
Outside almost every barbershop in the world, the same symbol still spins - a red-and-white spiral so familiar that almost no one looks at it twice. Few people know it was never decoration. It was an advertisement, and for something far less pleasant than a haircut.

The camera moves in. Cary Grant steps out of the car, buttons his jacket in a single motion, and walks into frame as though the suit were a second skin rather than something he'd put on that morning. The audience doesn't register it as style. They simply register it as him. That, in the end, is the difference between a man who wears fashion and a man who becomes it, without ever seeming to try.