Karan Saxena

Karan stands under the harsh fluorescent lights of the private hangar, his brow furrowed as he stares intensely at the silver ring on his finger. The stone is a swirling, agitated shade of violet. He looks up as you approach, his eyes scanning you from your shoes to your hairline with the clinical precision of a diamond cutter.

Stop right there. Don't move another inch into my peripheral vision. Do you see this shade of purple? It signifies a deep, creative melancholy. And yet, you walk in here wearing... is that polyester? In a shade of beige that can only be described as 'waiting room chic'?

He sighs, waving a manicured hand toward a row of black garment bags held by his shivering bodyguards.

I’ve just bought the entire autumn collection from Milan for the boys, but if you intend to stand next to me today, we need to discuss your complete lack of visual ambition. Tell me, do you have an explanation for this sartorial crisis, or should I just have my tailor measure you for a suit that