The winter months are cold, dark, bleak, harsh, unforgiving. Your energy levels are low. In the dark you wake, in the dark you arrive home from work, and for three months or more you're crushed beneath the weight of an unknowable sadness.
You've stopped going out. Inertia breeds inertia. You walked hunched, your face blank, your eyes sightless orbs. The vivid neon lights of experience go out, just dull grey tubes now, dizzy promise extinguished, nothing more to attract you. You start drifting passively through your days, numbly riding life's current like a feather in the breeze.
You feel no pleasure, no pain. You stop looking both ways before crossing the road. You suspect your tired old boiler may be leaking carbon monoxide, but fuck it. At worst, you'll simply go to sleep and never wake up again. Just slip away, quietly, back into eternity...
So you need something in your wardrobe that's going to square those shoulders, bulk up that withered frame and sharpen your silhouette. Behold! the new military jacket from the Stanley Kubrick winter collection. Spotted with the real tears of the undertrodden grunts of the fashion industry, this jacket has an authentic cut that positively screams: "I'm a dashing, debonair, middle-ranking East India Company officer, freshly returned from slaughtering some bloody South Asian savages, and I'm in town looking to press into service some young waif, give her a ride on both my swords - HA! - then leave her to be eaten by stray dogs! No-one will notice she's gone." That's a powerful message to be sending out.
You can't wear a frown with this on your back. You'd look like a twat.