut. I needed a well-fitting blazer in a classic style. I didn’t need designer jeans with meaningless distressing. I needed dark, slim-fit denim with no embellishments.

I wasn’t trying to look rich. I was trying to look like I belonged in rooms where rich people made decisions.

I stood up suddenly, startling Felix into dropping the last bit of his pretzel.

“Hey! I was eating that!”

“I have an idea. We’re done here.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“Somewhere with good basics. Solid colors. Classic cuts. And most importantly, a tailor.”

“A tailor? What are you, eighty?”

I ignored him, already walking toward the car.

“Felix,” I said, as he caught up to me, “what’s the difference between new money and old money?”

He shrugged. “Old money is boring. New money buys the cool stuff.”

“Wrong. New money buys expensive things to prove they can afford them. Old money buys quality things that fit perfectly and last forever. They don’t need logos to prove they belong.”

“So you want to look like…”

“Like I’ve always been rich. Like I don’t need to try. Like I belong in that world without having to announce it.”

Felix nodded slowly. “That’s… actually pretty smart. But also kind of boring.”

“Fashion isn’t about excitement for me, Felix. It’s about being invisible in the right way.”

He considered this for a moment. “Okay. I know a place. It’s not going to be as fun as what I had planned, but… it’ll work.”

Two hours later, I stood in front of a mirror in a small, elegant menswear shop in the West Village. The salesman, an older gentleman named Morris who spoke with quiet authority rather than breathless excitement, adjusted the shoulders of a navy blazer I was trying on.

“The trick,” Morris said, “is in the details. The fabric should move with you. The shoulder seam should end exactly at your shoulder point. The sleeve should show just a quarter inch of shirt cuff.”

The blazer fit like nothing I’d ever worn before. It didn’t feel like a costume. It felt like an amplification of myself.

Morris stepped back. “We’ll take this in slightly at the waist. The pants need to be hemmed. The shirts are perfect off the rack, surprisingly. You have proportional arms.”

I looked at myself in the mirror. Dark jeans that fit properly. A crisp white shirt. The navy blazer that somehow made me look taller. Clean, minimal sneakers for casual days. Oxford shoes for formal ones. A charcoal gray suit for actual business meetings. No logos. No statement pieces. Just quality basics that fit perfectly.

The total came to just over four thousand dollars – a fortune by my standards, but a fraction of what we could have spent on the designer absurdities Felix had shown me earlier.

“Everything will be shipped to your house next week,” Morris said, making notes about the alterations. “Is there anything else you need?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Actually, yes. Do you sell overcoats?”

An hour later, we left the shop with several bags of ready-to-wear items and measurements taken for the pieces that needed alterations.

Felix looked at me with newfound respect. “I have to admit, you knew what you were doing. You look… expensive. But in a quiet way.”

“That’s the point. I don’t want to look like I’m trying.”

“And the coat? That was an interesting choice.”

I thought about the long black wool overcoat I’d added to my order. It wasn’t flashy or trendy. It was classic, timeless. The kind of coat that would still look good ten years from now. The kind of coat that could shield me from winter nights waiting for trains. The kind of coat that made me feel like I could walk into any room and belong there.

“It gets cold in the winter,” I said simply.

Felix checked his watch. “We still have time for that ramen. You coming?”

My phone buzzed. A text from Vivienne Valentine:

Where are you? I expect a full report on your progress by 6 PM sharp.

Then another text, from Cassidy:

did u get a collar yet? bc ur gonna need it when you lose our bet

And a third, from Harlow:

ISAIAH-KUN DID YOU BUY ANYTHING CUTE??? Send pics!!! 💕💕💕

I shook my head and turned to Felix. “Rain check on the ramen. I have four sisters to report to.”

“They’re not your sisters.”

“They’re paying me enough to pretend they are.” I slid into the driver’s seat of the Lexus. “Thanks for the help today.”

“Anytime, man. But seriously, the yellow crocodile loafers would have been amazing.”

“In your dreams, Felix. In your terrible, terrible dreams.”