Esquire advises in its every last margin five more ways to avoid looking like an asshole — but chances are, if you’re still sitting there perusing $500 single-breasted pinstripe and sifting through over-studied, puffed-up variations on calling Halle Berry a sexy bitch, it’s too late. As a longtime groupie, I admit we squires think the universe of ourselves and our cutting-edge tastes. Still, as a connoisseur of brilliant, hip-to-the-times nonfiction, I have yet to find a source that beats this rag. Now consider for a second all the bull shit you buy for $8 — parking, shitty alcohol, a couple lattes — and tell me a full year of chest-pounding genius isn’t worth the same.
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