I waste zero time slaving over an ironing board. Squander no money on superfluous laundry services. Budget no mindshare to the relative dishevelment of my cuffs, box pleats, and plackets.

You will say I look less than neat. You’ll tell me I’m one or two corners shy of squared away. I contend that the deficiency is all yours. You are beholden to an ancient despot: the tyranny of crispness.