You can take the French out of Champs Élysées, but you cannot, absolutely not, strip him of his blazer. Not even on a hot summer day. It's part of his identity, inherited like like the first name. And guess what, it works. I know, I know, ... est une attitude...but how strange is it to feel that, in Montreal, it is the men who have authority on taste?! I was sent back to the age of Bon Marche (with a little comma on the -e, of course.)
Anyhow, during the two hours I and my bag spent at Boccacinos, my eyes were pleasantly surprised by little details, a bow-tie here, a red belt there, neon accents on a black tie outfit, crisp white shirts with cotton trousers, and, more importantly, the fact that men age beautifully in that part of the world.