Scriptus Altisonous

The pelican, that greatest of all the birds of Christendom, provides to every aspiring author a token of their glorious tropospheric moments whenever they deign to cast off some of their better feathers. It is nature's invitation for man to cure and cut his daily quill, both actually and metaphorically, and partake of the exalted perception of the avian eye aloft! In time a toff reflexively glances at all creation through such a rarefied sense that it will become evident in his henceforward construction of altisonant script.
Until he sees a pair of brown shoes with a blue suit.

Nothing lowers a spirit sooner than the shocking sight of street scraping earth tone footwear as it fails to jovially mingle with both the cool cuffs of cobalt trousers and the teachings of an atelier's color wheel.

Despite such setbacks it is nevertheless a toff's joy and duty to press forward in a state of perpetual merriment. It's bad form, you know, to drag down the crowd with one's own dubitations.

But of course I have great faith that men will again someday regain their aesthetic senses and return their thinking back into the service of sartorial glory. It will inevitably become glaringly apparent that mankind was meant to wear something more inspired than hoodies, Nikes, board shorts, and ball caps.
 
Personally, I look forward to a world of security camera ubiquity with a concomitant dress code enforcement that will, in turn, reinvigorate the personally tailored wardrobe. I also await the invention of the robot tailor.

Belles-letters, sartorial satisfaction, and the thrill of romance!

All else is logistical barbarity.