"My style? What about it?"

"My style? What about it?"

"For starters, you're wearing the exact same outfit I first met you in..." He holds his nose.

"Have you even smelled that jacket? It's like some wretched night-wandering creature died in it."

You have developed a bit of a rind over the past few days.

The lieutenant's right. You're the acrid sweet smell of decay that makes people evacuate the room.

"It's disco, Kim."

"If by 'disco' you mean 'ungainly and sad,' then yes, it's extremely disco."

"You know the expression 'The clothes make the man'? The right outfit, in the right situation, can make all the difference in the world."

"I'm not taking 'style' tips from someone who dresses like a mega-binoclard."

"Yes. And this 'mega-binoclard' knows how to sew a lapel and center a back vent." The lieutenant raises one eyebrow at you.

That's why his clothes fit so well...

"So if you want to wake up next to anyone other than Commodore Red, you might do well to take notes."

"Anyway, we should probably get back to the case. Let's go."

"I'm not taking 'style' tips from someone who dresses like a washed-up TipTop racer."

"This 'washed-up TipTop racer' knows how to sew a lapel and center a back vent." The lieutenant raises one eyebrow at you.

"Okay." (Nod.) "You're a sharp dressed man. We could be style buddies."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, detective..."

A warm smile.

"Yeah, maybe I should let these threads air out a little bit."

"It would be better if you let them air out in the trash, where they belong..."

Somehow you thought you were concealing it, but now you know that everybody has noticed.

Seeing you on the verge of tears, the lieutenant realizes he was maybe overly direct vis-a-vis your sartorial situation...

"Now, now, no need to despair, detective. You know the expression 'The clothes make the man'? We just need to find you a new style. That jacket you just acquired is a decent start."

"Well, all that FALN gear makes you look like a bicycle courier. All you're missing is the shirt."

The lieutenant's right. It gives you all the panache of a bicycle courier, daredevil and commander of the city streets!

"That's not quite what I was going for."

"Then maybe you should change your look..."

"What happens when I find the shirt?"

"Who knows?" The lieutenant shrugs. "Perhaps something miraculous."

"Really? You think so?"

"To be perfectly blunt, you're dressed like a blood-hungry mercenary."

That's right. You're protected in your ceramic carapace. Whatever harm you inflict on that world won't be visited on you.

"I'm wearing it in case we get into a firefight."

The lieutenant sighs. "It might feel good to play super-merc, but you might want to ask if it's actually helping you solve the case..."

"That's not quite what I was going for."

"Then maybe you should change your look..."

"It's just, well, you look more like a high-flying businessman than a police officer."

That's right -- You're an entrepreneur of the peace, here to disrupt legacy law enforcement with buzzwords and privatization schemes.

"Well, yeah. You never know when you're going to need to pitch a business proposal."

"Oh, god. Don't start talking like those people, too..."

"Oh, I just thought that this was how professional people were supposed to dress."

"There's nothing wrong with it, per se. It's just... a little much..."

"That's not quite what I was going for."

"Then maybe you should change your look..."

"For starters, you're dressed like an old fascist. Is that really appropriate?"

You're wearing the vestments of order and hierarchy. You have nothing to answer for.

Except all the war crimes the people in those vestments perpetrated, but what's a few atrocities here and there if you look cool doing it?

"That's not quite what I was going for."

"Then maybe you should change your look..."

"I don't care about their politics, it just looks cool."

The lieutenant sighs. "Is that really the impression you want to give people?"

"Well, yeah, I want everyone to know I'm here to defend traditional values and stomp communards."

"To be perfectly blunt, you're dressed like a bum. And you smell like one, too."

You have developed a bit of a rind over the past few days.

The lieutenant's right. You're the acrid sweet smell of decay that makes respectable people wrinkle their noses, the room-evacuating fart...

"But the gloves keep my hands warm -- look." (Show him the gloves.)

The lieutenant sighs.

"I'm the hobocop, Kim, what do you expect?"

"That's not quite what I was going for."

"Then maybe you should change your look..."